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O pening Day, The Following Spring

J ason Friar had spent his whole life under those stadium lights. The cheers, the crack of the bat, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he stepped onto the field—those moments had defined him for so long that walking into the stadium today, wearing a suit instead of a jersey, should have felt like a loss.

But it didn’t.

The sun was warm overhead as the players jogged onto the field for pre-game warmups, the crowd’s energy buzzing like an electric current through the stands. From his spot near the dugout, Jason watched the next generation of players take their places—their movements sharp, their eyes hungry for the game.

A sharp whistle split the air, and a familiar voice rang out.

“Hey, old man! You get lost?”

Jason turned, already smirking. Cody Patterson, the team’s young, cocky ace pitcher, leaned against the dugout railing with that same shit-eating grin Jason had perfected at his age.

Jason crossed his arms, giving him a lazy once-over. “I could say the same to you, kid. You sure you’re supposed to be here? Thought we called up professionals, not Little Leaguers.”

Cody snorted. “Says the guy who got benched before he could retire properly.”

Jason barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Cody grinned. “Nah, you like that I listen to you. Sometimes.”

“Barely.”

But truth was, Jason saw something familiar in Cody—the raw talent, the cocky swagger, the belief that he was untouchable. He also saw the cracks beneath it, the pressure that came with being the face of the franchise so young. Jason had lived that life. Now? It was his job to make sure Cody—and all these guys—didn’t make the same mistakes he had.

A familiar voice interrupted them.

“There you are.”

Jason turned to find Stacia, looking annoyingly perfect, as always, in a fitted blazer and heels that shouldn’t look so damn good in a baseball stadium.

“You’re supposed to be in the owner’s box,” she reminded him, arching a brow.

“I like it down here.”

She huffed. “You like avoiding having to schmooze the front office.”

“Same thing.”

She sighed, slipping an arm through his. “Come on, big guy. Let’s go watch your rookies prove you right.”

Jason cast one last glance at Cody. “Try not to blow it, Patterson.”

Cody grinned. “You’ll be the first person I point to when I strike out twelve today.”

Jason shook his head but didn’t argue. Kid had guts.

And as Stacia led him up toward the owner’s suite, Jason realized—for the first time in his life—he wasn’t jealous of the guys stepping onto that field.

His career might have ended sooner than he planned, but he wasn’t done with baseball. Not by a long shot.

T he house was quiet, the kind of stillness Jason had once found suffocating, but now? Now it just felt right.

He stood in the open doorway of the back deck, watching as Stacia curled up on one of the outdoor loungers, a blanket draped over her legs, a glass of wine in her hand.

“You’re staring,” she murmured without looking up.

Jason smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “Can’t help it. You’re hot.”

She snorted but didn’t argue. Instead, she tilted her face up toward him, a small, knowing smile on her lips. “How does it feel?”

“What?”

She gestured lazily toward the night sky, as if motioning toward everything—his new job, his new life, the fact that, for the first time in years, he wasn’t chasing something just out of reach.

Jason exhaled, stepping outside and sinking down beside her. He slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side.

“Feels… good,” he admitted, the words surprising even himself. “Weird, but good.”

She smirked. “You? Content? Never thought I’d see the day.”

He chuckled. “Me either.”

Silence stretched between them, comfortable, the kind built over late nights and hard conversations and the kind of love that settled deep.

Finally, he murmured, “You know, I did kinda miss the game today.”

She arched a brow. “You mean the game you watched from a private suite with unlimited food and the best seat in the house?”

He grinned. “Yeah. Tough life.”

She laughed, shaking her head before setting her wine aside and shifting, swinging one leg over his lap, straddling him.

“You might not play anymore,” she murmured, fingers trailing through his hair. “But you’re still in the game.”

His hands found her waist, gripping her tight. “You saying I haven’t lost my touch?”

She leaned down, brushing her lips against his ear. “Not even close.”

Jason growled, flipping her onto the lounger, pinning her beneath him.

Baseball had given him everything he’d ever wanted.

But Stacia Kendall?

She was the best damn thing he’d ever won.

T he stadium was empty.

Gone was the roar of the crowd, the scent of popcorn and beer, the energy of Opening Day that had felt like a cruel illusion—a bright, hopeful start to a season built on a crumbling foundation.

Now, there was only silence.

Miranda Callahan sat at her desk, her laptop screen casting an eerie glow over the financial reports spread out before her. A mountain of bad news. Payroll cuts. Revenue projections plummeting. Sponsorships falling through the cracks.

Her family’s legacy, the team her grandfather had built from nothing, was one bad season away from being stripped away from them entirely.

A sharp knock at the door had her looking up.

Cole Hammonds, the team’s general manager, stepped inside, looking as exhausted as she felt. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up, and the weight of the franchise hung between them.

“You gonna sleep in here, Callahan?” he asked, nodding toward the mess of paperwork covering her desk.

Miranda let out a humorless laugh. “Tempting.”

Cole dropped into the chair across from her, leaning back with a sigh. “So. What’s the bottom line?”

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose, willing away the headache threatening to split her skull. When she spoke, her voice was steady, but heavy.

“The league is sending someone to oversee the season. All our decisions. Every move we make.”

Cole’s jaw ticked. “A consultant?”

She let out a slow breath. A bitter, humorless sound. “A babysitter.”

Cole groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Seamus won’t approve of that.”

“He won’t have a choice.” She met his gaze, her own filled with the same exhaustion and grim resolve. “It might be the only thing that saves us. Or the thing that damns us.”

Cole didn’t argue, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.

Miranda stared at the spreadsheet of failures in front of her, the numbers stacking higher than she could control.

“We just have to hope,” she murmured, “that this person wants to help us. And not gut us.”

Because if they were here to take control?

The Callahans might not survive the season.

C heck out Miranda’s story, coming in June in Love from Left Field , an enemies to lovers, workplace romance. Turn the page for a sneak peek!