Page 25

CHAPTER 24

TRY ME

WILDER

W e lost by two thanks to a fielding error on our end, but as I pack my bag, I’m downright fucking giddy. It was surreal and momentous to have my little girl grinning and waving from the stands, her little glasses perched on her nose, feet swinging in excitement when I waved back, And next to her, Cass smiled and waved too.

But now, it’s time. I’ve been thinking about this moment since we talked about it yesterday, and after counting the endless seconds, it’s here. Cass is already waiting for me at the gate, just like she has a hundred times before.

I plan to greet her accordingly.

This game marks our hard launch into Roseville society, not only as husband and wife, but parents too. I wish I’d been with her to field all the questions and comments and looks I’m sure she’s gotten all night. In part because the compulsion to protect her from it is overwhelming, not that she needs me—she’s capable of handling herself. I want to anyway.

It’s selfish and bordering on unfair, but fuck—I want to touch her. Hold her hand. Press my thighs against hers with her foot hooked behind my calf like she did before. Feel her under my arm, hers looped around my waist. Call it pretend. Call it whatever the fuck you want so long as I get to have it. Even if I do have to keep my porn tongue to myself.

The admission that calling her wife gets to her only served to solidify what I already knew to be true—she wants the porn tongue she’s denied herself. That’s her hardship. It isn’t being with me, it’s being with me without being with me . Which, same. As impatient as I am, I’ll be good. I’ll wait for her to come to me.

But don’t think I won’t use every fucking trick in my arsenal to nudge her.

My heart thuds in anticipation as I sling my bag across my chest and head out of the dugout, largely ignoring the team as I scan the fence for her. I find her easily, smiling knowingly at me, nostalgically, lovingly. I think I’ve had this dream before, though sometimes she’s outside the Dodger’s locker room. Sometimes Auburn. But most of the time, she’s right here where I left her, fool that I was.

There are people around but they’re blurs in my periphery. She’s all I can see as I pass through the gate, stepping swiftly toward her, into her as I drop my glove and bat at her feet. It’s one motion—one arm around her waist, the other cupping her jaw. It’s one breath, her small gasp of surprise, my deep inhale of her as I draw her close. Our lips connect with a jolt of electricity down my spine, and she goes soft, molding to the shape of my arms, the shape of my lips. With the gentle sweep of my tongue, she lets me in, opening wide enough for the porniest of tongues. But I keep my word, even as her arms twine around my neck and the sweetest sound mewls from the back of her throat, her locked arms tightening to bring us closer.

It’s a damn hot minute before I release her, lips first. Her feet aren’t quite on the ground, so I put them there, hanging onto her to make sure she realizes it. She doesn’t—I keep her upright until her knees remember how to knee. My smirk is the evidence of my complete and fucking total pleasure at the sight of her, cheeks flushed and green eyes hooded.

The way she kissed me back, the way she’s looking at me right now?

I have a damn good feeling I’ve finally convinced her. All I’ve gotta do is make my move.

And I’m fucking gonna, the second the opportunity presents itself.

A couple people around us are chuckling, and my team behind us is whistling and being obnoxious. I turn and hook an arm over her shoulders, pulling her into my side. Her arms circle my waist like I’d hoped she would, and she grants me the added bonus of resting her hot cheek against my chest. I get a couple of claps on the shoulder from the boys as they pass and one solid punch in my good rotator cuff from her cousin, who looks equally grossed out, amused, and cautionary.

I press a kiss to the top of her head and ask, “Where’s Cricket?”

“Hmm?” It slips out of her, lazy and pleased. My heart twerks at the sound. “Oh—she’s at the playground with Molly.”

With a chuckle, I head us in that direction. “So, how many out of pocket questions did you get about us?”

“Well, Barb Weaver wants to sleep with you.”

I nearly trip. “Uh, what?”

Cass giggles. “At least it was heavily insinuated. You know, I thought tonight would be worse. Kind of a letdown if I’m being honest. I did hear about a couple of rumors. One is that we’ve been fucking around all this time even though I was engaged to someone else. I guess it wasn’t hoeing because we were already married though, so that’s a relief.”

I laugh, and she smiles up at me.

“I will say it seems like in all of the rumors, you’re a lying liar who didn’t tell me we were still married, so at least they got one thing right.”

“Anybody think we’re pretending?”

A single ha. “If they saw you just kiss me, they won’t anymore. You’re going to pretend impregnate me if we keep pretend kissing like that. Good thing I’ve been on birth control since I was fifteen. Also your fault.”

The way my cock responds is obscene.

“They were polite enough at least not to ask too many questions about Cricket who“—her tone shifts, hardening with anger and frustration—“by the way, is being bullied.”

Cold fury snakes down my spine. “By who? How the hell does anybody know anything about her anyway?”

“The whole town has been talking about us, and you know it’s mostly been lies. I’m sure someone overheard their parents gossiping. And it was a girl from school. She tripped Cricket and cracked a joke about how she couldn’t go cry to her mama because her mama was dead.”

I stop so fast, she jerks under my arm from the momentum. “Are you fucking serious?”

She nods.

I’m seething. “Who would say that? Why would anybody fucking say that?”

Cass shrugs, her face sad and frustrated. “She’s only six. They don’t understand what their words mean to someone else at that age, not really.”

“Did you talk to the kid? Did you talk to her mother?”

She shakes her head and lays her hand on my chest. “Cricket made me promise I wouldn’t, but I told her next time I would. I’ll keep an eye on it in school and talk to the girl’s teacher.”

My eyes are locked on Cricket as she runs laps around the jungle gym with a little boy, laughing. My jaw clicks when I clench it.

“She’s been through too much to have to deal with this bullshit.”

Cass sighs and follows my gaze, watching Cricket along with me. “We should probably put her in therapy.”

When she leans in, I pull her a little closer. “Good idea.”

I feel her notice, stiffening. With a pat on the chest, she steps away. “I’ll find her a therapist.”

I grab her hand before she’s out of reach. “Thank you,” I say quietly, swallowing hard.

“You’re welcome.” She squeezes my hand and tows me to the edge of the playground where a girl with curly blonde hair and glasses is reading.

No, she’s a woman, I realize, sitting on the bench with a book in her lap, her glasses constantly sliding down her nose as she reads. She doesn’t seem to notice us as we approach.

“Hey, Molly,” Cass says.

Molly jumps, her freckled cheeks flushing. “Oh, hey!” The words are thick with a lilting, Appalachian twang. She stands, pushing her glasses up again with a smile, smoothing her baggy, brown checkered knee-length dress with her free hand. Her yellow cardigan looks two sizes too big for her, but somehow she pulls it off.

“Thanks for watching her for a minute,” Cass says.

Molly waves a hand. “Oh, it’s no trouble. She’s such a cute little nugget. Hey, you must be Wilder,” she says, offering her hand for a shake.

“Good to meet you.” When I take her hand, I realize she’s tiny, her bones so delicate I ease back on my handshake for fear I’ll hurt her. She doesn’t extend the same courtesy—her grip is firm and solid and a little bit defiant, like she knew I’d underestimate her and wanted to make sure we were on the same page.

“You too. Glad I could come watch you play tonight. It’s my first game!” she says sweetly.

My brow quirks. “Ever?”

She nods, her finger on the bridge of her glasses again. Her face is bright. “My parents aren’t the athletic type. More the encyclopedic type. Never had a reason to go before Cass invited me.”

Cass puts her hands up. “Just doing my duty.”

My smile falls when I spot Tate heading our way, his face drawn. Greyson, our coach, is at his side looking a little more sour than usual. Where Tate is long and lean and smirking, Greyson is broad and tall and scowling, with a tidy silver beard and salt-and-pepper hair. It’s cut short on the sides and long on the top, a silver fox if I ever saw one.

I’d tell him if I wasn’t sure he’d deck me.

Tate spots Molly, and a smile slides onto his lips, all but prowling toward us like a big cat. Shameless motherfucker. Coach spotted her too—his eyes narrowing a hair with the slight flare of his nostrils.

“Well, hey,” Tate says. “Who’s this?”

Cass gives him a look, but introduces them. Molly just smiles and shakes his hand.

“Quite the shake you got there,” he notes, chuckling.

Grey folds his arms and scowls.

“Daddy might not have played baseball, but he taught me how to shake, at least.”

Tate laughs a little too hard. Molly doesn’t notice.

“And this is Greyson, the coach,” Cass says.

Beneath the shadow of his ball cap, I think I catch a glimpse of color on his cheeks. He doesn’t extend a hand, just grumbles, Howdo, with a nod.

“Hey, are y’all coming to The Horseshoe for drinks?” Tate asks us, but he’s looking at Molly like she’s a slab of Wagyu.

“Can’t,” I say. “We’re on parent duty.”

“And how about you?” Tate asks. Grey looks like he’s going to separate Tate’s head from his body.

Molly hugs her book. “Oh, no thank you. I don’t really drink.”

“First time for everything,” Tate says with a shrug. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Greyson practically growls, “She said she didn’t want to go, dumbass. Leave her alone.”

Tate gives him a look like he’s old and boring but shows his palms in surrender. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

“Did you come over here to make an ass out of yourself or did you need something?” I ask.

He makes a face at me, “Oh, ha-ha.” But then his face smooths, his brows drawing together in concern. “I heard from Hannigan about the fire.” He glances at the playground to make sure Cricket is still playing before taking a step closer. “They just arrested the ex for murder.”

What he says after that comes in a blur, my mind firing with questions and scenarios and imagining the worst of the worst. I could see Trent being so out of control that he just burned the house down with her in it. But I remember the look on his face, the haunted, hollow eyes of a man who had lost everything. He loved her. Would he do this? Could he do it?

The truth is, I don’t know.

That’s the scariest part of all. Because if he’s capable of that, he’s capable of worse.

And as I watch my daughter play, oblivious to it all, I hope Trent wouldn’t be that stupid.

Because I’ll be damned if I let him take anything else.