Page 44

Vivienne

Of all the days Glenda could've picked to be late again, she picked the one that's supposed to be a happy occasion for the boys. The catcher's gear for Ezra and bat for Elijah that Xavier picked out himself, came in this afternoon. When I called them into my office a half an hour ago to give it to them, they were overjoyed.

They called Xavier on FaceTime together from my phone to thank him. It was a great distraction until they hung up and realized it was quiet outside my office. All the other kids had been picked up and their mom was late again.

I'm about to call her when the lobby door opens, and she bursts through.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Glenda coos.

Ezra rips his face from her grip. His jaw is tight as he glares at his mom. "You lied," he spits, his shoulders practically vibrating with tension.

Undeterred, she turns to Eli. My fingers flex around the edge of the desk as I watch her approach him. His stiff posture screams don't touch me, but she doesn't seem to notice--or she does but doesn't know what else to do.

"It won't happen again, promise," she pleads with her younger son.

Eli throws his hands up, breaking through hers as they reach for him, ducking under her arms and spinning out of her grasp.

"Another lie," Eli spits, his voice sharp enough to cut. Of the two boys, he's usually the more laid-back, the one who lets things roll off his back. But not now. Undeterred rage twists his face, his usual calm long gone. "I hate you," he snarls.

The words hit their mark like a physical blow, and Glenda's shocked gasp fills the lobby. Her hands freeze mid-air, her body trembling under the weight of his words.

"It's time to go. Grab your things," she says, her voice shaky as she sniffs, refusing to meet my eyes.

The boys don't need to be told twice. They grab their new gear and lead the way out the door, shoulders tense and heads down, their anger dragging them down.

"What's this?" Glenda asks, eyeing the gear, her eyes filled with accusation when they shift to me.

"Catcher's gear and a new bat. It was a donation from a player they met recently," I explain.

"Great, just what I need, more baseball shit cluttering up the apartment," she grumbles.

Please let the boys be out of earshot.

When Glenda stands in the doorway alone, she pauses. Her hand grips the edge of the frame, knuckles blanching. Finally, she looks back, her face drawn, the smile she burst in with gone.

"It's not easy, you know." Her voice breaks at the edges. "Doing it all on your own."

Her words linger in the empty space she leaves behind, and I let out a slow breath, the ache in my chest pressing a little harder as I think of the red-haired angel who's a perfect source of light for her dad and my niece. Will her mom walk back into her life someday and cause the same pain Glenda does?

I rub my temples, trying to push the thought away. It shouldn't cling to me this way, but Glenda's words echo through my head. "It's not easy." Maybe not, but the damage left behind isn't easy either--something I've seen working with her sons for the last three years.

Double Play gives these boys the stability they don't have at home. It's a lifeline for them--a place where they can be more than their anger and pain. I won't jeopardize that by saying the things I want to, even as the words press against my tongue. Some battles aren't mine to fight. My job is to preserve this space and give them steady ground here, no matter what.

As long as she doesn't show up here drunk or high and the boys are safe in her care, I'll continue to bite my tongue.

I lock up behind Glenda, spinning and letting my head rest against the door for a moment. My face tips toward the heavens and my eyes close. When I open them and see the time, I swear under my breath.

The girls are expecting me at the game tonight. Part of me is tempted to cancel, hole myself up in my apartment and take down a pint of ice cream to see if it helps.

I know it won't--it never does. But maybe being around other people will give me something else to focus on.

At least I had the foresight to bring a change of clothes for the game. With the office empty and my day done, I change in my office, rushing so I don't miss the first pitch.

Twenty minutes later I'm barely dropping into my seat when Poppy presses a cold beer into my hand. "Sounded like you could use this."

"You have no idea." I press the plastic cup to my lips, letting the cool bubbles pop on my tongue--a small reprieve after a long day. "Is it that obvious?"

"You look stunning, so no," she says with a grin. "But the shorthand text that you were still at the office gave you away."

Like last time, we are sitting on the net next to the dugout. She nods toward the field. "Hopefully, a little baseball therapy helps. Did the kids run you ragged today?"

"Try the parents--or one in particular." I take another sip, letting out a slow breath.

Poppy winces. "Oof. It's always the parents."

I laugh softly, though the edge of the day still lingers in my chest. "This one is really testing me lately and I wish there was more I could do . . ."

Mia nudges me from where she sits opposite Poppy. "Can we help?"

"Maybe." I hesitate for a beat, then fill them in--careful not to share any identifying details.

"Bringing the kids to a game before the season's over is an easy one," Poppy suggests first, her voice full of excitement.

"And what about dogs?" Lilah adds, leaning forward to look at me around her friend. "You could reach out to Saving Paws and have them bring some animals so the kids can play with them. Like cuddle therapy."

"And you could bring in an actual therapist," Indie chimes in. "Someone for them to talk to without any pressure."

As the ideas pile up, the knot I've been carrying inside my chest eases and I feel better than I have all day.

Especially when Xavier jogs over to the net before the game starts, crooking his finger at me with that signature grin peeking out from under his cage. When he gets to the railing, he works the zipper loose and my heart drums against my ribs.

This is the closest I've been to him in days, and knowing I can reach out and touch him after seven days apart has the thousands of fans fading into nothing.

"You better tell me to stop right now if you don't want everyone to see how much I missed you this week." His voice burns low and hot just for the two of us. I doubt even the girls, who I can feel staring a hole into the side of my head, can hear.

"What are you going to do?" I ask, as if his palm wrapping around the back of my neck and dragging me closer isn't a dead giveaway.

"I'm going to kiss my lucky charm."

"That's a bold statement," I manage to say, though my voice wavers as the warmth of his touch sinks into my skin.

"So fucking true." His lips hover inches from mine, making every nerve in my body stand on edge.

An edge I want to dive headfirst off of, no matter who sees and what they say; I can't bring myself to care with Xavier standing in front of me. The effect he has on me is dizzying. I thought after a few weeks it would wane, but we've been doing this for over a month and the pull to him is stronger than ever.

I barely make out Indie's voice somewhere behind me saying, "If he doesn't kiss her soon I think she might combust."

Xavier's deep laugh rumbles through me. "I'm glad it's not just me," he whispers.

Grabbing his jersey I pull him to me. "So kiss me," I challenge, meeting his need.

This kiss isn't like our others, it's soft and sweet, yet no less consuming and no less demanding. There's a tenderness in the way he takes my mouth with sure strokes of his tongue against mine, claiming me the way you would someone you care deeply about.

It's the kind of kiss you could lose yourself in forever, but like all the others it's over before I'm ready.

When he pulls back, his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth as if he's reluctant to let go. I blink up at him, dazed, and the roar of the crowd trickles back in, including the loud whistles and cheers of our friends.

"Lucky charm, huh?" I murmur, breathless.

His lips quirk into a grin, his eyes dark with something that makes my pulse skip. "Wait for me after the game and I'll show you just how lucky."

I nod wordlessly, my head still spinning from the buzz of our kiss.

If his kiss hadn't sealed the deal, the bounce of his perfectly round ass as he jogs back to the dugout for the National Anthem would have.

God, I love that ass.

"Tell us more."

I slowly turn away from the field, finding four knowing smiles waiting for me.

"I take it, I said that aloud." There's not a hint of regret over the kiss or my accidental admission.

"Kissed the brains right out of her." Poppy laughs.

"Seriously. I think it made me stupid by proxy," Lilah confirms.

"Are we still lying to each other about what this is between you?" Indie teases, rolling her teeth over her lips, like it's killing her to stop the laugh that wants to escape.

"Yes." That infatuation I was so sure I wouldn't develop is creeping in and I'm not ready to deal with the fall out from that. If I'm being honest, I think it's been building toward more from the start, but the last two weeks have shifted things between us. This isn't about the list or even being friends anymore. Somehow, as we've gotten to know each other, it became deeper than that. There's an emotional connection there that makes everything better.

Maybe if we'd fucked it out that first night things wouldn't have ended up here.

I have to press my hand to my mouth to stop the laughter that attempts to spill free. Now that I know what it's like to have Xavier inside me that idea is delusional at best. I'd just have been hooked sooner.

"We'll be here when you're ready to talk it out," Indie says, pulling me out of my thoughts and back into the game unfolding a few feet away.

Another thing that's become glaringly clear in the last five weeks is that the friendship I've built with this group of Bandits' WAGs is healing my soul in a way I didn't know I needed.

There's an unspoken understanding among us--like we've all been through the fire in our own ways and come out stronger for it. We show up for each other in the little ways that matter most: a cold drink passed across the stands, a gentle coaxing not to lock myself away, a group chat that's half memes and half support.

I didn't realize how much I was missing that kind of connection until I had it again. These women see me-- really see me--and piece by piece, they're reminding me who I want to be as much as Xavier is.

Will I lose all that when I lose him? The thought hits me hard and it's almost too much to bear.

"I don't like that look on your face," Poppy says, her knee bumping against mine. "You look like your world is crashing down around you."

I force myself to sound nonchalant. "It's nothing. Pesky self-doubt."

The look she gives me tells me she doesn't buy it. "Well, knock it the fuck off. You're incredible, don't doubt that for a second."

"That was really cheesy."

"Cheesy but true." She holds up her half empty beer to me, knocking it against mine.

"Thanks for that. You're a good friend." I might not be ready to tell everyone how I feel, but those words come so natural I can't hold them back.

"Damn right I am, and you deserve good friends, Vi," she quips, taking a sip and nudging me again. "Just like you deserve a good man."

The man in question steps up to the plate for his at bat. I might deserve good things, but am I ready for them? That's the part I'm not so sure about. And if having them means giving up the pieces of myself I worked so hard to find over the past decade will it be worth it?

The worry is still lingering nine innings later as I'm waiting beside my friends for the guys after the game.

"Whatever you're feeling right now, don't let it ruin the good things in your life," Indie warns when she slides up next to me, popping her hip against the cement wall.

"God, I must be as transparent as a window," I mutter, shaking my head.

Indie snorts, not bothering to hide her amusement. "More like a glass door, babe. Everyone can see right through, but we're still knocking to make sure."

I roll my eyes, but I can't stop the grin tugging at my lips. "Great. Exactly what I needed."

"Hey," she says, her voice softening as she leans in, "being transparent isn't a bad thing. It means we care enough to notice when something's off. And, spoiler alert, you're allowed to have doubts--lord knows I did. But you don't have to carry it alone anymore."

"It's not exactly the same. From what I hear, Dom was obsessed with you long before you gave him a second chance."

"Our stories might be different, but Xavier looks at you the same way my husband looks at me. He only sees you and that says something." She sighs. "I'm not going to tell you not to hurt him, because I know you don't want that either. But don't forget that you have the power to. Be honest with him and yourself about what's in your heart"

Be honest. Such simple advice if I could make sense of it all. But my feelings for the man pushing through the door are all jumbled--messy and tangled with the expectations I've held for myself since I turned eighteen. They're knots I don't know how to untie, threads of fear and hope so tightly wound together that I can't pull one free without the threat of everything I've worked for unraveling.

And yet, when his gaze finds mine, something clicks into place. Part of me whispers that maybe I don't have to figure it all out right now. Being honest doesn't mean having every answer--only the courage to admit how I feel, even if I don't understand it.

But God, even that seems impossible.