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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

JULIET

What was I thinking agreeing to go to Ford’s game?

I wasn’t.

It’s a problem I’m having more and more when it comes to him.

Ever since he coached me through that first orgasm, it’s like I forget who I am when he speaks. I agree to things I wouldn’t usually and say things that are off the cuff and downright dirty.

And don’t get me started on his mouth and all the things he can do with it. I didn’t know what I didn’t know.

What I do know is this isn’t me.

And yet here I am walking through the concourse of Manila Stadium, wearing one of the Renegade’s shirts from the back of Ford’s closet, on my way to watch him play just because he asked.

Never mind that I’m stuck somewhere between excited and wanting to throw up and can't quite decide which is going to win.

So, once again I have to ask myself: Who the hell have I become that this is my life?

Thankfully, I have Paige here as my emotional support human, because without her there’s no way I’d be able to walk into the wives’ and girlfriends’ suite alone.

Wives and girlfriends.

I’m neither of those things. Nor do I know how to be.

Tyler always made it very clear he didn’t want me here. Something about being distracted and it being bad luck—which makes sense. He didn’t want the women who sought him out to know he had a wife at home.

Suddenly I’m thankful none of the women in this suite were associated with the team when Tyler played here. As it is, I’m already worried they’re going to judge me because I’m here as Ford’s—whatever we are—and he’s technically my stepbrother-in-law.

Damn it, this was such a bad idea.

Paige grabs my hand and pulls me away from the door and into the women’s bathroom across the hall. Thankfully, it’s empty.

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to, Etta.” It was definitely the right choice to bring her. “But also, fuck these bitches if they want to judge you for letting Ford defile your pussy.”

“Paige!” I scowl. “You can’t say shit like that here.”

“What?” She looks around, her red curls swinging across her face. “In an empty women's bathroom?”

I pin her with a pointed glare as if to say, you know what I mean. “Anyone could walk in and hear you.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t need their approval. Ford wants you here. And honestly, it’s kind of sweet.”

I lean back against the wall and cross my arms over my chest, and even though I’m trying to be stern, a smile creeps its way onto my lips. “He’s growing on you, isn’t he?”

“Ugh.” She shakes her whole body, and it reminds me of a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Don’t tell him, but the whole Dungeons and Dragons thing was super cute, and now Anthony wants me to ask if we can come play too.”

I laugh incredulously and shake my head. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“You’re the best!” Paige whoops and pulls me into a hug. “The way Anthony is going to fuck me so hard when I tell him tonight.”

I groan and shove her off me. “The way I didn’t need to know that.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “Don’t be jealous.”

Oh, believe me. I’m not.

Because I’ve already willed into existence that Ford is going to win this game, and I’m going to win a night of making him come.

“Come on.” Paige nods towards the door and loops her arm in mine. “Let’s go show these—what are they called again?”

“WAGs—Wives and Girlfriends.”

“Right.” Paige clears her throat for show. “Let’s go show these WAGs how to have a good time.”

* * *

It turns out the WAGs already know how to have a good time.

Everyone has been absolutely amazing. They’ve welcomed Paige and me without question and have even volunteered to be taste testers once Sophia and I have the new menu squared away.

Basically. I was worried for absolutely nothing.

And the suite?

Let’s just say I don’t think I’ll ever go back to watching a game in the cheap seats again.

There’s an entire lounge inside complete with couches, a television that has the broadcast of the game, two coolers filled with every drink imaginable and an entire wall of appetizers—including plenty of gluten-free options—and a call button to have pretty much any food in the stadium delivered.

It’s incredible.

A huge glass wall divides the lounge from a small deck that has three bar height tables before four rows of stadium seats that overlook home plate.

It’s over the top in the best way. And makes my heart break.

The suite reminds me of everything I could have had.

Friendships. Comradery. Sisterhood.

These women have done nothing but lift me up since I entered their space. And I’m not even one of them. I imagine what could have been if Tyler had allowed me to be a part of this. I wouldn't have felt so alone. And if I wasn’t isolated, maybe Tyler would have been different. Maybe he wouldn’t have cheated. And maybe he wouldn’t have racked up all that debt.

And…it hits me.

Why am I thinking of Tyler and all the should’ves, could’ves, and would’ves when there’s a man who did give me all of this on that field right now, playing his heart out for the chance to let me make him come?

And damn, do I want to make him come.

I might not have a clue what is happening between us, but I do know there’s something when it comes to Ford McCoy. Even if it ends up being nothing more than a learning experience, with a side of spicy nights, it’s the kind of story I won’t regret telling my grandkids when I’m old and gray and no longer have any cares to give.

I glance around and spot Paige on the far side of the deck with Jo, leaning in close and whispering what I have no doubt is a maniacal plan.

Mark my words, those two together are going to be trouble.

Not wanting to interrupt, I make my way down to a seat so I can watch the rest of the game. It’s the top of the seventh, and the Renegades are winning and have two outs. My eyes immediately track to number seventeen, standing at third base. He’s looking far too good in his black and gray uniform, but it’s the orange belt that makes my cheeks heat. I wonder if it’s the same one he had tangled around his wrists last night.

He shakes out his shoulders and gets set for the next batter.

Carson’s on the mound. He winds up and releases a pitch that, from this angle, looks beautiful.

Of course, what do I know? The umpire called it a ball.

Ford hits his glove with his fist and says something to Carson. Knowing Ford, I imagine it’s some kind of encouragement. He then moves over to the foul line and toes at the dirt.

Wait.

Is that?—

It’s my word.

Written in the dirt.

Well, not exactly mine, but it’s four letters I’ve only ever heard Ford use in reference to me.

L-O-V-E

Emotion swells in my throat. How did I not notice it? I’ve been watching the game in between talking with the ladies in the suite, my eyes always coming back to him, but I swear those letters weren’t there before.

“Is this seat taken?”

I blink away the sudden tears that rim my eyes and look up to find a gorgeous blonde with soft curls dressed in denim shorts, a Renegades T-shirt, and Chuck Taylors.

“All yours.”

“Thanks.” She lowers herself into the seat, but doesn’t immediately turn to watch the game. Instead, she sticks out her hand and smiles. “I’m Willow.”

“Willow as in York?”

“One and the same.”

My face pales.

Shit. I might not know a lot about baseball, but I know who Willow York is. She’s not only Ford’s boss, but she owns the entire team.

“I—” Imposter syndrome settles deep in my gut, and I almost turn around to see where Paige is. She’d know what to say.

“Are you Etta?” Willow asks, concern furrowing her brow. “You look a little like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course.” Her worry morphs into a knowing smile. “Who do you think helped Ford find you?”

My eyes widen. “You did?”

Willow nods.

I’m speechless. I knew Ford couldn’t have possibly done it alone, but I had no idea the team helped. That means they put money and resources toward finding me, and all along I was hiding in plain sight. It was one thing when I only owed Ford, but now the team too?

Guilt floods my veins. “If there’s anything I need to do to repay you, please let me know.”

“Oh, no.” Willow reaches out to put her hand on my forearm, but at the last second, she reconsiders and yanks it back to her lap. “You misunderstand me, Etta. We were happy to do it. You don’t owe us a damn thing. If anything, we should be asking how we can help because as far as I’m concerned, this organization failed to protect you, not only from Tyler, but from the debts he left behind.”

“I—I don’t know what to say?” That was the absolute last thing I expected to come out of her mouth. Based on things Ford has said, I know Willow is the kind of owner who puts the team first, but I’m not part of the team. I really never was.

“Say you’ll accept my apologies. And let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

I consider her offer and everything she’s already done. There’s no way I could ask her for anything more. But something I told Ford this morning niggles the back of my brain.

Sometimes we need to figure out who we are without those who love us telling us who we are.

Ford loves me. Maybe not romantically, but he cares about me the same way family does. And while he’s been amazing to talk to, I think maybe it’s time for me to also find someone else to talk to.

“Actually,” I tell Willow. “I’ve been thinking maybe it would be good for me to start seeing a therapist. Do you know of a good one in the city?”

“Let me see your phone.” Willow's conspiratorial grin says I’ve made the right decision.

I hand it to her, and she types in a number and saves it under Jolene. “This is the name of the Renegades therapist. We brought her on because she specializes in grief, but also, she knows the team and our situation. If you don’t want to talk with her, she’s got a couple colleagues that a few of the wives and girlfriends see regularly.”

“But I’m not. Ford and I aren’t—” Literally what can I say? A good portion of the starting lineup saw us together at game night, but I definitely don’t have the wife or girlfriend title. “I mean—it’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“What do you mean?”

“See that guy down there?” Willow nods toward the field. “The one behind the plate?”

I raise a brow. “You mean the catcher?”

“That’s the one.”

“What about him?”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

How did I not know this?

Probably because I’ve been living under a rock the last year, but still I feel like this is something Ford should have mentioned at some point.

“What I’m saying is, you can’t always control who you fall for.” She shakes her head and laughs. “In fact, he’s my reason for needing therapy. That man has more feelings than a teenage girl, but I love him.”

I snort a laugh in return. “That is undeniably the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Willow leans in like she’s going to tell me a secret and whispers, “More romantic than Ford’s little declaration on the third base line?”

My cheeks turn crimson, and I fiddle my hands nervously in my lap. “That’s not—he’s not—it’s just what he calls me.”

“Uh huh.” She smiles, then startles like she’s had an epiphany. “Gosh, is this what Carson felt like when he could see Bishop and I were two idiots in love?”

“What?” I’m pretty sure she just called Ford and me idiots, but I’m not about to question it.

“Never mind.” Willow reaches over and this time doesn’t hesitate to take my hand in hers. “Regardless of what you and Ford are, what matters is you’re just as much a Renegade as he is. And whatever you need, we’ve got you.”

I’m a Renegade.

I wonder if she realizes the irony of a renegade being a traitor by definition. But maybe there is comradery among rebels.

“I—uh—thank you.”

“Welp.” Willow claps her hands together. “As much as I’d love to hide out here and chat for the rest of the game, I’ve got to go schmooze some board members in the hopes they’ll support my million-dollar accessibility parking lot. But I’m glad we got to talk, and I put my number in your phone too. So, whatever you need just call.” She stands and slides down the row before turning back. “Oh. I meant to ask you. Do you like to read?”

Stunned by her calm, business badassery, it takes me a moment to realize she’s waiting for an answer. “I haven’t had much time recently, but I enjoy a romance from time to time.”

“Perfect. I’m going to text you when we have our next team book club night.”

“I can’t wait.”

And even though there are tears filling my eyes, I’m shocked to find I mean it. A year ago, I couldn’t comprehend having this. Then Paige found me. Now I have Ford, Soph, the D&D gang and soon to be Willow and the other WAGs. Having friends is a profound part of life I didn’t realize I needed more of.

When I finish blinking away the tears that are more happy than sad, I look back down at the third baseline to make sure those four letters weren't a dream.

But they’re still there. And so is the man who wrote them.

He’s looking up at the suite, and I swear, even though there are thousands of people in this stadium, he’s able to pick me out of them. My heart flutters when his lips stretch into a smile, and he looks down at his word in the dirt, then back up at me.

Then he’s back to business, focused on the next play.

The interaction doesn’t last more than fifteen seconds, but it’s seared into my heart forever.

Carson makes the pitch, and the batter from Tampa hits a line drive right in the space between Ford and the teammate next to him.

My breath catches in my lungs as Ford pushes off and dives for the ball, making an incredible mid-air catch for out number three.

The crowd goes wild, and out of nowhere Paige is at my side, hugging me.

“That’s some guy you got there.”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

Because while the whole stadium is cheering for Ford, he couldn’t care less. He lifts the ball and points at the suite, only having eyes for me.