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three

Rory

“Thank you for helping,” Lane says as he, Sage, and I stroll back into his penthouse.

Sage apparently dropped her favorite stuffed dinosaur when walking back from the parade yesterday. Lane called in reinforcements to help find it—and by reinforcements, I mean he called his daughter’s favorite nanny.

By some fucking miracle, we find it right outside the stadium, just a bit of dirt dotting the bottom.

“You know I’ll always run to help my Lovebug,” I smile.

That’s true; I would drop almost anything to run over and help her. I’ve always loved kids—I have a degree in early childhood education—but Sage is the best one I know. I’m always happy to be here if she needs me.

But running over here and helping today wasn’t entirely about Sage. I also just needed to get out of my head.

Cole and I might not be acting awkward around each other now, but I’m still playing that moment in the showers over again and again in my mind.

We agreed that it was the adrenaline of the World Series win. Maybe that’s true for Cole.

Me?

No. I wanted it.

I wanted to give my friend a fucking blow job while his team was twenty feet away celebrating.

Thank God we stopped before anything actually happened. Nothing will ever be able to happen between us.

My dad will never change, and it would be stupid of Cole to risk his career. But even more so, I can’t believe he’d ever see me as more than a friend.

I just have to accept that.

“Rory?” Lane says, abruptly bringing me out of my trance.

“Huh?”

“You didn’t hear a damn thing I said. What’s with you this week? You were late yesterday, and you’re constantly spacing out. You’re acting weird.”

“It’s… nothing,” I say. “Definitely nothing.”

He chuckles. “Rory, you only have a good poker face when you’re playing cards. Right now, I know you’re full of shit.”

I lean back against his kitchen counter as I throw my head back and sigh. “Guy troubles, that’s all.”

“You interested in someone?” Lane eyes me curiously.

“It ain’t you,” I reply, crossing my arms.

“Ooh, but you didn’t deny that you are interested in someone.”

“Goddamn you, Brooks,” I groan. “Getting me to admit that without thinking.”

He chuckles while grabbing an apple from the counter and taking a bite. “It’s my superpower. How do you think I got Knox to admit he wasn’t dating Harlow at first?”

“Can you just… not press it, please? Things were awkward recently because something almost happened between us, but it’s really not anything I can talk about. We just got back to normal again.”

“Okay… but you can talk to me if you need to. I’m great at keeping secrets. Just consider me one of the girls.”

That pulls a genuine laugh from me. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You say ridiculous,” he replies, setting Sage’s diaper bag on the floor. “But I did make you smile, so you know you love it.”

I roll my eyes as I chuckle. “You know I come around here for Sage, right? You’re actually insufferable, Lane Brooks.”

“Another lie. You’re on a roll today, Rory Fisher.”

“Fuck off.”

“Duck!” Sage shouts from where she stands by my feet. “Duck, duck, duck!”

I groan. “Well, seems like we all need to be a bit more careful around Miss Sage since she’s turning into a parrot.”

“I’m so fucked when she starts preschool in a couple years.”

“Duck!”

I laugh heartily. “Oh, you sure are, Brooks. You sure are.”

“Hey, Dad!” I shout as I slide off my sneakers in my dad’s entryway. “Smells amazing in here.”

I walk out into the open-concept first floor of the brownstone home I grew up in in the heart of Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. My dad bought this place in 1987, right after he signed his rookie contract with the NY Stars and back before housing in New York became practically unaffordable. He’s done a lot of renovating over the years, but the exterior is still the beautiful brownstone row home it’s always been.

“There’s my baby girl,” he says, wiping his hands on his apron and pulling me in for a tight hug. “How have you been?”

“Dad,” I laugh. “You saw me at the parade yesterday.”

He folds his arms in front of him. “Let an old man care about his only daughter’s well-being.”

I laugh as I lean up and place a kiss on his cheek. “Love you, Dad. Whatcha making?”

“Meatballs. Just finished before you walked in.”

“Then I think it’s time we dig in,” I say, heading off toward the kitchen as my dad laughs.

I grab a couple plates from the cabinet and set them on the table while my dad grabs two bottles of water before joining me. Taking seats across from each other, we fill our plates.

I have to keep from moaning in pleasure when I sink my teeth into that first bite. “Damn, Dad. This is your best batch yet.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Been tweaking my recipe lately to get it right.”

“Well, it’s perfect. Honestly, I don’t know how you stay in shape at all when you can cook like this.”

He laughs heartily. “I’m with my team in the gym often. Helps me work all this off.”

“Helps them, too, apparently. They just won the damn World Series.”

“They did. First time the Stars brought the pennant home in twenty years.”

I reach across the table and place my hand on top of my dad’s. “And the first since you started managing the team seven years ago. You’ve done an incredible job with them, Dad.”

He places his other hand on top of mine and squeezes. “Thank you. Maybe we’ll be able to host another champagne shower next year.” Before he continues, my dad makes a strange face. “Where were you during that, by the way? I didn’t see you in the clubhouse.”

“I was there!” I all but shout as I choke on my water. “I was in the clubhouse.”

“You were?”

No, I dragged Cole over to the showers where no one else was around.

But I’m sure as fuck not going to tell him that.

“Yep,” I breathe. “Must’ve just missed me since it was crowded.”

My dad eyes me curiously but thankfully doesn’t press it. “Must have. Make sure you come to celebrate with your old man at the next one.”

“You got it, Dad,” I smile. “Next time you win the World Series, I’ll personally spray champagne all over you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Rory.”

How much longer can I keep acting like this?

Over the past several days, everyone has noticed that I’m not acting like my usual self.

I’m generally outgoing, brash, and a bit flirty. But I can’t talk to anyone, apparently, without it being evident that something is wrong.

And that something is Cole Pierce.

Rather, what I can’t do with Cole Pierce. And fuck , the things I want to do to—and with—that man.

I need a clear head.

I haven’t felt this out of sorts in years, so without thinking, I find myself rifling through my hall closet, looking for something I haven’t used in just as long.

“Where is it?” I mutter, shoving random shit I forgot I even had out of the way. “Ah!” I exclaim as I spot the white box on the back of a shelf.

Standing on my tiptoes, I reach for it and pull it out before bringing it to my dining room table.

I take a seat and open the box in front of me, pulling out all of the art supplies I used to use so frequently.

I’ve always loved to draw. According to my dad, I started by drawing on the walls of his house before he started getting me an endless supply of sketch pads and pencils.

Art is my emotional outlet. Through school, my art pad was the only place I could sort through everything I felt.

About the way I’d get bullied for being the only black kid in my super white private school.

About the way I struggled to make friends because nobody wanted to befriend the overweight, frizzy-haired kid, even if she was the daughter of New York’s star player.

About the way my mom was hardly ever around and how much that hurt me. It still hurts me, but I’ve gotten used to it by now. If she doesn’t want to know me, that’s on her. My therapist really helped with that.

Right now, though, the only feelings I need to process are the ones I have for my best friend’s brother.

With a clean sheet of paper in front of me and an assortment of pens and pencils, I start to sketch on instinct, letting my hand dictate the picture it’s forming.

But even mindlessly, it’s still always Cole I’m thinking of.

And that’s obvious as the sketch in front of me starts taking the shape of the tattooed, long-haired, and steel blue-eyed Stars’ shortstop.

I’m going to have to fight like hell to forget all about these feelings.

Deep down, though, I know I’ll never be able to fight off how I feel.

I’m just doomed to live a long life without another person to make up my other half.