Page 12

12

B rooks

"Remember our rules, please."

Michelle and her fucking rules. I had hated them since the second she laid them out.

But back then, they made perfect sense. Two years ago, I needed an escape.

The night I got the call about my mom, I had been on the road, two games deep into an away series, exhausted but feeling normal—or as normal as I ever felt. I almost didn’t pick up when my brother called. I was sitting at the hotel bar, laughing at something dumb one of my teammates said, sipping a whiskey I didn’t need, waiting for my food to come out.

Then Logan’s name flashed across my screen and everything in my life split into before and after. Before, my mom had just been a little forgetful. Before, she was busy—too distracted to return texts right away, too scattered to remember little things, like where she put her car keys or what time our games started. It was normal.

Then Logan said the words. Early-onset dementia. Rapid progression. I stopped hearing anything else.

I hung up, my stomach in knots, my skin too tight, my pulse hammering in my ears. I didn’t touch my food when it arrived. I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t think past the choking, horrible thought of losing her—slowly, painfully, while she was still right in front of me.

I grabbed my coat and walked the city for hours, ignoring calls, ignoring everything. And then I found a bar and Michelle.

I didn’t go looking for her, but somehow, I ended up in her space, watching her nurse a glass of beer in the same half-distracted, half-bored way she always did, like nothing in the world could have surprised her. She smirked when she saw me. Said something cocky, teasing, ridiculous. Probably about how I looked like hell.

And I fucking laughed. For the first time all night, I laughed. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push. She shared she had a shit night and wanted a distraction, something I also wanted myself. It was easy after that. She leaned into me, pressed her body against mine, whispered something in my ear that made me forget how fucking broken I felt inside.

And I let her.

I let her pull me into something reckless and easy and uncomplicated, let myself lose every thought in her body, in the way she didn’t care about anything beyond that moment. I let her be my escape.

And the next morning, when I woke up with her beside me, she laid out the rules.

Nothing more than first names.

No more than twice a week.

No questions or promises.

No dates.

A literal goddamn dream. I needed no strings. No expectations. No woman who wanted to ask about my family, who would try to fix what couldn’t be fixed. No woman who would try to slide into my life for the fame or money

Michelle didn’t care about baseball. She didn’t give a shit about who I was on the field, what I made, what people thought of me.

She just wanted an escape— guaranteed escape—for both of us.

And for a while, it worked.

But then it started feeling like a fucking leash.

Because at some point, those rules had stopped being convenient and had started to sting. At some point, I started wanting things I wasn’t supposed to want. I wanted to hear her laugh without pulling away from it. I wanted to keep her in bed after, instead of watching her slip away before the sun came up.

I wanted to touch her outside of the bedroom—without a reason, without an excuse, just because I fucking wanted to. But I couldn’t. Because every time I got close, every time she softened, every time I thought I should try…she reminded me of the rules.

And I had no choice but to follow them now, because when I tried breaking them before? She shoved me out of her life without a second of regret. No second chances. No hesitation. Just done.

If I pushed too hard again, she’d do it all over.

I told myself I could live with that. That I could play by the rules. That I wouldn’t fuck up my only chance at having her, even if it wasn’t in the way I wanted. But then she smiled at me.

Not the teasing, cocky smirk she threw around so easily, but the real one—the one she didn’t even realize she was giving, the one that softened her entire face and made her eyes light up like she wasn’t always bracing for the next hit. It was the rare one I’d get glimpses of in the morning light before she snuck away. The look of her curve lips and light eyes was like a punch to the gut. It knocked the wind out of me. And I knew I was lying to myself.

I was completely, hopelessly fucked. Her one night only bullshit? I’d let her think I’d follow her rule, but I was already planning on a million ways to ensure I’d remain in her life. I squeezed her hand, winked at her, and hoped like hell this time, she wouldn’t kick me out of her life again.

The speeches wrapped up, laughter echoing through the reception hall, silverware clinking against glasses. Fiona was glowing, grinning at her husband like she knew exactly what she was doing—like she wasn’t scared, wasn’t second-guessing, wasn’t looking for an out. I caught Michelle watching them, her fingers absently twisting her champagne flute, her brows pinched in thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I murmured, nudging her knee with mine.

She startled slightly, like she’d forgotten I was there, before rolling her eyes. “You’re cheap.”

I smirked. “Fine. A dollar.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head before tipping her glass to her lips. “It’s just weird seeing people so… sure.”

“Sure?”

She hesitated, then waved a hand toward Fiona and Gideon. “They just know they belong together. No hesitation. No second-guessing.”

“Some people are like that,” I said, watching her closely with my chest tightening. I fucking knew. I was damn sure I wanted her in my life.

“Not me.” She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head as some tendrils of hair fell across her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever been sure of anything in my life except that I’m a hot mess.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her that she was the most determined, focused, stubborn person I’d ever met. That she knew exactly what she wanted when it came to her career, her future. But when it came to letting people in?

That was a different story. And I wasn’t sure how to fix it. So instead, I smirked. “Well, I’m sure about one thing.”

She eyed me warily. “That sounds… dangerous. Not sure I like that confident look on your face, Madsen. In fact, I don’t trust it at all.”

I leaned in, my lips brushing just against the shell of her ear. “I’m pretty damn sure I’ll get you to orgasm three more times tonight without using my cock once.”

“Brooks.” She sat up straighter, eyes wide as her lips parted. “People can hear you.”

“Nah.” I waved a hand in the air, gesturing to the empty chairs near us. “Are you blushing, baby? My strong, stubborn woman is blushing from the promise of three orgasms? How precious.”

She glared at me, but not with real anger. She was so damn cute, I reached over and tucked her under my arm. “You might be the badass to everyone, but I know the truth.”

“Shut up.” She pinched my side, making me yelp, and her grin returned. “Ah, the great Brooks Madsen squeals like a child when you tickle him. You might be the badass to the baseball world, but I know the truth.”

“Is it weird I find it hot when you use my words against me?” I kissed the top of her head and released her, despite the fact I wanted to haul her even closer to me. “It’s a strange power move and I’m into it.”

She snorted before running a hand over her collarbone, a sign she was feeling some kind of way. I traced the movement with my gaze until she met my eyes, her dark blue ones filled with hesitation. “Why are you so easy to?—”

“Alright, everyone, now it’s time for a very special moment. Let’s give a big round of applause for the bride and her father as they share their dance.”

Damn. Michelle schooled her features after the DJ interrupted whatever she was going to say. Why was I so easy to…flirt with? Be charmed by? Loved by? Trusted? Any of those options would’ve been great to hear but she clammed up real tight and leaned back into her chair—the action causing distance between our thighs.

Wasn’t a fan of that but I gave her the space she needed.

Scattered applause rang through the room as the lights dimmed slightly, casting a soft golden glow over the polished wooden dance floor. I exhaled slowly, my shoulders tightening as Fiona took her father’s hand.

He was an older guy, built like a rancher, the kind of man who had seen some shit but still smiled like the world hadn’t beaten it out of him. He leaned down and whispered something to Fiona, and she threw her head back, laughing—really laughing, her entire body shaking with it.

The music swelled, a slow, classic tune filtering through the speakers, and they started moving—not stiffly, not awkwardly, but like they’d done this a hundred times before.

Like they’d been waiting for this moment. Like it meant something.

My chest ached, a dull, throbbing kind of pain that I knew wouldn’t go away. Because I would never have this with my mom, not with the version of the woman who raised two sons with a smile on her face. Not with the woman who told me we’d do a synchronized dance when I finally got hitched. That woman faded with the sickness and fuck, I missed her so much.

I dragged in a slow breath, rolling my shoulders back, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral despite the fucking heartbreaking feeling clawing its way through my soul. Michelle shifted beside me, watching me carefully, but she didn’t say anything.

Sweat pooled on my forehead and I cleared my throat, the aching, froggy feeling not disappearing despite the deep breaths. I did my best to not break down since receiving the news two years ago. Even when Logan cried, or when mom had a bad day, I held it together. I had to. I was the oldest brother, the man of the family, and yet all it took was one father-daughter dance to unravel the brickhouse of emotion I carefully built.

The song came to an end, Fiona giving her dad one last tight hug before the DJ spoke again. “And now, let’s welcome Gideon and his mother to the dance floor.”

More applause. More cheers.

I watched without meaning to, watched as Gideon’s mom beamed at him, her smile wide, her eyes a little misty. Watched as he bent to kiss her forehead before leading her into a slow, careful sway. The song was different this time—something a little more upbeat, a little more playful.

His mom whispered something to him, and he laughed, shaking his head. She swatted his shoulder lightly, rolling her eyes like she’d done it a million times before.

My throat went tight. I swallowed against it, tried to breathe past the heavy weight pressing against my ribs, but it didn’t budge. Michelle’s fingers curled around my wrist—soft, grounding, warm—and I realized I’d clenched my hands into fists against my thighs.

I forced them to relax.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t push.

Just let me sit there, let me feel it, let me work through the fact that this moment—this stupid, beautiful moment that no one else in this room would think twice about—was one I’d never get to have.

She traced her pointer finger over my wrist, making small circles over and over as the song continued. I focused on her touch, how calming it was, and finally the song ended and the emotional grip on my soul lifted. I almost broke down at a teammates wedding in front of the woman I was trying to convince that we could be more.

Jesus. Get it together. I took a large swig of the champagne, then another, before Michelle stilled my arm to prevent me from downing the entire thing. Glancing at her, I sucked in a breath at the worry on her face.

“Brooks,” she whispered, worry and sadness and an inner strength shining out of her. She said my name like it hurt her to even say it, like she was holding a piece of my pain for me. “What do you need?”

Fuck, I could fall so hard for this woman. There was no pity in her words, none of the are you okay bullshit because obviously, I was not. She asked what I needed. “I want?—"

“Alright, now it’s time for everyone to get on the dance floor! Grab a partner, because we’re picking up the tempo!” The DJ’s voice cut through our moment, once again interrupting our conversation.

Michelle arched a brow at me. “Let’s dance. Come on.”

“You?” I arched a brow. “I could barely get you to dance at the rehearsal dinner, Mitch. We don’t have to dance. I’m sorry?—”

“Listen to me.” She moved one hand, cupping my face gently, like I was something fragile for once. “You are allowed to feel however you need to feel,” she murmured. “And you don’t have to apologize for it.

I blinked, startled by how much I needed to hear that. “Michelle?—”

“No. None of that.” She stood, gripping the back of her chair as she narrowed her eyes a time. “We will dance and we will have fun.”

My lips twitched. “Is it weird to say you bossing me around is hot?”

That did it. She smiled my favorite smile, the one where her eyes crinkle and she shows almost too much teeth. “Goddamn it. I’m trying to comfort you, not the other way.”

I stood, taking my time nearing her as I took in how fucking breathtaking she was. The fabric hung to her curves, her hair was in the half-up, half down thing she always wore which I loved because it showcased her neck. I ran a finger over her collarbone, my thumb resting where her pulse raced and I bent down to kiss her jaw. “Thank you, Mitch. I needed you in that moment.”

She gasped, but I didn’t look back at her as I held a hand and led us to the dance floor. It was for all couples now, no special parent dance anymore. Those were done and I survived. Now, I breathed Michelle’s perfume in, remembering how it’d linger on my clothes after seeing her two years ago.

“Rest your head on my shoulder,” I said, running my hand down her back. I loved how the fabric showcased skin, because I wanted to feel hers. She comforted me in a way I didn’t know I needed, and I wanted more of her despite her one night only bullshit. “Come on, Mitch, don’t make me get bossier.”

She shook her head, but then finally rested her head on my shoulder and I tugged her even closer. I didn’t care that we looked like we’d been together for years and not just our first date. Her and I had a history and understanding that very few did and it was fucking special.

We swayed to some sappy Ed Sheeran song, as my fingers traced lazy patterns along her back.

She sighed, a small, barely-there sound, but I heard it and I knew what it meant.

Michelle didn’t use words to say she was comfortable or content or happy. She used moments like this. Little stolen pieces of affection that she only gave away when she felt safe.

I didn’t know what I was doing with her.

I didn’t know how the hell I was supposed to let her go after tonight.

But right now, her body was pressed against mine, and I wasn’t going to waste a second of it.