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B rooks

Interviews weren’t my favorite thing, but I didn’t mind them when they weren’t with some jaded reporter digging for a viral soundbite. This one? A student journalist for the local university paper. Low stakes. Plus, she let me pick the time and place—Ned’s Café.

I hadn’t stepped through these doors in years, but the moment I did, it was like nothing had changed. The same worn-out bell jingled overhead, the air thick with the scent of fresh coffee and sugar-dusted pastries. A wave of nostalgia hit me, warm and familiar, like an old song I hadn’t heard in a while. My stomach rumbled at the scent of cinnamon rolls, but I hadn’t come here just to eat.

The girl at the register—young, fresh-faced, probably a college kid—froze when she saw me.

“H-hello,” she stammered, eyes wide. “Can I help you?”

“Morning.” I scanned the café, looking past her for a familiar face. “Is Ned here?”

She nodded toward the back office but didn’t take her eyes off me. “You’re…Brooks Madsen.”

I gave her an easy smile. “That’s me.”

She blinked too fast. “You used to work here? Like, this café?”

“Back in the day.” I leaned on the counter, dropping my voice playfully. “Still the best job I ever had.”

Her mouth parted in shock like I’d just told her I’d discovered fire. “Wow.”

I chuckled as I went to the back and knocked on the office door. Heavy footsteps shuffled closer before it swung open, revealing Ned Olsen—grayer, grumpier, and still built like a brick wall.

“Brooks Madsen, you still got the same ugly mug.”

I grinned. “And you still look like a fossil.”

The old man barked out a laugh before pulling me into a quick, solid hug, clapping me on the back. It felt…good. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this place until now.

“Heard you got traded back to Phoenix,” he said, shaking his head. “Bet your mom’s thrilled.”

A punch to the gut.

I forced my expression to stay light. “Yeah. She is.”

Ned didn’t push. He just nodded, understanding lingering in his sharp old eyes. “Clarissa’s gonna be pissed she missed you.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Still keeps me in line. Hip’s been giving her hell, but she’ll survive.” He motioned toward the café. “So, you here to eat? Or are you finally begging for your old job back?”

I laughed, the tension in my chest easing. “If I get bored in the offseason, this is the first place I’ll come.”

“You better. If I hear you slumming it somewhere else, we’re gonna have a problem.” Ned smirked, but then his face softened. “Damn good to see you, kid.”

“You too, old man.”

A flash of light pulled my attention over my shoulder. I turned just in time to catch Ashley guiltily lowering her phone.

“S-sorry,” she stammered, her face flushing. “I just— I wanted to tell my friends?—”

Ned’s expression darkened. “No phones on the clock. Delete it. Now.”

Her fingers trembled over the screen. “It’s… already sent.” She winced. “I can’t undo it.”

Ned groaned, rubbing his temples. “Dammit, girl. Privacy is important. Brooks ain’t some tourist attraction. He’s like family.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling. Three seconds later, she was full-on crying.

Ned’s face contorted into sheer panic. I bit back a laugh. The man could run a café with an iron fist, but throw a crying girl in front of him, and he had no clue what to do.

“Ashley,” I said gently, “Why don’t you take a quick break?”

She sniffled. “Are— are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll cover the counter.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh my God, I made Brooks Madsen work my shift.” Then, before either of us could respond, she bolted toward the bathroom.

Ned let out a heavy sigh. “I swear, this generation?—”

“She’s fine.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, where’s my apron?”

He eyed me. “You serious?”

I was already moving toward the hook by the storage door, where an old, stained apron still hung, probably untouched for years. I grabbed it, looped it over my neck, and washed my hands at the sink. The muscle memory came back instantly.

“I don’t need you hovering, old man,” I teased, stepping up to the counter. “I still remember how to do this.”

Ned exhaled, shaking his head—but damn if he didn’t look pleased.

“If the world could see you now…”

I smirked, rolling up my sleeves. “Let’s not get carried away.”

The bell over the door chimed, and I turned toward my first customer in years, feeling more at home than I had in a long, long time.

“You only get one free pastry when you work. I’ll know if you sneak more.”

“Try and stop me.” I made a smug face at him, but he didn’t get to respond because the bell chimed.

Showtime.

A middle-aged couple ordered two black coffees and breakfast sandwiches. Easy enough.

Next, a latte and a scone.

Two-for-two.

Then came a mocha frappe. I hesitated. It had been years, and while I could still pull a perfect shot of espresso in my sleep, the fancy drinks weren’t as fresh in my memory.

From the doorway, Ned smirked. He smelled my struggle. “Need help, Madsen?”

“In your dreams.”

I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. Mocha. Ice. Milk. Chocolate chips. Coffee. Blend . I poured a test sip, tasted it, nodded. Still got it.

Handing it off to the customer, I smiled. “Here you go.”

She paid but lingered, eyes narrowing. “Hey… are you Brooks?”

“Depends who’s asking.” I winced—probably not the best response, considering she could be anywhere from eighteen to twenty-five, and I never crossed that line. “Sorry. Yeah, that’s me.”

Her gaze flicked around the café like she’d caught me committing a crime. “Why are you… working here?”

I bit back a sigh. “I worked here as a teenager and still love the place.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but before I could shut down whatever she was implying, she straightened. “Oh. I’m Anna. Anna Peterson.”

Recognition clicked. My agent’s daughter’s friend. The one I was supposed to be meeting.

“Anna Peterson,” I repeated, exhaling a quiet laugh. “Looks like we’re doing an interview, huh?” I checked my watch. “Guess time flies when you’re making frappes.”

She ducked her head, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, yeah. I’ll just… grab a table?”

I nodded, washing my hands while Ned slid in to take over the counter.

“Want me to get Ashley out of the bathroom?” he asked, still shaking his head at the whole ordeal.

“Nope,” I said, drying my hands.

“Go do your interview, hotshot.” He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “As much shit as I want to give you, you did good.”

“Thanks for the overwhelming praise.” I smirked, making my way to Anna’s table, grabbing my free coffee and one of Ned’s perfect apple scones along the way. I actually took two and snuck a twenty near the cash register.

She fidgeted with her phone, finally meeting my eyes. “I’m going to record this, okay?”

“Fine by me.” I took a sip of coffee. “But I’ve only got twenty minutes before I head out.”

“Right. Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “You grew up in Phoenix, right? How does it feel being back?”

The trade hadn’t been a shock—my free agency guaranteed a new deal—but to end up home for the next five years? That was the part I hadn’t expected. And I couldn’t stop smiling about it, which pissed my brother off.

“I love being home,” I said honestly. “My family’s here. My friends. Spring training was great because I didn’t have to travel. I’m looking forward to putting down roots.”

“Family is important to you.” She tilted her head. “Tell me about them.”

The easy warmth in my chest tightened.

I kept my expression even. “It’s just me, my brother, and my mom. We’re close. Logan, my brother can be a pain in the ass, but he’ll always be my best friend. And my mom? She raised two boys on her own and didn’t lose her mind. That makes her a rock star.” My stomach soured thinking about her now, how she was doing, were her symptoms worse…but I forced the thought away.

Anna smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “What are your favorite things to do here?”

“Golf, hiking. Just enjoying the fact that the weather doesn’t suck.” I jutted my chin toward the counter. “Might even spend some time here when I can.”

“You used to work here?” Her brows furrowed. “How’d you find time with all the baseball?”

I frowned at the way she worded that, but reminded myself she was a student, not a seasoned journalist. “If I wanted cleats or a new glove, I had to earn it. My mom worked hard to provide the necessities, but extra stuff? That was on us.”

Her expression shifted. “Wow. I didn’t know that about you.”

I arched a brow. “What, did you think I had a trust fund?”

She blanched. “Oh my God. I didn’t mean?—”

I chuckled. “Relax. I’m not offended. It’s an easy assumption.”

Her face scrunched up as she chewed on the end of her pen. “You’re different than I thought.”

“I do a lot of interviews,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “If you don’t mind some advice—try not to go in with assumptions. It makes your questions sound loaded, and that won’t be fair to your readers.”

She sighed, clicking off the recording. “You’re right. I feel bad now. You’re not… an entitled asshole.”

I snorted. “Thanks?”

She laughed, eyes lighting up. “Okay, new idea. Can I start over?”

I checked the time. “I’ve got about ten minutes. If we can fit it in there, I’m game.”

She perked up. “Perfect. I’ve been going about this all wrong. Your roots are here—your family, your past. That’s what I want people to see. Not just Brooks Madsen, the player, but the guy behind it.”

I sat back, intrigued. “How do you suggest we do that?”

She grinned. “Get back behind the counter. I’m going to observe you with customers and write about that Brooks Madsen. The real one.”

I laughed, already standing. “Sounds good to me. It’ll give Ned a chance to find his employee.”

“You heard her, Ned,” I called, tying my apron back on. “I’m back on the clock.”

“You’re not getting another free pastry,” he shouted, but his amusement snuck through.

“I would never dream of it.” I winked at Anna as the bell chimed again.

Showtime. Again.

* * *

I was a grown-ass man who should not be nervous about being invited to a new teammate’s house. I was secure with who I was, how I played the game and my lifestyle, yet the thought of showing up to an engagement party of All-Star Gideon Titan shook me from my normal confidence. It was a big move of him to invite me, and I appreciated being included, but the invite felt too personal. I was just traded to the team and we hadn’t bonded on the field yet.

Dressed in dark jeans and a green sweater, I drove to his place and tapped my fingers against the wheel to the beat of The Offspring. Nothing bad would come of me dropping by for an hour. I could meet some of the guys, have a beer or two, and head home to fight with my brother about our mom’s future. The usual.

Sounded like a solid Saturday night for me.

The house had a large circular drive that reminded me of Home Alone, and I parked alongside the trucks and Beamers. The interview had run a little longer than I would’ve liked, but thankfully the invite had said it was a come-and-go party, so I wouldn’t look like a total douche coming in late. I’d bought a fancy bottle of champagne for them since I didn’t know either of them well, and I hoped it would go over well. Who didn’t appreciate a nice glass of champagne?

Or at least a mimosa? Logan and I got into some trouble whenever we did a bottomless mimosa brunch.

The massive front door had one of those sleek, high-tech cameras that tracked my every move as I approached. I knocked, still not entirely sure what I was walking into.

Gideon opened the door immediately, pulling me inside with a handshake before introducing me to three teammates within minutes. I passed him the champagne and he clapped me on the back. Phew. He liked the gift.

“You settled in all right?” he asked, passing me a cold Four Peaks Kiltlifter and nodding toward Brigham Monaghan, Tate O’Donahue, and Peter Smith—an up-and-comer with something to prove. “I think it’s safe to say the team’s excited to have Bummy for five years.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. No matter how many contracts I signed, that name wouldn’t die.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I said, keeping it light. “Appreciate the invite, man.”

“No sweat.” Gideon gave me a firm nod before waving over a petite blonde with sharp eyes and an easy confidence. “This is my fiancée, Fiona. Fi, meet Bummy.”

She tilted her head, sizing me up. “Bummy?”

“It’s a dumb story,” I admitted.

Her grin turned playful. “I still want to hear it.”

I sighed, resigned. “Middle name’s Ulysses. In junior high, we had to write our initials on the back of our PE shirts. Instead of BM, I added the U. First month of school, someone ran with it, and now I’m stuck.”

Fiona pursed her lips like she was considering something profound, then smirked. “I like it. Welcome back to Phoenix, Bummy.”

“Thanks… I think.”

Brigham slung an arm over my shoulder. “Hey, I have an idea. Take my spot tomorrow.”

I blinked. “For what?”

“Tee time in the morning,” Gideon answered. “Brigs is sitting out because of his shoulder. You golf?”

I nodded. It wouldn’t hurt to get to know the guys more.

“Want to tag along?” He sounded genuinely hopeful. “Low stress. Fiona’s best friend will be there too—super chill.”

“She hates professional athletes, though,” Fiona added dryly. “So no worries about her clinging to you.”

Gideon chuckled. “So, what do you say?”

They all watched me, and I recognized the unspoken invitation. They were a tight-knit group. If I could be part of that, this season would feel a whole lot better.

I nodded. “Yeah. Why not?”

“Thatta guy.” Gideon clapped my shoulder, then pointed toward the food. “I’m grabbing something before it’s gone.”

“We should talk less and eat more,” Fiona agreed, shooting me a knowing smile before following him.

That left me with Brigham, Tate, and Peter, who wasted no time diving into shop talk—management changes, team chemistry, the usual preseason chatter.

I listened, taking it all in. It was better to study the dynamic first, learn the personalities, get a feel for the team. So far, I hadn’t had issues with teammates anywhere I played, and I didn’t plan on starting now.

My brother, Logan, was the loud, attention-seeking one. He could command a room without trying. I wasn’t like that, despite the fame that came with my job. It still surprised people that I wasn’t the guy holding court at the center of every conversation.

Brigham studied me for a beat. “What do you think, Bummy? We got a shot this year?”

I considered. “Depends on rotation and injuries. We have the talent—we just gotta bring it.”

“Damn straight,” he said just as a knock sounded at the door. “I’ll get it.”

My stomach growled, and I veered toward the food table, loading up on carne asada tacos, chips, and salsa. The pastries from Ned’s had been good but not enough. I knew I should’ve snuck more.

Then, laughter cut through the room.

Sharp. Bright. Familiar.

I hadn’t heard that particular laugh in two years.

My grip on the plate tightened as I followed the sound, weaving through the crowd, my mind already recognizing who it belonged to.

And then, I found her.

Michelle.

The fan-fucking-tastic fling that had ended without a damn reason.

Heat crawled up my neck, anger simmering beneath my skin—an old wound ripped wide open. I barely heard the conversation she was having with Fiona before she slipped away toward the kitchen.

I followed.

She was bent over, rummaging through the fridge, completely unaware that the past had just walked in behind her. She stood, plate in hand, and I cleared my throat.

She froze like she could feel the energy in the room shift like I felt when I heard her laugh..

She set the plate down, slow and careful—like she’d just been caught red-handed.

Then her gaze landed on me, and every ounce of fake composure vanished.

Her lips parted. “Brooks?”

I let the silence stretch, let her feel it.

“Yeah.” My voice was low, even. Dangerously calm. “Long time, no see.”

I leaned in just enough to watch her swallow hard. She looked the same—beautiful, perfect, mine. “It’s been, what… two years since you slammed the door in my face?”