Page 113 of Third Strike Smitten

I stand reluctantly, not wanting to leave this moment, this almost-breakthrough. “Don’t go anywhere,” I tell her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

She nods, her attempt at a smile following me as I make my way to the guys. “Revolutionary? More like a war crime against rhythm,” I call back, joining the circle where Bishop is still trying to defend his questionable moves.

“Bro, come on,” Bishop pleads, grabbing my arm. “Show Mack what the Haynes brothers can do. Remember that dance we did at our cousin’s wedding?”

I shake my head, trying to suppress my smile. “That was a disaster, and you know it.”

Sebastian materializes beside us, phone already recording. “Please tell me you’re going to do the wedding dance. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

“Don’t you dare,” I warn, but it’s too late. Sebastian has already queued up some old-school hip-hop track, and Bishop is already moving with an enthusiasm that’s painful to watch.

“Come on, Kill! It’s for Mack!” Bishop stage-whispers, though everyone can hear him. “I need to impress her!”

“You’re doing the opposite of impressing her,” I mutter, but I’m already moving my feet into position. The team forms a circle around us, cheering and clapping as Sebastian cranks up the volume.

The dance is ridiculous, something we made up on the spot at our cousin’s wedding when we were three sheets to the wind, but it gets the job done. I attempt to synchronize a move that involves spinning and finger guns and by the time we finish the ridiculous routine—complete with a spin move that nearly sends Bishop crashing into the cooler—the whole team is howling. Even Mackenzie, who’s been trying so hard to maintain her unimpressed facade, has tears streaming down her face.

“Okay, okay,” she concedes, wiping her eyes. “That was... something.”

“Something amazing,” Bishop corrects, his chest puffed out with pride.

“Something, definitely,” she says, but there’s a softness in her expression that wasn’t there before. “I’ll give you points for commitment, Hopper.”

“Commitment is my middle name,” Bishop says, then pauses. “Actually, it’s James. Bishop James Haynes. But commitment sounds better.”

“Only because your initials are BJ,” Brock says with a shit-eating grin.

I catch Isla’s eye across the circle, and she’s doubled over with laughter. Something about seeing her like that—completely unguarded, completely in the moment—makes my heart swell with a feeling so intense it almost hurts.

“Haynes! Encore!” someone shouts from the crowd.

I’m about to protest when Alaric’s phone blares with that familiar Backstreet Boys intro. The team erupts in cheers, and before I can stop him, Sebastian has shoved his phone in my face.

“Your song, bro!” he crows. “Show us those moves!”

I groan but can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “You’re all assholes, you know that?”

“Assholes who want to see you dance!” Bishop shouts, already positioning himself beside me.

I glance at Isla, who’s watching me with that look, the one that says she knows exactly how uncomfortable I am but finds it absolutely delightful anyway. She raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a challenge.

“You owe me for that,” I mouth to her.

She just grins and blows me a kiss.

The first notes of “I Want It That Way” fill the backyard, and the team goes wild. Bishop grabs my arm, pulling me into a ridiculous dance that’s part nostalgia, part humiliation.

This is what it feels like to be home, I realize. Not just in a place, but with a person. This is what I want every day for the rest of my life.

24

ISLA

The email comes on a Tuesday morning, and I know before I even open it that it’s going to ruin everything.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with that familiar airline logo. I reach for it with fingers that feel oddly numb, my heart already sinking before I’ve read a single word.

Dear Ms. Fallon,