Page 114 of Third Strike Smitten

Thank you for your willingness to step in and take on a challenging flight assignment during a team member’s maternity leave. We are grateful for your time and efforts and for representing the company through your work with the Portland Lagers.

Please be advised that your contract with the Lagers will end on September 27th and your new assignment with Seabird Industries will begin on October 1st out of New York JFK Airport. I will send the details of this assignment in a second email.

Thank you again.

We hope you enjoyed your time with the Portland Lagers.

Betsy

Corporate Flight Coordinator

The words blur together as I read them again, and then a third time.

New York?

My stomach twists into knots so tight I can barely breathe. The 27th…that’s tomorrow. But there is no flight tomorrow. The Lagers play at home for their final game of the season in a few days, which means…my contract is technically over. October 1st is just five days away.

Five days until I’m supposed to walk away from Killian, from the relationship we’ve built over the last couple of months.

That was never supposed to be real.

I set the phone down carefully, like it might explode if I’m not gentle with it. The morning sunlight streams through Killian’s bedroom window, catching on the gold bracelet he gave me last month at the gala. The baseball charm winks at me, a tiny reminder of everything I’m about to lose.

“Shit,” I mutter to the empty room.

I should be happy. This is what I wanted. A clean break, a new assignment, a fresh start. No messy goodbyes, no complicated emotions, no risk of having my heart shattered into a million pieces when something inevitably goes wrong.

So why does the thought of leaving make me feel like I’m being torn in two?

Why does my heart feel like it’s shredding from the inside out?

The bed is still warm where Killian slept, the pillow still holding the impression of his head. I press my face into it, inhaling deeply. His scent—that mix of leather and something uniquely Killian—fills my lungs, and my eyes sting with tears I refuse to let fall.

“Get it together, Fallon,” I mutter to myself, pushing up from the bed. “This was always the plan. You knew this.”

Yeah, I knew this was coming, but somehow I still feel blindsided. Like I’ve been running full speed toward a cliff, and now that I’ve reached the edge, I can’t figure out how to stop.

The bathroom door opens, and Killian steps out, a towel slung low around his hips, water droplets still clinging to his skin. My heart stutters at the sight of him, the tattoos on his forearms, the way his abs tighten as he moves. He’s so beautiful.

“Morning, Coach,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep. “You’re up early.”

I quickly wipe my eyes and force a smile. “Just checking my email.”

He crosses the room, bending down to press a kiss to the top of my head. “Anything important?”

My throat tightens. This is it. This is the moment I have to tell him. “Killian, I⁠—”

“Hold that thought,” he interrupts, straightening up. “I’ve got something to show you first.”

He disappears into the closet, and I hear the rustle of fabric before he emerges holding a small, wrapped box. My stomach drops. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to tell him about the email, and then we’d have a civil conversation about our arrangement coming to an end. But instead, he’s standing there with a gift, looking at me with an expression I can’t read.

“Killian, I really need to⁠—”

“Wait,” he says, his voice dropping to that low register that usually makes my knees weak. “Just...let me do this first before I chicken out.”

He crosses the room and sits beside me on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The towel rides dangerously low on his hips, but I can’t focus on that right now. Not when he’s holding that box like it contains something precious.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he says, turning the package over in his hands. “And I know timing might not be perfect, but when is it ever, right?”