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I release a happy sigh.
“It’s settled.” My free hand pats our joined fingers. “Tomorrow I’ll attend my first sportsball game. When we get home, we’ll order pizza for lunch, extra cheese and bacon. Afterward, I’ll get some painting in, and then we can play Hungry Hungry Hippos, Uno, and Exploding Kittens.”
“I can’t tell if you’re stringing random words together or if you’re having a stroke.”
I glance over as Shane rolls to a stop at a red light. When our eyes meet, I want nothing more than to capture this moment.
Portrait of a mistreated man on the crux of hope.
Shane is so heart-wrenchingly beautiful right now. His uneven-colored eyes look lighter than I’ve ever seen them. With the world still gray and muddied behind him, his copper hair and the slight lift of his lips shine brighter by contrast.
I know, deep in my bones, that Shane has never told anyone that story. He’s been carrying the weight of his affectionless childhood like a rucksack of stones, bearing it in silence.
The only thing more obvious than his dad and brothers being massive dirtbags is that Shane grew up without any fun. The fact that he doesn’t know the names of some of the most iconic childhood games is proof enough. I bet Shane never got to ride bikes, or play mermaids, or swing until his feet touched the sky.
No wonder he’s such a grumpypus.
A wad of emotion gets stuck in my throat before I set a dazzling smile on my lips.
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to kidnap me and take me to the hospital again.”
Shane groans. “I thought we agreed—”
“Drive, silly goose. The light’s green.”
He turns the radio back on before accelerating through the intersection, softly squeezing our joined fingers.
“The silly goose is behind you.”
I grin at his joke, but my mind is busy plotting how to recreate some of the best parts of childhood. Dozens of ideas flood my brain as a bubble of excitement fizzes down my spine.
Shane “Murder Vibes” Seaver has no idea what’s in store for him.
Chapter 22
Shane
“Ishould have expected this,” I grumble, fouling off another ball from the high-speed pitching machine.
“What did you think would happen after dropping a bomb like that and ignoring the group chat all morning?” Colton asks from outside the netting surrounding the batting cage.
The rest of the Waves lineup crowds around him instead of handling their own pregame prep like they’re supposed to. The other cages should be filled, the reassuring crack of bats sounding over coaches calling out adjustments. The scent of pine tar slips into my nose as I roll my shoulders back and prepare for another pitch.
“We’re just happy for you,” Tenny adds, holding an oversized Congratulations card that looks like it was signed by the whole franchise. He’s also got a newlywed gift basket filled with champagne, his-and-hers flutes, and various snacks, including my favorite flavor of sunflower seeds. “We wanted you to know that.”
“It’s pretty hard to not talk about major life events with the guys you spend the majority of your time with,” DJ adds, “especially after a press release.”
Instead of answering, I keep swinging.
Deep down, I know it’s not my teammates’ fault that I’m stuck in a DEFCON-1-level mood. It’s just…yesterday was nothing like I expected. Antiquing, greasy pizza, and goofy childhood games were more fun than I could’ve imagined. The way Willow threw herself into each activity with zeal and enthusiasm kept making me smile.
Plus, I’ve never opened up to anyone about my family before. Brielle was so starstruck by my famous father and brothers that I felt like I could never be honest about how unhappy I’d been growing up. Coming clean felt like someone took an overloaded barbell off my chest.
Then came the clincher.
If there’d been any chance of keeping a level head during this fake marriage, I lost hope after seeing Willow paint. Ostensibly, I was in the living room, watching video on today’s pitching lineup, but I couldn’t focus for more than a few seconds before my attention drifted to Willow.
The patient way she layered different colors to bring Piper to life was hypnotic. She spent two hours on the arch of Piper’s brow alone, making tiny adjustments with quiet concentration. It was captivating and—honestly, there’s no better way to describe it—breathtaking.
