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Just as I’m starting to feel claustrophobic, my phone rings in my pocket.

But instead of my usual utilitarian ringtone, Natasha Bedingfield’s “Pocketful of Sunshine” blares. I’d forgotten that, after playing the slightly chaotic yet oddly satisfying game of Hungry Hungry Hippos, Willow changed her ringtone so I’d always know it was her.

“I need to get that,” I tell my team, using my elbows when they don’t immediately release me.

Colton rubs his ribs like a whiny baby as I dig the phone from my uniform pants pocket.

“Hey, Willow.” I should be embarrassed by how out of breath I sound, but the guys mobbing me makes for a pretty solid excuse.

“Oh, hey. Um…are you busy?”

Just hearing her voice sends a rush of warmth flooding my veins.

“Dude, look at his face,” Rhett says with a cackle. “Bro is down bad.”

“Put him on the injured list—he’s got love sickness,” Tenny agrees.

I shove the two of them, pressing my phone tighter to my ear to answer Willow. “What do you need?”

“It’s not a big deal. Just a tiny misunderstanding. You don’t need to freak out and get all mafia boss on anyone. The last thing we need is—”

“What’s wrong?” My jagged words silence the batting cages, sending my teammates on alert.

A hand squeezes my windpipe as Willow hesitates.

Then she releases a defeated breath. “I’m being detained by Waves security.”

Chapter 23

Willow

“Tell me where you are, then explain.” Shane’s growly demand sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. Apparently, I like it when he gets all mafia boss on me.

I glance around the gray, windowless room. “I don’t know where I am. It looks like a dungeony holding cell.”

“A holding cell?” Shane sounds like he’s two seconds from completely losing it.

“I know where she is,” another man’s voice says in the background. “Follow me.”

“How did this happen?” Shane asks, footsteps sounding like he’s running through a corridor.

I tug at my bangs, turning away from the metal bars to face Delilah and Adam, who’s holding a very nervous Piper. I send my niece a wink while sticking my tongue out, like being pulled aside and gruffly escorted to this tiny cell is a barrel of laughs. As long as I keep up the sparkling positivity, maybe I can also convince myself. Then I might stop feeling like I’m on the verge of tears.

We’d gotten our tickets and entered the park without issue, but since it’s two hours before the first pitch, only the diehard fans were in the stands. The guard from the briefcase incident recognized me before we’d even left the concourse and brought us to this pit of despair. A fluorescent bulb flickers overhead as the scents of stale coffee and bad decisions permeate the small space.

“It’s a funny story, really,” I say, infusing my voice with jokey warmth. “Remember when I tried to give you back all that money in a briefcase? Before you saw me, I might have had a small, teeny-tiny run-in with one of the security members. Would you believe it, he remembered me.” I spin to wave at the burly security guard like we’re old friends. “I guess I made an impression.”

“No one could forget you.”

Shane’s words fill the itchy, nervous hole at the base of my throat.

“Thanks.” I want to pinch myself when my voice cracks.

I really need to keep it together right now. Plus, I don’t want to ruin my Waves-themed makeup with unnecessary waterworks. After blending a subtle, iridescent blue over my eyelids, I drew tiny white-capped waves at the corners of my lashes.

Shane swears, the pace of his footsteps increasing. “I’m almost there, honey. Just hold on.”

“M’kay.” I nod to myself before turning and giving everyone an enthusiastic thumbs up.