Page 78 of Bae

“Hey, Critter, want some pancakes?” Braeden leaned down and picked her up. She settled on the other side of me so I was sandwiched between her and my BBFL.

“Help yourselves,” I muttered but cut off a small piece and held it up to Nova’s lips.

She sucked it into her mouth and smiled. My heart turned over. She was so beautiful. I caressed the side of her cheek while she chewed and then laughed when she pointed at the plate for more.

As I was feeding her (and Braeden was still helping himself), I felt Romeo’s stare. Our eyes connected.

Ivy was giving Drew a fashion lecture, Trent was laughing, Braeden was food stealing, and my niece was waving her spoon around with a mouthful of pancake.

We smiled at one another. Everyone else fell away.

Today was a good day.

Romeo

Another state, another game. Another practice.

Rim was home. She and Ivy drove back to our compound not long after we finished up pancake Sunday (in disguise as Monday). Drew and Trent followed them.

It was probably torture for them, considering they never drove the speed limit, but the girls did.

After the night Rim and I had and the way she finally opened up, I just wanted to be home. I wanted to spend time with her. I wanted to make sure all the ground we recovered didn’t crumble away.

I loved Rim—more than myself. Our marriage was still work, though. All marriages were. We might have the perfect love, but life wasn’t perfect. It seemed it came at us, tested us, tried to pull us apart. Usually, circumstances—life—pushed us together.

Losing Evie didn’t push us apart, per say, but it didn’t push us closer either. It left us in this stagnate state that we had to fight to get out of.

The way we sometimes circled the issues taking up space in our minds made it seem we weren’t fighting at all. We were. I’d always fight for her. For us. Some battles were just quieter, and some took more time.

I was practicing hard today, running the ball more than usual. It felt good to run, to power down the field and exert so much energy.

By the time practice wound down, I was drenched in sweat. My arm quivered from throwing, but it didn’t worry me. It would hold out. The way it felt now was normal; it wasn’t so exhausted I wouldn’t be able to recover. In fact, I’d be better in the next game for it.

We didn’t practice much during the actual season, mostly one good practice a week. Sometimes it was nice to just get out here and fuck around. Blow off steam. B and I were like magic out there tonight. He sensed my aggression, and it seemed to power his own.

So why did I play so hard?

Because that’s how I was. Go hard or go home.

Well, mostly that. Then there was this other small reason.

Rimmel opened up to me about her own dark thoughts. She was brave, wanted to try again even though she was still scared.

Made me feel like a coward.

I didn’t relish this feeling. In fact, I fucking hated it.

It tasted vile. It smelled like rot, and it darkened my mood.

I hadn’t done the same. I’d kept quiet about my biggest torment. What would she think of me if I’d spilled? Would she still respect me? Would she still look at me with the same warm brown eyes that made me feel like I hung the moon?

I was protecting her; I’d reasoned with my subconscious. It was a pansy-ass excuse. She didn’t want protecting. She’d announced as much during pancakes, when everything came out about her father and the press.

I should have pulled her aside and confessed it all.

I didn’t.

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