Page 129 of Hot Shot

For a week, I have drifted around like a floaty, lovey, sparkly cloud of glitter.

Life has never felt like this. There’s a rightness, a certainty in every breath, every step, every moment thick with the stuff. It’s a settling, I think, an acceptance of my life with Wilder with an absolutely giddy proclamation. Before, I’d only known deep down, underneath the layers of uncertainty and fear and overwhelm.

Now I know with every single molecule that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Wilder and I are love struck, swept away and very nearly drowning now that the levee is in shambles at the bottom of Lovey Dovey Schmoop Lake. Can two people actually merge into one person and coexist? We’re on our way there, moving seamlessly through life, coming together every moment we can and taking full advantage. If we’re in the same room, we’re touching. And if we’re talking, we are probably laughing, our happiness an effervescent thing, bubbly and fizzy and light andfilling every inch of space in whatever room we happen to be in, including the spaces inside of us.

Honestly, I’m drunk off it. I probably shouldn’t even drive.

The sports complex buzzes with excitement, the dewy fields already full of little girls getting warmed up, ours included. Wilder and the other two coaches have the team in the outfield tossing balls to each other as they take turns practicing hitting with the swing stick—a bendy stick with a ball stuck on the end for the girls to swing at. Cricket looks fierce, her body tight and eyes narrowed on the ball, nailing it with a ping every time Wilder brings it back to her.

My smile is permanent, widening while I watch them, only looking away to get set up. We hauled a metric ton of shit to the field—camping chairs, a cooler, a gear bag, a big tote full of sunscreen and Band-Aids and battery packs and snacks.

I’m giddy, my heart doubling in size as I sit in my camping chair on this side of the fence in my Rosebuds team tee and matching hat. I almost put a ribbon in my hair like I used to in high school, but I have no sense of what’s too much anymore. Excitement reigns supreme, sprinkled with pride when the umpire brings me the score sheet to fill out for our team.

The last time I felt this much a part of things was before I left for Oxford. Sure, there were times when I caught little whispers of belonging, like when Davis and I were with Jessa and Henry. But it was always tinged with this knowledge that I didn’t fit in. They’re rich and fabulous, and Henry and Jessa are British peerage. I mean, Jessa is the daughter of a marquess, for God’s sake, and I was just some girl from Tennessee who said y’all and didn’t know one fork from another. And despite learning and adjusting to fit myself into their world, I wasn’t a part of it. Only a guest, an observer.

But here, decked out in baseball gear with the smell of freshly cut grass lingering in the cool morning air, I’m home.

Since her tournament is this weekend, Cricket didn’t go to her grandparents, and it’s not long before Paul and Patty show up. Not far behind them is our gang, including Jessa and Remy, Molly and Tate, Shelby and Greyson, plus Mama and Wilder’s dad too. They sit in the bleachers behind me, but Patty and Paul take the seats I’ve set up for them. We’re busy chatting when Cricket runs over.

She’s grinning, cheeks flushed under her little baseball hat. The second she reaches us, she throws herself into Paul’s arms, giggling when he makes a show of her strength.

“Hey, bug. Missed you last night,” he says when she steps back.

“Missed you too. Did you see me catch the ball in the outfield?”

She’s so hopeful, there’s nothing to do but lie.

“Sure did,” he says, and she beams. One of the teeth next to her incisor is loose, and she tongues it, making it wiggle.

“Another loose tooth?” Patty laughs, pulling Cricket into her arms, pretending to munch on her neck in an effort to earn some giggles. She’s wildly successful.

“Look!” she grabs the tooth and twists it crooked just like she’s been doing all week. And like all week, it’s disgusting. We groan and laugh.

“You’re gonna be tooth fairy rich,” Patty says, booping her nose.

“I’m saving it for new markers.” Cricket’s proud, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses. They shine a spark brighter when she looks behind us. “Trent!” she squeals and takes off between our chairs, bolting for the parking lot.

A cold tingle works its way down my spine, my permanent smile not so permanent after all. I don’t know why—he looks perfectly harmless when he scoops Cricket up and hugs her, setting her on his hip while they head toward us.

When I glance back at Wilder, I find him with a dark look on his face, his eyes shadowed and jaw set.

That. That is why the hairs on my neck are at attention. Wilder looking dangerous because Trent showed up unannounced.

Cricket’s grossing him out with her tooth when they reach us. Patty and Paul seem unaffected, greeting him fondly. I put my smile back on and say hello. They all look so normal, like they’ve been doing this for years. Because they have. They’ve known Trent since he was a teenager, an honorary member of their family. Including the unspoken, unofficial role of Cricket’s father.

Discomfort wriggles around in my guts, cinching them when I hear Wilder’s voice from my elbow.

“Trent.” The word is tight but trying for friendly, and he extends his hand as he says it.

The warmth on Trent’s cheeks cools. “Davenport.” He clasps Wilder’s hand, and I can practically see the combative power of it.

Wilder’s jaw tics, his eyes on Cricket, who is chewing on the end of one of her braids, oblivious

“Hey, bug,” Wilder starts. “Why don’t you go get your mask and glove and head out to center.”

“Okay, Daddy!”

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