Page 170 of Rewind It Back

I keep my focus on her and not on the space around us. “I love it.”

And you.

Her grin proves she’s so proud of herself and I fucking love that too.

She should be proud. Her designer eye, her time management, her organization. She is so good at what she does, and I don’t think she fully understands that yet.

Hallie renovating this place and putting her touch on every square inch of it is reason alone that I wouldn’t sell, but there’s plenty more reasons too.

She’s going to need a place to live once Wren’s house next door sells.

I need somewhere to stay when I come to visit her and my friends, but my stomach sinks when I picture Hallie living here without me. Living here alone. That was never the plan for this house. We were supposed to live here together. Rooms were supposed to be filled.

“Thank you for giving me the chance to do this,” she says quietly. “You basically let me design my dream home.”

Thisisher dream home, and that’s the whole fucking point. I don’t know how she hasn’t put the pieces together yet, but that’s the final and most important reason why I won’t sell. Six years ago, even after things fell apart between us, I bought this house for her.

It’s everything she told me she wanted, and there was a part of me that hoped if both it and I were here waiting for her, she’d somehow find her way home.

Chapter 38

Hallie

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask Rio as we wait around the kitchen island for dinner to be plated so we can carry it into the dining room.

“Of course I am.” He forces a smile on his face, running a hand down my back. “Don’t worry about me, Hal. I’m good.”

But he’s not. Rio has been quiet and unlike himself ever since he came out of Indy’s home office a couple of hours ago. It’s Sunday and he doesn’t go a Sunday without talking to his mom. Only today, she didn’t answer his call, and I can tell it’s bothering him. The strain in their relationship has been weighing on him for weeks, regardless that he thinks he’s doing a good job of hiding it from me.

Mia DeLuca, Rio’s mom, is such an integral piece of his life, and they’re barely communicating because of me. When they do get on the phone, it quickly turns sour when my name is brought up.

Watching it happen firsthand is making me even more understanding as to why he made the choices he did all those years ago. Twenty-seven-year-old Rio is struggling with them not getting along. It’s no wonder twenty-one-year-old Rio did what he thought was right by her when her life was falling apart.

I hate to see him hurting this way, but I don’t know how to fix it if Mrs. DeLuca doesn’t want to listen.

Rio places a quick kiss on my hair before taking one of the entrée plates into the dining room. I grab the salad bowl and follow behind, placing it with the rest of the dishes in the center before taking a seat next to him at the Shays’ massive dining room table.

It’s evident that their house was chosen with the want to host in mind. It’s warm and inviting, as are the people in it.

This is the first family dinner I’ve been able to attend now that I’ve quit my second job, but Rio has been trying to get me to join for weeks. I finally have weekends and evenings free and have spent the month of February going to all his home games, working on finishing his house renovations, and getting to know these other eight people around the table.

But even if I could’ve joined a family dinner over the past couple of weeks, this is the first one that everyone has been able to attend anyway.

Kennedy and Isaiah have been gone for spring training, but were sent home early so Kennedy could get her department in order before Opening Day and Isaiah could train here while giving some of the new guys a chance to get some playing time.

“Indy,” Rio says, trying not to laugh. “What’s wrong?”

I look over to find her brown eyes glossing over from her seat at the dinner table.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “This is just really nice. Everyone is here. It finally feels... complete.”

She looks over to me and smiles.

“Blue,” her husband chuckles, running a soothing hand over her back. “There’s no need to cry over that, baby.”

“I can’t help it! It’s who I am.”

The table as a whole laughs, which I’m quickly learning is acceptable when she cries about something that isn’t sad.

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