I pull into the parking lot and scrub a hand down my face. I feel like I drove across the entire continent yesterday rather than just a few invisible state lines.

Hayden’s in the middle of the field doing warm-up drills like last time I saw him here, and it only takes me another beat to find Ella sitting on the bleachers, watching him intently. She doesn’t see me, not that I expect her to. She probably doesn’t even realize I’m coming or expect it.

Her hair’s curled again, and her skin is flushed from the heat. I stand a safe distance from her and enjoy being able to study her features while they mock me for thinking I remembered how beautiful she is.

I drop my keys into my pocket and head over to her, not knowing what to expect. Again, she doesn’t look at me until I sit beside her, and then her blue eyes widen and I see the trace hints of a smile, and I want to apologize and tell her about every single second that has passed since I last saw her and hear about everything she’s been doing and how Hayden has been.

“Hey,” I say, bumping my thigh against her bare one.

“How are you?” she asks, staring at me long enough I know she sees my exhaustion.

“I’m okay,” I tell her.

She nods a few times. “Well, if you want to tell me later, you know where to find me.”

Strangely, I find comfort in her knowing that I’m lying. “It’s been a really long week.”

“I’m sorry.” Ella’s voice is soft and more soothing than I had remembered. There are moments in time that my soul feels like an inferno, flushed with smoke and scarred beyond recognition. Over the past week, I’ve realized why I’ve been finding excuses to be around Ella. It’s because her demeanor, her smile, her patience—they all keep the flames at bay as I bask in the bright blue zone that her eyes cast.

“I’m sorry I disappeared.”

Ella lifts a shoulder with a weak shrug. With it, I can tell she’s bothered that I did but also know she’s not going to admit it.

“Why do you do that?” I ask.

“Do what?” She looks from the field to me, and with the movement I catch how long her eyelashes are. It’s a detail I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated from any woman, and one I now want to never stop.

“Why don’t you say when something’s bothering you? Why not tell me you’re upset?”

“Will that make you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. If it gives you gratification, yes, it bothered me that you went AWOL. Does your ego feel better?”

I move closer to her, my heart thudding in my chest. “That’s not what I meant,” I tell her. “I just want you to stand up for yourself.”

Her eyes become slits of accusation, but she says nothing, and when I don’t say anything more, she turns back to the field and moves her leg that’s pressed against mine, folding it over her knee and physically withdrawing from the situation.

If the woman farther down the bench wasn’t staring with rapt attention, I would continue talking to Ella. Explain to her what I meant and continue clarifying and repeating myself until I believed she understood.

“Hey!” Rachel calls, making her way over to us.

Swiping a hand over my face again in an attempt to clear my thoughts, I smile and greet her.

“I had the worst dreams last night,” Rachel says, sitting in front of Ella and me and turning to face us. “I’m never letting you pick the movie again.”

Ella’s attention breaks from the boys throwing balls back and forth to each other, and she looks at me for only a second before looking to Rachel. “What did you guys watch?” she asks.

My heart thuds with pleas.

It.

Thud.

Wasn’t.

Thud.

What.

Thud.

You’re.

Thud.

Thinking.

“Oh my God, Ella, it was so scary. It was one of those paranormal films where you hear about it and it sounds so ridiculous and unrealistic until you’re in your dark bedroom and every sound makes you think a ghost is about to jump out and murder you. What was the name of it, Coen?”

Rachel looks to me. Ella does not.

And if I couldn’t be any more fucked over, I look up in time to see Patrick heading toward us with a paper bag gripped in his hand.

It takes him a moment to see me, and then he jerks his head back with obvious surprise before smiling at me in feigned greeting. “DeLuca,” he says. “What brings you here? You have a son out there?”

I never questioned if it was appropriate for me to be here. Never thought I might look like a threat or desperate, like I think I may be. But suddenly, I feel completely out of place and as though every parent in the stands is looking at me for the first time, wondering what in the hell I’m doing here.

“He’s been practicing with Hayden,” Ella answers for me. “Coen lives next door to Rachel,” she continues as if the explanation is necessary. I wish she hadn’t. I enjoyed the way his jaw ticked.

Patrick and I stare at one another, neither smiling nor extending an olive branch for us to rest on to make this easier. It goes against so much that is me because I constantly work to make things more comfortable for people even when it involves letting my neighbor inside to watch a movie with me because she claims she’s had a bad day and needs to hang out with someone.

“Patrick!” a woman behind us calls. “It’s so great to see you. How have you been? Is Lindsay feeling better? We missed her Sunday at church.”

Ella doesn’t turn in her seat, but Rachel does with a hard glare that makes her dislike for Patrick even more apparent.

Patrick nods to the woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Kaminski. I’ve been well. Keeping busy.”

“Well, I’m sure Hayden keeps you on your toes,” the woman says.

He looks to Ella, who has turned her attention back to the boys for their last warm-up drill. “Hayden’s a good kid,” he says the words clearly, firmly, as though they’re a warning, and I wonder if he realizes the hell Ella endures because of him.

I don’t want to crane my neck around to look and see the woman’s reaction because I’ve been pretending I’m not listening to anything he’s saying, but wonder if she interprets the message how I have.

“I know work’s been crazy for you, and I know how you skip lunches when you’re behind.” Patrick hands Ella the bag he was carrying. “So I picked up some tacos from that truck over on the south side of town.”

While I had intentionally kept my head forward before, only catching glimpses of Ella’s reaction when Patrick spoke to the other woman, I now turn to watch her.

“Oh, Patrick,” Rachel says. “You shouldn’t have.” She reaches up and grabs the bag. “You really, really shouldn’t have.”

And I realize Patrick still hasn’t said anything to Rachel and doesn’t as he takes a seat on Ella’s other side, forcing us both to scoot farther down the bench. Ella sits between us, her body rigid, and I scrutinize the space between our thighs and then hers and Patrick’s before realizing she has centered herself perfectly between us.

The movement must have caught Hayden’s eye because he looks up from where he and his team is huddled, and his smile—Ella’s smile—burns brighter.

When Hayden’s team lines up for offense, Hayden doesn’t approach the pitching mound like I’m waiting for him to, but instead goes out to centerfield.

“What’s he doing?” I ask.

Ella’s frown is pronounced, her anger more visible than I had seen it when Mrs. Grant yelled at her in my front yard.

Patrick, however, is smiling as he looks over to me. “He’s taking after his old man.”

Realization dawns on me about how much I don’t know about Ella, this entire triangle of her life between Patrick, Hayden, and her and how far it stretches.

The game is difficult to watch. My attention continues to be pulled to Ella, measuring and re-measuring the space between Patrick and her then me and her. Each time he talks, I want to punch him, and every time he cheers, I want to cheer louder.

“How about we go celebrate another victory and go get some dinner?” Patrick announces as Hayden makes his way over to us.

Jealousy spikes my heart with a nasty concoction as Hayden’s eyes light up.

“Sorry. We already have plans,” Rachel says. “Maybe next time you should try planning.” She lifts her shoulders to feign innocence because her words are dripping with intent.

Patrick looks to Rachel, his smile vacant though present, revealing how much he dislikes her as he keeps up the wall of formality.

“Patrick! It was so good to see you. I’m glad the city finally gave you a day off.” A man approaches us and grips Patrick’s shoulder with a hero-worship complexion that Patrick eats off the silver spoon this town has gifted him with.

“You’re Coen!” I turn, and a woman approaches me, a smile stretching her red lips. “Bill, it’s Coen DeLuca, the guy we’re always reading about in the paper. The firefighter from up north.”

The man who was stroking Patrick’s ego turns, his expression not waning as he greets me. “Two of this city’s finest,” he says.

My smile broadens, enjoying the fact that Patrick’s has just shrank. I move the intimidation factor up a notch and hook my arm around Hayden’s shoulders. “Good game, dude. You might be the best centerfield player I’ve seen. You might be too good for the position.”

The couple stops looking at Patrick or me and focuses on Hayden, congratulating him on a game well played. Patrick stares at me for several seconds. I pretend I don’t notice and watch Hayden bathe in the attention he’s deserving of. When I meet his stare, Patrick’s lips are pressed into a line. I hate thinking of Ella having kissed him. I hate even more that I thought the guy was worth being respected and idolized.

“Let’s go get some pizza,” Rachel says.

Patrick makes a big production of hugging Hayden and telling him how proud he is, then he turns to Ella. If a fire started beside me, I would miss it because my sole focus is on the two of them. “I’ll talk to you later,” he says, staring at her too intensely for too long. She nods but doesn’t reply, her gaze shifting to Hayden and then Rachel. When he moves toward the parking lot, I stop watching him.

“Are you coming with us?” Hayden asks me.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I tell him.

I catch the look Ella sends me, one filled with sarcasm and disbelief.

“Can I ride with Coen, mom? I want to talk baseball with him.”

She doesn’t even allow the idea to sink in before she shakes her head. “Maybe next time. Grandma wants you to call her and tell her about your game. You can do that, and then you can talk baseball with Coen over pizza.”

I deserve her anger, but knowing that doesn’t make it any less difficult to accept.

The pizza place Rachel leads us to is one I haven’t been to before, and when we walk inside, it doesn’t smell of tomato sauce and peppers but of scented candles.

We’re seated at a round table with chairs and white tablecloths and each have multiple forks and spoons.

“Aunt Rachel loves this place,” Hayden whispers. “It’s not so bad. They’ll let you order pizza without all the gross stuff on it.”

“Gross stuff?” Rachel cries. “One day your future wife is going to be thanking me for your sophisticated taste palate.”

Ella’s smirk doesn’t tell me if she’s laughing at Rachel or her son before she turns to her menu.

“The chef here studied in Italy,” Rachel tells me. “I thought you might like it since you mentioned you’re Italian.”

“You know he was raised in DC, right?” Ella keeps her attention on her menu, but there’s a clip in her tone. One that makes me irrationally happy.

“But each week his mom cooks a big Italian feast,” Rachel says, making me regret sharing personal information last night.

That makes Ella look up. She smiles affectionately at Hayden and then at Rachel. “Tell me more about the movie from last night. It’s great you guys spent time together.”

A sharp pain makes a residence of my chest and builds when Ella refuses to look in my direction

“I just noticed he’d been gone most of the week, so when he got home I brought some food over.”

I stare at Ella, waiting for her to look at me.

She doesn’t. She moves her attention back to the menu in front of her. “That’s so great,” she repeats. “Hayden, honey, did you want to get the cheese pizza again?”

“Yup.” Hayden plays with his straw, trying to capture an ice cube.

“You looked like you had a lot of fun tonight,” Ella says, watching him.

Hayden nods.

“You know you don’t have to choose just one position, right? You can still be the pitcher too, sometimes,” Ella continues.

Hayden lifts his shoulders, his focus still on catching an ice cube. “Coach says I have to decide.”

Ella smiles, holding back words. “Well, maybe you can alternate seasons for a while until you decide which you prefer.”

“You’re an awesome pitcher,” Rachel adds.

Hayden looks up at me. “What do you think, Coen?”

Finally, Ella looks to me. Taking a deep breath, I consider all the advice my parents have given me over the years and then look to Ella, recalling her interactions with Hayden. “I think you should do what you feel most passionate about.” I lift a shoulder. “It seemed like you really loved pitching, but if you’d rather play centerfield, I think you should do it. As long as you’re doing it for the right reason.”

We spend the rest of our time eating and discussing the pros and cons of every position in baseball, naming off great players and their impact to the sport. By the end, Hayden doesn’t share his future intentions, and none of us ask, but I sure as hell hope he chooses to pitch again.

“Drinks at my house?” Rachel asks once their leftovers have been packed into boxes.

“Why don’t we do it at mine so Hayden can get showered and go to bed?”

When Rachel extended the invite, she had looked between Ella and me, but Ella’s focus is on searching for her cell phone, making me uncertain if her invitation includes me.

“You coming?” Hayden asks, standing from his seat beside mine.

Ella and Rachel look to me, and I nod before thought and reason can catch up and remind me I should be going to bed too.

Piling into our cars, we make the quick drive to our neighborhood, all stopping in front of Ella’s.

“Okay, spill it!” Rachel says, leaning her elbows on the counter once Ella comes downstairs from tucking Hayden into bed.

Ella’s eyebrows knit with confusion, matching my expression. “Spill what?”

“The date! Outdoorsyman! How was it?”

Ella looks to me and then Rachel before she sits down across from us. “Oh,” she says. “It was … good.”

Rachel squeals. “Did you really just tell me your date was good?” She claps. “Ella, this is huge.”

I consider getting up and leaving because I don’t want to hear details about her date, or about her liking some guy, especially not after this week.

Ella eyes me, and I stare at her, imploring her to tell me it was nothing. That he is nothing.

She steps into the kitchen and grabs some glasses. “Don’t get too excited. It was just one date.”

“You usually come home from dates telling me you’re never going out again and talk of donating all your clothes and adopting twelve cats.”

“I never said I was going to adopt twelve cats.”

“I’m waiting for it, though,” Rachel says. “So, what happened?”

“Not a lot. We actually went to your favorite restaurant,” she says, dropping the glasses off in front of us and stopping. “I almost ate what Patrick brought because I was so hungry.” She throws her head back. “Remind me to never, ever let a guy order for me.”

“What was so bad? That restaurant is awesome.”

“Calamari and pork fat!”

“Pork fat?” Rachel asks.

“Pork belly, same difference.”

“Ella, you have the same taste in foods that your nine-year-old does! Pork belly is delicious.”

Ella draws her chin back, disbelief visible in her widened eyes. “If we ever go somewhere that serves it, you can consider my portion yours.”

Rachel laughs. “Did he ask more questions than he has been in your messages?”

My eyes volley to Ella, watching the two interact. “Not really,” Ella says. “I don’t think he doesn’t care, but honestly, I don’t know.”

“Time will tell,” Rachel says.

Ella shakes her head and grabs two pitchers from her fridge that she places in front of Rachel and me.

“I can’t actually stay,” Rachel says, pushing back. “I just wanted to hear about your date. I have to wake up for an early shipment tomorrow, and by early I mean it’s going to be dark outside when I get there.” She looks to me, and I see the silent question for me to leave with her.

“Have a good night,” I tell her and pour some water into a glass as further proof that I’m staying.

Ella follows Rachel to the front door, and when she returns, her face is guarded as she refuses to look at me.

“I fucked up,” I tell her. “This was a rough week.”

Ella doesn’t say anything, just watches me.

“Why won’t you say something?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. Tell me, ‘You’re right, Coen. You were a shitty friend this week, and you owe me.’ Tell me I should have replied to your messages. Tell me I should have called and checked in. Tell me how to make things right!”

“If you knew you were in the wrong, why should it take me telling you how to make things right? You had the choice, and you made it.”

“Because it’s complicated.”

“It always is,” she says bitterly.

“So you went on a date?” I don’t know why I’m asking again. Maybe I need to hear her tell me about it so I can move on, move forward. Maybe I need her to tell me about it so I can explain all the ways he isn’t right for her.

Maybe I’m fucked.

Ella looks at me with pursed lips, trying to read my intentions.

“What was good about the date?” I ask.

“He was nice.”

“You’re saying that like it’s all that matters.”

Her shoulders draw back. “It does matter. Call me crazy for wanting to date someone who’s kind.”

“Of course it matters!” I’m exasperated, wondering how this hellish week somehow got even worse while I was gone. “But there’s more to it than that. There’s a whole hell of a lot more to being in a relationship than the person being nice.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Do you?” I ask. “Because this guy sounded like he was boring and bossy and doesn’t have a clue about who you are and what you need.”

“What I need?” Her voice is high, and her eyes are slit, revealing how thinly controlled her anger currently is. “What do I need, Coen? Please, tell me.”

I stand from my seat and walk closer to where she’s standing with her arms folded over her chest.

“You need to stand up for yourself and be with someone who will help you do that, and do it for you when you won’t. You need someone who demands you acknowledge what you’re feeling when you stop yourself and look away, shoving whatever is bothering you even deeper. You need someone who is going to put you first. Your needs, your wants, your fears, all of it.”

Defiance lights her eyes, anger makes them round. “It was one date. How do you know he won’t do that?”

“How do you know he will?”

“I don’t. But I’ve learned a lot about people and continue learning, and I’ve realized that I’m constantly being surprised. I thought I had made a good friend. He seemed nice. He seemed funny. He seemed to care about me and Hayden and actually made an effort to be involved, and then suddenly he dropped off the face of the earth.”

My chest aches with guilt and years of harbored anger.

“The irony in this situation is I dated a guy who did the same fucking thing, and still I’m talking to you, allowing you into my life though I know it’s probably a really bad decision.”

“This is not a bad decision. I am not a bad decision,” I argue.

“Until you get bored again.”

“It had nothing to do with getting bored. Out of everyone that messaged me, you were the only one.” I look between Ella’s eyes, gauging the fire burning in them, demanding she understand this point. “The only one who I replied to. Do I know my messages back to you weren’t worth shit? Yes, but you were the only one I even wanted to try to let in.”

“Where were you?” Her voice is calmer but no less intense.

“DC,” I tell her.

Ella glares at me, and I know it’s for not providing more information, but I’m managing to stay away from her by mere anger at this point.

“Why are you here, Coen? Why are you trying to be my friend?”

“I want to tell you about DC,” I say.

“Then tell me!” Her eyes flash. “I’m standing right here.” She spreads her arms out beside her.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I suck in a deep breath. “Can we just go to our penalty boxes and take a breather for a minute? I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

“Like what?”

I stare at her, wondering if she knows. If my feelings for her are as blatant and obvious as they have grown, or if she’s challenging me to say something so she can continue to push me away.

She squares her shoulders when I take three measured steps that bring us toe-to-toe, and the flame in her eyes smothers me as it spreads like a wildfire, heating me, filling me with a fight-or-flight instinct that has me reaching up to grab a handful of her dark hair and lean forward until my lips steal her breath and give her my own.

Her tense muscles loosen as my hand travels higher in her hair, allowing me to pull her closer to me. My lips press harder against hers, seeking approval and comfort and desire that I direly need Ella to reciprocate.

Ella’s palms lie flat against my chest, applying no pressure, just like her lips. I reach up with my free hand, gently grasping the side of her face, and brush the pad of my thumb along her high cheekbone. Her skin is so soft and warm under my touch that I feel that flame inside of her burning me. A growl builds from my chest, and my fingers tighten and twist in her hair. “Ella.” Her name is a plea, though my voice sounds tortured.

She gasps, and though it’s quiet, I hear it all the way down to my soul. Her hands constrict, and her shoulders loosen, and Ella’s lips press more firmly against mine, matching my force, pushing my desire. Her bottom lip is driving me crazy with need as it rolls against my lips, perfectly soft and smooth and rounded so that I feel the pressure of her kiss everywhere.

Her tongue paves a path down the center of my bottom lip, driving me from blissful to pure crazy. I release her hair, and my hand cupping her face slides down her shoulder, over her breast. Her breath hitches, and she presses herself firmly against my palm. I pull back just enough to see that her blue eyes are open, watching me with a level of vulnerability present that I recognize before she always looks away. This time though, her chest rises and falls and her gaze remains level with mine as I brush my fingers against her nipple.

She shakes her head and takes a step back, and I nod and close the gap just as quickly as she created it.

“Rachel likes you,” she says.

I shake my head as the corners of my eyes grow tight, ready to protest and plead.

“She’s my best friend, and she likes you,” she says again. “I can’t do this to her.”

I know it’s not fair of me to make her choose, and in my mind, it isn’t a matter of choosing because there isn’t a decision to be made. I like Ella. Rachel has never been an option, not even a possibility.

I rest my forehead against hers, smelling the sweetness of her lip balm and her. It’s the scent I first became addicted to after I gave her a ride to the hospital and helped her find Hayden’s room. I had gone back to my truck and discovered the scent lingering there, tickling my senses and digging a trench that I began filling with thoughts and experiences of my time with her and Hayden.

She places her hands back on my chest, loosely holding onto my shirt. Knowing that neither of us wants to let go makes it impossible for me to leave and terrified to consider what may come when I do.

Ella’s breath tickles my skin, teasing and warm, and it makes me think of the way she gasped when I touched her, filling me with the desire to do it again. To see if the same loud breath will leave her lips.

“I’m your neighbor,” she reminds me as if it will in somehow change what I’m feeling.

“And I’m a firefighter.”

“I have a son.”

I cup the side of her face again before pulling back to look over her. “You think that makes me not like you?”

“When I first mentioned I had a kid, you…” She waves a hand over her face, grazing my fingers with hers. “You made this face…”

I shake my head. “Hayden is just icing on the cake.”

Ella’s hands release my shirt and wrap around my neck, and while she might regret this later tonight or tomorrow and likely next week, I don’t stop her from kissing me. Instead, I invite her to do so, meeting her halfway and grabbing her ass with both hands so I can lift her legs to wrap around my waist. She catches my bottom lip with her teeth, and my fingers grip her ass tighter, digging into her flesh.

She runs a hand up the back of my head and sighs my name. The sound is like a drug that blinds me to reason and sense. My mouth stretches over hers, pushing and plying, and I realize how much I’ve wanted her.

Needed her.

Ella’s fingers fall against my cheek, her palm warm against my jaw. She moves her hips higher, hitting me in the spot that tells her exactly how badly I want her, and she moans against my lips.

Fucking moans.

The sound is hotter than anything I was imagining and has me moving toward the living room that’s only a few feet away.

My elbow catches the door to the refrigerator, jostling us, but it doesn’t break our kiss, only makes me kiss her harder. Then I hit the back of the couch with my hands which remain cupped around Ella’s sweet ass, and it forces me back a few steps, making me open my eyes to ensure I don’t hit anything else.

Ella giggles through lips that are swollen and red from kissing me, and the sight and sound is so fucking beautiful I swear to work to make her this happy and playful every single day just so I can witness it.

I walk around the couch and place her on her back before I move to the bank of light switches. I don’t have any idea what controls which light, and I know from my own house that they have way too goddamn many, so I swipe at them all, darkening the room so that only a thin trail of light from the moon guides me back to Ella.

Even in the dark, her eyes are bright. I peel my shirt off and watch her eyes roam over me, starting at my face, where she looks me in the eye before moving her gaze slowly over me. She stands from the couch, and my heart stutters, unsure if she’s going to ask me to stop again because I don’t know how I’m going to.

Ella reaches forward and her fingers trace over my left pec. “I want to know your secrets,” she whispers.

I place my hand over hers, keeping it firmly against my chest. “I want to know yours.”

A small smile lifts her lips, but her eyes fall. “My body’s not … I mean, I had a baby…”

“Ella, stop,” I whisper. “You’re perfect.”

I kiss her before she can say anything else or fill her head with more doubt, and when she doesn’t kiss me back with the same amount of fervor I now know she’s capable of, I run my tongue along hers while moving my hand over her breast.

My insistence is met with another moan, and she reaches forward and slides my jeans and boxer briefs down and wraps her hands around me.

My head falls back as I release her name, and her grip tightens. I already knew my fate was sealed. Knew it the moment I stood in my driveway and she answered my silent pleas to look over, but I reach for her shirt and pull it off and know without a single doubt that Ella Chapman will consume my thoughts for the rest of my life.