Ham’s deep voice was warm and comforting. Something I could honestly sit and listen to all day. He was crouched down behind Harlyn, showing her how to grip the baseball bat in her hands. She nodded, her brow creased in concentration as she listened to every single word Ham told her. She chewed her lip as he helped her pull her swing back, and then forward before making corrections.

The helmet she had on was way too big for her, and kept slipping down over her eyes, making me smile. It was Macy’s birthday, and we were at this place a few towns over where they had a mini Putt-Putt course and batting cages along with a water play area. I tell you, you’ve never been to a kid’s party until you’ve seen ten or more tattooed bikers out of their leathers wearing swimming trunks and running through water sprinklers like they were children.

The sounds of laughter and play were addictive, while old ladies and club friends chatted around the barbeque area preparing lunch and admiring their men.

Try not to smile.

It was impossible.

“Since Hadley and Leo’s wedding, Harlyn has been a little obsessed with your man.” I jumped as Chelsea took a seat at the picnic table beside me, a gentle smile on her face. “You might have a bit of competition there.”

I grinned and shook my head. “She’s in luck. He’s not my man.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes so dramatically, I thought they might roll straight out of her head. “I think you’re delusional.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to.

Instead, I focused on where Ham was stepping away, and moving back to the pitching machine which was set up at the other end of the cages. As he walked, his hand went to the cut on his hip, and there was a slight hobble in his walk.

He should have stayed home, the stitches had barely been put in a few hours ago, and he was out here helping the girls swing bats and shit. He was going to fucking hurt himself, and I was getting increasingly agitated, ready to walk in there and pull him out by the ear. But then I would have to get close to him, and I’d have to admit that I actually cared.

Although, he was probably already onto me with that one.

Going to the hospital this morning was a mistake.

One touch, and it was like everything I’d fought for over the past few months had turned to shit, and I was back to fucking square one.

I was like an addict who’d been to rehab.

Followed all the rules, fought hard to get to a place where I wasn’t breaking down regularly, and bam. One taste, and I’ve fallen off the wagon, and I’m fighting to keep myself afloat again.

He hadn’t fucked Jess.

It wasn’t him I’d seen.

Sure, he could have been trying to get himself out of the hole he’d dug, but I saw it in his eyes.

No, it was much more than that.

He was completely right.

I knew him.

I’d spent so long just watching him, fascinated with the way he moved, the strength he held, and his dedication to the club. I loved him long before we even spoke a word to each other. That sounded horrifically stalkerish, but he was right, I did know him.

He wasn’t lying, and the sad part was, that should have made me want to jump into his arms. I should have been begging to come home, so we could start things again where we left off.

But it wasn’t an instant fix.

We were still broken.

The both of us were still hurting.

And I don’t think either of us was really sure how to fix it.

“Why don’t you just sit down and talk to him,” Chelsea urged, following my gaze, her face lighting up in a wide smile as Harlyn swung her bat and connected with the ball. Ham threw his arms in the air and hollered excitedly, but the second he got them above his shoulders he cringed and folded over in pain.

I hummed in annoyance, he was ignoring his body. I could tell from here how much he was struggling.

A shadow fell over the both of us, and we looked up together to see a hulking Optimus standing over us. I had to blink a couple of times to focus with the light, but I finally managed to make out the serious expression on his face. He nodded his head to where Ham was standing at the end of the cage chatting with Har. “He needs to go back to the club before he rips out his stitches.”

“I know,” I answered, completely aware as I itched to walk over there and drag him out.

Which I would have done had I not been desperately trying to avoid him.

My head was still reeling from this morning.

My heart trying to keep up too.

If I talked to him again right now, I’m not sure which would lead the conversation, and I was kind of scared for both.

Op reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, jingling them in front of my face and pulling my attention back to him. “I’ll give them to Chelsea. You convince him and drive him home.”

“Op—”

He raised his brow, the simple gesture from a man like Optimus enough to make me shut my mouth. I may have been upset and angry at the club for keeping so many secrets from me, but that didn’t change how much I respected this man. He was the president of the club for a reason, and he deserved to be listened to.

I huffed an annoyed breath out my nose, and he nodded, assuming that meant I was agreeing—reluctantly before he turned and walked away. With an irritated sigh, I leaped off the picnic table and stomped toward the batting cages, ignoring Chelsea chuckling behind me. Yanking the gate open, I slammed it closed behind me.

Both Harlyn and Ham looked up from their celebrating and high-fiving as I walked toward them.

“Hey, Har, maybe it would be okay if we give Meyah a turn?” Ham reasoned with the eight-year-old, who pursed her lips tightly as if she might refuse. She eventually sighed, pulling off the helmet and handing it to Ham with the bat.

“Okay, I’m gonna go challenge Dad to a game of Putt-Putt.” She came toward me, stopping right in front of me and folding her arms across her chest. She was Op’s daughter, there was no fucking doubt about it. She knew she held a certain type of power and a level of respect within the club. She was a princess, and trust me when I said she fucking knew it. “Don’t be mean to him.”

I had to stop myself from laughing because I knew she was dead fucking serious.

She held my gaze for a few long seconds.

“Harlyn,” I heard Op’s deep voice call, the both of us looking over to see him hanging on the fence. “Leave Meyah alone. Come on. I’m ‘bout to kick your butt at Putt-Putt.”

Harlyn scoffed loudly. “Think again, old man.”

I was quickly forgotten, her competitive nature coming out as she ran for the exit while her father gave me a pointed look before turning away to follow her.

“Meyah!” Ham’s voice sent butterflies fluttering around my stomach.

I took a deep breath, turning my attention to where he stood, the baseball bat resting on his shoulder at the end of the cages. He flicked his chin up. “Come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

I walked toward him, shaking my head. “I’ve got my orders,” I told him as I walked closer. The cages had five different square fenced boxes at one end, each with home plates in them, so multiple kids could practice at once. Not today, though, because the club had booked out the entire place. I stepped into the fenced cube where he was waiting. “Op said you need to go back to the clubhouse before you rip your stitches out.”

He raised his eyebrow but didn’t move, even hearing the orders from his president. “You hit one pitch, and I’ll go.”

“You’re kidding, right? Did you not hear me? Op said you ha—”

“I heard you,” he cut in, taking a step closer to me. “And I’ll go. But I just want to see you hit a pitch first. I’ll even give you a few pointers.”

I gritted my teeth, holding my ground and wondering when he got so damn fucking annoying. Had he always been like this, and I’d just seen it differently before? So much of a smart ass, so self-assured? Did it only annoy me now because I was trying to fight the attraction and not think his playful nature was cute?

And kind of sexy.

Argh!

Goddammit.

I wasn’t going to let him win. Certainly not when I knew the whole club was paying attention to us. I wasn’t stupid. They might be playing with the kids and talking amongst themselves, but their eyes were and truly focused on our interaction.

“One pitch and you get in Op’s truck, and I take your ass back and dump you at the clubhouse?” I finally bargained, fighting the urge to just turn and walk away when a smug smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“College gave you a real potty-mouth, huh? Did it steal your sense of adventure, too?” he noted, trying not to laugh.

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms across my chest, waiting in silence for a few minutes before he held his hands up in the air.

“All right then. No jokes. Gotcha. You want me to pitch it? I could slow it down for you.”

“And rip every one of your stitches out? I said I was driving you to the clubhouse, not the hospital.” I held out my hand for the bat, and he shrugged, placing it in my hand. I swung it at my side as I stepped up to the plate and tried to line up my stance with the pitching machine at the other end.

My body stilled, frozen as his hands settled like feathers on my hips. His touch was so gentle—more so than I remembered. My thin, light, and flowy baby doll top did nothing to disguise the heat from his fingertips against my skin, and God was it almost enough to make the ice-cold shell I’d constructed around my heart melt.

“Pull the bat back,” he ordered. The gentle way he was touching me, completely opposite to the firm rasp of his voice. My confidence was falling apart just like it had in the hospital this morning.

No matter how strong I got, he would always be my weakness.

After not feeling his touch for so long, a part of me just wanted to throw my last fuck in the air and curl up in his arms for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t who I was anymore.

And I couldn’t just pretend like I didn’t want to cut his balls off for how he’d treated me, or forget we had problems we needed to talk and work through if we were ever going to get back to a place where we could work.

If we could work.

“Meyah.” He squeezed my hips softly, forcing me to stand a little straighter. “The bat.”

I pulled it back over my shoulder, resting it there.

“Good girl.”

Those two words send a shiver up my spine, and my pussy instantly throbbed in response.

If he noticed, though, he didn’t let on.

“Now, you’re gonna step forward as you swing. Twist your hips and bring your back foot to your toes. Kind of like Romeo taught you to do when you throw a punch.”

He moved my hips, turning them with my swing. Then his hands moved up my sides, tickling over my waist to my shoulders where he moved them down my arms until they encompassed my grip on the baseball bat. His body was now a lot closer, pressed firmly against my back. I could feel each breath he took, and the heat between us only grew more intense.

“Here’s where your bat needs to connect with the ball,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear as he positioned me right where he wanted me.

Not just to hit the ball.

I thought I had the upper hand with him, that I was in control and knew what I was doing.

But I should have known better.

He was never not in control.

“You ready?” he asked, releasing my hands, but only to use them to pull my hair back over my shoulder and press his lips to my exposed neck.

“Stop,” I ordered, but I didn’t move.

He was cheating.

He was playing fucking dirty.

I didn’t fight him.

I couldn’t.

I was confused.

My mind was already in an epic battle with my heart, and then there was my body which was on another planet completely. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to love him. And I was turned on as fucking hell. All at once.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to wrap my hand around his throat or his dick.

“You got it?” he asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice. He was loving this, getting his damn kicks out of tormenting and teasing me. He picked up the helmet that Harlyn had on, which was too big for her, and plonked it right on my head with a thump. Tapping it twice for good measure. “You hit the ball. I’ll let you take me home.” That was the bargain. “You miss… I get to take you home.”

I finally moved, ducking out his arms and turning on him. I held the bat up, pointing it directly at him while narrowing my eyes on the cocky asshole. He raised his hands like I was pointing a gun at his chest, but it didn’t wipe the smile off his face.

“That wasn’t the deal,” I argued, but of course, he ignored me and wandered off, heading straight for the pitching machine. “Hamlet! That wasn’t the deal.”

“I’ll give you three chances, fury fists,” he called over his shoulder, ignoring my protests.

The heat in my cheeks began to build, but in all honesty, I was trying to fight a smile.

This was my Ham.

He was a smart ass.

He liked to push me.

And no matter how much it annoyed me sometimes, I kind of loved it too.

He took a ball from the basket at the other end of the pitch, a grin on his face as he dropped it into the machine, and half a second later, it was flying toward me at a pace that would knock me straight on my ass. I cursed and leaped back, the pitch flying straight over the base and missing me by a few feet.

“Are you fucking crazy?” I yelled, my eyes wide as I watched him reach for the second ball.

“Number two!”

Whoosh, another ball flew through the air, clanging against the fence behind the pitch while I just stared on like he’d lost his fucking mind.

“Last chance,” he warned, the corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin like he knew he’d already won.

I gritted my teeth and finally raised the bat to my shoulder, accepting the challenge he was laying down. At that point, I didn’t give a shit if I hit it or missed, I just wasn’t about to let him get away with thinking he could use these stupid little games to try and win me back or control me—whatever the hell his motivation was here.

I saw his smile grow even wider as he realized I was actually going to have a shot at this.

“That’s my girl.” He dropped the ball. “Three.”