As Ryan sat in one of the seats behind home plate and watched the grounds crew rake and water the dirt on the diamond while ignoring the grass, she wondered why sports were so confusing. She and Ben had watched Gabe’s team play a couple times on TV, and she thought watching the infield dry would be a more entertaining way to pass the evening. Maybe it’d be different if Gabe was playing, but he’d decided not to risk further injury by trying to return and play in what would be his last season. Which was why they were here. It was the Premieres’ last home game and they were honoring Gabe in recognition of his retirement. A few days prior, Ryan had asked Ben if they could leave after they acknowledged Gabe, and he looked at her like she was insane.

“We don’t leave ballgames early,” he’d said.

“That’s dumb” had been her response, though she’d been unable to hide her smile to show she was teasing.

“I’ll show you dumb,” Ben had said before he began tickling her, which had quickly led to . . . other things.

She relaxed back into her seat—it had supposedly become a tradition for the guys to sit behind home plate whenever they watched Gabe play—and leaned into Ben, resting her head on his shoulder. If she was going to be forced to watch baseball, she may as well at least enjoy the company. Jace was trying to convince Aly that his meal was actually healthy because he’d also ordered peanuts, and everyone knew nuts were a good fat. And his popcorn, well, that was practically a vegetable. Ryan snorted when Aly began to yell at him. The wink Ryan saw him shoot Ben let her know that Jace was intentionally winding Aly up.

She felt Ben chuckle against her, but other than that he’d been pretty quiet most of the day. She tilted her head so she could look up at him. It was a view she knew she’d never tire of. Ryan wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done to deserve the beautiful man sitting beside her. And while they’d had quite a few things to work through after he’d shown up at Daisy’s almost two months prior, getting to know one another without the pretext of it being something else had mostly been . . . wonderful.

He still threw his shit everywhere and listened to more nineties’ R&B than Ryan considered healthy, and while those things drove her insane whenever she spent time at his place, she also kind of loved them. She hadn’t had someone to get annoyed at in a long time. There was a kind of peace in her irritation—a solace that she’d needed more than she’d known.

Ben had also given her something she’d had precious little of since her grandparents died: time. She’d still worked—as a waitress in a regular restaurant—because she hadn’t wanted to be dependent on him. That thought didn’t sit well with her. And he’d given her time to decide where she wanted to go from there, which, it turned out, was to live with him in Denver during his season. She already had a job out there and was enjoying the change in scenery.

And as she continued to study the hard line of his jaw that was outlined by the short beard he’d grown back in, she was overwhelmed—as she always was—by how much she loved this man. It felt almost desperate at times, and the feeling would be scary if it didn’t feel so right. But tonight there was something very not right about the picture in front of her. “You okay?” she asked.

Ben sighed deeply before turning his head slightly so he could drop a kiss on her forehead. He didn’t say anything right away, but that was okay. She could wait.

* * *

Ben tried to reason with himself and his negative headspace. There was no logical explanation for his feelings. He was here with one of his best friends, watching his other best friend being honored for the great contribution he’d made to the team he’d spent his entire career with. He was also sitting beside the woman he loved more than anything.

More than anything.

That was the crux of his issue. He loved Ryan more than anything—including hockey. Luckily for him, she’d agreed to come to Denver with him so he still got to have both. But Gabe was letting it all go. And Ben couldn’t figure it out; because as far as he knew, Gabe didn’t love anything more than baseball. When he’d tried to talk to Gabe about it, all the infuriating man had said was that he had something in the works and not to worry about him. But he wouldn’t say what he had in the works. And since Gabe had always seemed biologically incapable of keeping a secret, it made Ben worry.

He shifted a little so he could look down at Ryan and answer her question. “Me, Jace, and Gabe bonded because we were all singularly focused on being the best.” He took a deep breath and let his eyes sweep over the field, at Jace, and back at Ryan. “It feels like we’re all becoming such different people.”

Ryan sat up and threaded her fingers through his. “My grandmother met my grandfather when she was fourteen years old. They barely spent a day apart from then until they died. I once asked her how they did it. I mean, fourteen? People change so much from who they are as teenagers to who they become as adults. And you know what she said?” She didn’t wait for Ben to answer, but she offered him a small smile before she continued. “She said that they grew up together, and it made all the difference. Because instead of trying to fit their lives together as adults, they entwined their lives together along the way.” Ryan slipped her arms around Ben and hugged him tight. “You guys are like that. Your stories are so entwined, your friendship so vital to who you are as people, that nothing can break it now. You’re stuck with each other.” Her smile widened. “Like you’re stuck with me.”

Ben studied her face for a moment, wondering how the hell he’d gotten so lucky, before he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck with anyone else.”

“Good,” she whispered before kissing him again.

The announcer’s voice interrupted them, and they broke apart slowly, smiles still plastered to their faces. And when the announcer told the crowd that it was a special night—that they were saying goodbye to one of their own—the stadium grew nearly silent. The booming voice said, “For the last time, let’s hear it for one of the best shortstops in Premieres’ history, Gabriel Torres,” and everyone shot to their feet, applauding and shouting for Gabe.

Ben watched Gabe walk out of the dugout, wearing his uniform even though he wouldn’t be taking the field, and tip his hat to the crowd. Then Gabe turned and faced them, causing Jace and Ben to both go still. Gabe put his hat over his heart before pushing it back toward them.

Ben jerked a nod to his best friend as he put his arm around his girlfriend, his heart feeling so full he thought it might burst. And in that moment, Ben knew that everything was going to be just fine.