THE BOXES PEPPER HAPPENED TO have in her store room are spread around me. I sit in the middle of the living room, a haphazard collection of figurines on my left and a box of donuts on my right, bubble wrap in front of me.

I managed to get dressed, wash my face, and brush my teeth. I made it to the Smitten Kitten and took all of the boxes, two cappuccinos, and the pastries and made it home without crying. It’s a victory. Small, but a victory anyway.

Macie called and made sure I wasn’t talking out my ass and was really coming. I told her I am. I have to. I can’t stay here. There’s nothing for me here and everything I loved before Lincoln is tainted by my love for him.

My love for him. I’m so damn stupid. If I would’ve listened to my brain from the start, I would’ve been going through life like normal. Work. Smitten Kitten and cappuccinos. Baths and books. I was happy like that for so long and I went and screwed it up.

A twist in my stomach catches me off guard and I know I’m lying to myself. I wasn’t happy then. Maybe I thought I was, but it wasn’t until Lincoln that I realized what happy could mean. At least, in the midst of this heartache, I know what it feels like to love someone.

With a sigh, I grab a donut and shovel half of it in my mouth. The chocolate glaze coats my lips and the roof of my mouth and I can barely chew, or breathe, but it’ll be a delicious way to go out. “Death by donut” somehow seems to read better on my tombstone than death from a broken heart.

I wrap my little teacup in bubble wrap but can’t find the tape. Standing, I wipe a bit of chocolate off my lips with the back of my hand and head into the kitchen where the bag from the store sits. As I pass the foyer, the doorbell rings.

Pulling it open, I say, “Pepper, you didn’t have to come. I can pack . . .”

My mouth drops and my hand falls from the door. I immediately glance in the mirror and feel the panic bubble set in. There’s chocolate icing on my lips and smearing to my right cheek. My hair is in a messy bun. My clothes are clean but wrinkly and definitely not to my usual standards.

Oh. Fuck.

“Hi, Dad. Mom,” I say, gulping. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Maybe we should’ve called,” Mom says, taking me in from head-to-toe with a look of disgust.

Stifling an eye roll, I paste on the best smile I can.

I don’t invite my father inside, but he doesn’t wait on an invitation either. He clamps my shoulder as he walks by. “I’m not sure this place is safe,” he says, looking around. “Do you have a security system, Ryan?”

“I’ve lived here for three years. It’s safe.”

My mother enters too and I shut the door behind them. My gut, already twisted from everything with Lincoln, is pulled tighter. So tight, in fact, that I think I might pass out or vomit.

“What are the boxes for?” my mother asks, taking off a pair of gloves that extend to her elbow. It’s not that cold out, but they make a statement.

I consider not telling them anything. I usually don’t. I’m not even sure how they got my address. But with them in front of me, face- to-face for the first time in maybe two or three years, I can’t just not say anything. “I’m moving,” I tell them, smoothing out my shirt. “To Boston. I got a great job there with a nonprofit that works with inner city kids.”

“Ryan, when are you going to do something real with your life?” My father turns and faces me. He’s aged, the lines in his forehead harsher than I remember. Or maybe it’s just that I’m used to looking at the picture taken almost ten years ago. Either way, he almost seems like a stranger to me.

“Something real with my life?” I balk. “Excuse me?”

“Yes, something real,” he huffs. “Kids your age have no idea what it’s like in the real world. You’ve been pampered and coddled your whole damn lives and don’t even take something good when it’s offered to you.”

“And what’s been offered to me that I haven’t taken?”

Instead of answering my question, he shakes his head. “You go from one dead end job to another, wasting your potential. It’s such a shame that you have no interest in being anything.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. We just stand in the foyer, between the front door and the living room, and look at each other. A group of people tied together by blood, but divided by a poison that infects every strand of our relationship.

His words hurt. Sting. My wounds are already there, gaping from losing Lincoln, and he pours salt in with no consideration.

When I was eight years old, my parents told me they wouldn’t be home for my birthday. I cried. Instead of comforting me, they laughed. They said it was silly to think I wouldn’t get a cake or gifts; they’d arranged that. My tears weren’t for teddy bears and chocolate icing. My cries were because it was apparent that day that I didn’t matter.

I haven’t cried in front of them since then. That is, until today.

If it were any other day, I would’ve held strong. But my heart too broken, the waterworks already started, and I don’t bother to fight them. They trickle down my cheeks, across the smears of donut, and onto the floor. I consider how ridiculous I must look, like the calamity they think I am and I don’t even care.

“Will you stop?” my mother breathes, tugging at her necklace. “I told you this was a bad idea, Bryan.”

“With all the resources you have, why you live like this is beyond me,” my father says. “It’s absurd. You need to clean yourself up and get yourself together, Ryan.”

“It’s Danielle,” I say, but I don’t think he hears me over the knock at the door. Relieved at Pepper’s perfect timing, I tug the door open.

It’s not Pepper.

He looks so handsome standing in my doorway, the afternoon light shining around him. His eyes are wide, filled with the sorrow I feel. He doesn’t move to me, doesn’t try to reach for me, and he doesn’t smile the way he always does when he sees me. This is us. The new us. And I hate it.

“Dani.”

The one word, my nickname, the one I hate but now somehow love hearing from his lips, breaks the seal. The tears trickle down faster. “I brought your mug,” he says and I want to laugh, but I can’t. It hurts too much. His eyes land over my shoulder and then flip immediately back to mine again. “Are you okay?” The question is a whisper.

“No,” I say back.

All of a sudden, he’s taking me in differently. His pupils narrow, his green eyes darken and he steps to me. He pulls me into him and kisses the top of my head. I turn as he steps inside the house, keeping his arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

“Mr. Kipling,” Lincoln says. I’ve never heard his voice this way. It’s not playful or sexy or even engaging. It’s professional. Hard. Maybe even cold. It takes me aback. “Mrs. Kipling.”

“What is this? Some kind of joke?” My father’s eyes are wide as he takes in his new centerfielder with his arm around me. I imagine he’s worried I’ll interfere in their life now if I’m somehow dating Lincoln and he’s playing for the Sails. The fury in his eyes dampens a piece of my soul.

“What is it you’d like explained?” Lincoln asked.

He clutches me tightly and I’m so thankful he’s here. Glancing at my mother, I see her dipping her chin, looking at me down her perfect, plastic-surgeon-created nose.

“Did she put you up to this?” my father snarls. Looking at me, his repugnance of me is palpable. “This was your doing, wasn’t it? Why, Ryan? Why do you have to act like such a spoiled brat? Is it attention you need? Is that what’s wrong?”

“This has nothing to do with her,” Lincoln fires back.

I look between the two of them, my head spinning. “What are you talking about?”

My father chuckles, his gaze on Lincoln. “You know you won’t get another offer like the one I gave you. We were ready to build around you, Lincoln. There were good things happening, and instead, you listened to a little girl that doesn’t know anything.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask again, drying my face with the sleeve of my shirt, much to my mother’s dismay. “Lincoln?”

He looks at me and smiles. Using the pad of his thumb, he wipes away the icing on my cheek and laughs. “You’re a mess, Dani.”

“It’s your fault,” I sniffle, wrapping my hand around his wrist and holding it so he doesn’t pull it away from my face.

“I’ll make it up to you.” He winks and I drop his hand and he turns back to my parents. “Your offer was generous, Mr. Kipling. You definitely know how to make people see how serious you are about baseball.”

“And if you were serious, we could’ve made something happen.”

“Landry?” I ask, looking up at him. I can’t fight the little blossom in my stomach that maybe something happened. But I don’t want to get my hopes up.

“I am serious, Mr. Kipling. Serious about things that matter.”

My father laughs, an angry vibe in his tone. “Don’t even tell me . . .”

“All I’ve ever wanted to do is play baseball,” Lincoln tells my parents. “I wanted to see my name on the back of shirts and to sign my name to pictures being held by little kids. I wanted to be the guy that hit the game winning run in the World Series and make my dad proud of me.” He pulls me close. “I did that. All of it.”

“And you can do it all again. A number of times,” my father insists.

“I could. Yeah, you’re right. But I’ve learned there are more important things in life than contracts and batting titles.”

My heart slams in my chest and I feel tears build up in the corners of my eyes. I don’t say a word, just listen, and hope, even if I’m wrong, that he’s going to say what I think he is.

“There are seasons in life,” Lincoln continues. “I spent my entire life up to now focused on baseball. It’s been a great run. Fantastic, actually. I’ve done things and seen things most people can never dream of. But what do I have besides all that?”

“I have no idea where this is going,” my mother answers. “Or why you are here with our daughter. Or why we are even here, to be honest.”

I start to respond, but Lincoln’s squeeze stops me. Instead, he chuckles.

“No one is keeping you here.” He looks at my mother and then at my father. When they don’t move, he laughs. “I’m here with Dani because I’m in a new season of my life. Today is opening day.”

My eyes blur again and I lean my head against him. I breathe him in, all expensive cologne and male testosterone, and feel safe in the midst of my parents for the first time. For once, I don’t have to battle them. Their ferocity isn’t aimed at me. He’s protecting me and it feels better than I even imagined it would.

“The trophies in the guest bedroom don’t talk back. They don’t keep me company or warm at night. They don’t play catch and they don’t drink coffee with me in the morning.”

He looks down at me and chuckles at the smile on my face. “A mess,” he whispers, swiping at my tears. “A total mess.” I giggle as he kisses my forehead and looks back to my parents.

“You’re just like Ryan,” my father blows. “A kid born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You have no drive. No—”

“Say what you want about me,” Lincoln booms over top my dad, “but don’t talk about her. You know less about her than you know about me.”

“She’s our daughter. What in the hell are you talking about?”

“You can rattle off my statistics, my contract terms, my health report. What do you know about Dani?”

They look at Lincoln like he’s just asked them the equation for world peace. Their silence is so loud, the lack of response deafening.

“If I’m like her,” Lincoln says, “then my mom will be proud. In my family, love isn’t predicated on wins and losses, fame or persona. It’s about who we are as people. What we are all about when all that shit is stripped away.”

“You know nothing about Ryan.” My mother eyes me like I’m an inconvenience. “You need to focus on what matters, Lincoln.”

“I am.”

My father eyes me with the hollowness I’ve come to expect. There’s no love in his gaze, no adoration. No humor or pride like I’ve seen in the Landry family. No empathy like I see in Lincoln’s eyes. “I hope you’re happy, Ryan. You’ve just fucked up this man’s life beyond repair.” He jerks my mother along as they stride towards the front door, anger seeping off of him as his hand hits the knob.

“She will be happy. I’ll see to it.” Lincoln’s voice is loud and clear in the foyer as we step to the side and let them pass. “You can help that out too by not coming around again.”

“You will not tell me what I’m going to do, with my own child at that!” My dad turns on his heel and faces Lincoln, his face red.

“I’m not a child!” I shake off Lincoln’s grip, and for the first time in my life, face my father head on. “I’m a grown woman, one that has nothing in common with you but some DNA.”

“Listen to you,” Dad seethes. “We haven’t seen you in God knows when and you talk to us like this!”

Lincoln’s hand finds me and he gently, yet forcefully, moves me back. He steps between my father and I. “You need to leave. Now.”

“We—”

“Now,” Lincoln repeats, a vein in his temple starting to pulse. “You will not stand in front of me and talk to her like that.”

“And what are you going to do about it, you little punk?”

“There’s nothing more tempting right now than slamming my fist in your face. But I won’t do that . . . because of her. She’ll just have to deal with it, and you’ve given her a lifetime of shit to work through, you fucking assholes.”

My mother gasps. My father shakes from the wrath radiating off him. Lincoln stands calm and cool.

It’s a scene from a movie, one that makes me swoon when I watch it on the big screen. I’m too caught up in the moment to do much but watch with an open mouth.

“Leave,” Lincoln tells them, flicking the door handle. It swings open, the early afternoon air rustling through the house. “Now. And don’t come back. Whatever obligations you feel towards Dani, consider them taken over by me. She doesn’t need you. Now go.”

My father steps to Lincoln and they square off, their noses nearly touching. Lincoln doesn’t flinch. My father shakes harder until my mother wraps her hands around his bicep and guides him out the door, but not before giving me one final disapproving look.

The door shuts. My shoulders fall with a release of years of stress evaporating. I collapse into Lincoln’s arms.

There are no tears, just an overwhelming sense of relief—that they’re gone. That I don’t feel picked apart. And that he’s here.

“Thank you,” I say into his shirt.

“Stop thanking me,” he chuckles, his body rumbling. “God, this feels good.”

“I hope you mean that you’re in my arms . . .”

“That,” I giggle, pulling away to look at him, “but also that they’re gone. I’ve never stood up to them. And I guess I didn’t this time either, but you did. For me.”

“For you.” His eyes are so kind, brimming with emotion that it makes my knees feel weak. “I have something to show you.” When I do, I see he’s extending a set of papers towards me. “My contract.”

“Congratulations,” I utter. It pains me to say that. I’d hoped he had walked away from it all, but seeing the sheets in his hand, it’s obvious he re-signed with the Arrows. I want to take the crisp white pages and burn them and then take the ashes and dilute them in water and flush them down the toilet. Those fucking papers are destroying my life.

“Thanks.” He peers into the living room. “What’s up with all the boxes?”

Stepping away, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I can’t stay here. I’m putting my notice in on Monday.”

“Where you going?”

“Boston. My friend Macie lives there and has a job lined up for me.”

“Boston? It’s too fucking cold in Boston.”

I pull away and head to the kitchen, needing some kind of buffer between me and him. At least in there, I can separate us with the table so I can think straight.

“I was thinking something the other direction,” he says, following me. “How about Savannah? I could get you a job there, if that’s what you want.”

Sighing, I walk around the table and look at him over the top of it. “I don’t need you to get me a job.”

“I know you don’t. I’m trying to sell you on an idea here, Ryan.”

“I don’t know where this leaves us now that you’re staying in Memphis. I mean, on one hand, you’re still here so that makes it easier. But on the other, you’re still you and I’m still . . . me. Aren’t we going to be in this same position sooner or later?” I shrug sadly. “I can’t walk this line, knowing what’s coming, Landry. It has to be all or nothing with you.”

Those beautiful green eyes of his sparkle as his hands find the back of a chair in front of him. He leans his weight on it and smiles. “I pick all.” It’s a simple answer, one that throws me. He slides a stack of papers across the table. “Which is why I was thinking Savannah. But if you have another suggestion, I’m all ears. Just nowhere north of here. I don’t do winter.”

“What?”

He motions towards the papers. “Look at those.”

Everything inside me stills. “Landry . . .”

“Damn it, Dani. Don’t be so fucking hard headed,” he laughs. “Look at the papers.”

They rattle in my hand as I pick them up. The first page is an agreement for trade. It’s a standard contract that I’ve seen in my dad’s office a few times. I flip through until I find a little yellow arrow flag. There’s no signature above his name.

I don’t trust my voice and, instead, look up at him. He grins. Going back to the papers, white noise filling my ears as more hope than I can handle if this turns bad rushes over me, I find another paper clip. It’s a notice of retirement.

I drop the papers. They flutter across the tabletop.

“What did you do?” I say, my words muffled with the emotion I’m trying desperately to hold back.

“I’m retiring.”

“You can’t,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re not thinking. You can’t retire.”

“I can do whatever the hell I want.”

His long strides make it around the table and to me in about three steps. We stand inches apart, our breathing heavy as we look at each other. He’s as nervous as I am. I can tell by the rigidity of his shoulders and the way his lips are pressed together. My fingers itch to touch him, my body desperate to hold his, but I don’t. I need to hear what he has to say.

“I’m retiring,” he says. There’s no question in his tone, no uncertainty. He could be telling me it’s fifty degrees outside with a thirty percent chance of rain.

“Why? And don’t say because of me or that I won’t go with you because I can’t have that on my conscience.”

He smiles faintly. “It has nothing, yet everything, to do with you.”

“Landry . . .”

“I’ve told you that a baseball player is who I am. It’s my niche. I’m the guy that the rest of the team depends on and the one fans come out to see. It’s exhilarating, Dani. There’s nothing like it.”

“Which is why—”

“Seriously,” he laughs. “Just. Let. Me. Talk. You’ll get your chance. I promise.” He shakes his head before continuing. “I only have a few years left of this.”

“Which is why you have to play!”

“Cut me off again and I’ll figure out a way to occupy your mouth,” he promises, his eyes shining. I try to glare at him, but can’t, and end up laughing. Even still, my knees are a little weak and I pull out a chair and sit down. He does the same. “As I was saying,” he emphasizes, “I only have a few years, but what do those years consist of ? Traveling? Hotels? Maybe a championship and maybe a few batting titles, but I have both of those already. When I think about that, the trade-off, what it takes to get there, it’s just doesn’t have the appeal it used to.”

He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “My dad told me he got out of politics, which was his passion, because my mom had enough of living as a politician’s wife. He told me she’d never have asked him to quit, but he knew in his gut she wasn’t happy and he’d rather have her and his family than another term. When you told me last night to go, it made me remember that.”

“I—” I begin, but he squeezes my hand and I stop.

“My career came to a halt last year because of an injury. It could end this year if I re-injure. Hell, I could die in a fucking plane crash on the way there.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I could. And you know what I think about when I think about either of those things?”

I shake my head.

“Not a missed title or game or locker room. I think about you. Dani, I love baseball. I love it. But me playing was a pursuit of happiness. It’s what made me feel whole. Important. Needed.”

My vision is blurred as I listen to his words because I know what’s coming and I’m not prepared. I squeeze his hand and try not to anticipate what’s next because if I’m wrong, I’m done.

“It’s like meeting you started a new season of my life, Dani. It’s a new field with new rules and new challenges, and that appeals to me so much more than another nine innings on the field. My happiness is now with you. I think yours is with me too.”

I’m in his arms before I realize I’ve even moved, my head buried in the crook of his neck.

“I ran this by Graham this morning,” he laughs, “because if anyone can tell you you’re fucking stupid with no reservation, it’s him. He gave it his stamp of approval.”

It’s like every piece of the puzzle has been snapped back into place. I’m crying, but out of a mixture of disbelief and elation instead of fear and sadness. The one-eighty has my head spinning and I half expect to wake up and find out this is a dream.

His hands lock around my waist. “I really hope you’re okay with this because, if not, I just gave up my spot on the roster,” he laughs nervously.

I cup his cheeks, his skin smooth under my touch. “Are you sure? Absolutely one hundred and fifty million percent sure? Because I can’t live thinking you gave up your dream because of me. What if this doesn’t work out?”

“If it doesn’t work out, I’ll regret this one hundred and . . . how much? Fifty million?” he laughs. “Times less than I would regret playing baseball and wondering if we could’ve worked out. And,” he says, moving his head side to side as he smirks, “G would’ve been pissed when he had to bail me out of jail for beating the shit out of your dad.”

Laughing, I kiss his lips. “Are you sure? Like, completely sure.”

He tongue darts across his bottom lip. “I’m completely sure you’ve been eating chocolate donuts,” he chuckles.

I gasp. “I look like a mess.” I try to get up and already mentally have the shower on when he jerks me back.

“You are a mess. Which is why I know that we’re going to be fine.” “How’s that?”

“Because you look exactly how I feel. Like when we aren’t together, the world is ending. Because if we aren’t together, maybe it has.” His features alight with mischief.

Leaning back on him again, I sigh. “I love you, Landry.” “I love you, Ryan.”