"You've gotta get a life," I tell my sister the next morning over breakfast as she devours a column in the newspaper.

Denver snorts from his usual position at the stove, cooking up some egg white omelets for breakfast. We were fine with just scrambled until Jax came back from Iraq and tried to turn us all into health nuts. With the exception of these ridiculous sandwiches with potato chips that he likes to make, he's been trying to rope all of us into his new, healthy, clean eating lifestyle.

Denver slides a plate in front of Jax's barstool on the island, and Jax picks up his fork. "Thanks, man."

"You know, we used to be just fine with scrambled eggs," I point out to Denver.

Jax narrows his eyes at me. "Egg whites are healthier."

"Just because you're not on active duty anymore and are getting fat—"

"I'm not getting fat."

Daisy rolls her eyes.

"I'm not," Jax exclaims.

Denver catches my eye over his head, and we exchange a look. Now that Jax is back, I forgot how much fun messing with him is.

"What?" Jax asks, turning to look at Denver.

"You're too easy, man," Den says in that casual way of his. "We're just fucking with you. You wanna watch your figure for your bikini this summer, who are we to judge?"

"Fuck off."

Denver and I laugh as Daisy places a hand on Jax's shoulder. Because it's her, he doesn't shrug her off, and she offers him a small squeeze. Then she swipes the toast off his plate and bites into it. "You could forgo the carbs."

At this, even Jax manages a chuckle.

Daisy tosses the newspaper she was reading on the island between Jax and I.

"What're you trying to educate us on now?" I ask her, glancing over at the newspaper.

"It's really not that difficult to stay aware of current events."

But I'm barely listening because there, right in front of me in black and white, is Taylor. She looks beautiful and stunning and completely untouchable.

Then I notice the man standing beside her, his hand wrapped around her hip possessively, his eyes trained on her as he speaks into her ear. I see him, and I feel my hand clench into a fist as my stomach roils. It’s the guy from the accident. The one driving the Lamborghini. Is he her boyfriend?

My eyes shift right where another photo of them jumps out at me. He's kissing her. She's arched in a low dip as the upper part of his body settles over her, and his lips press against hers. The newspaper crinkles between my fingers, and Daisy looks up, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

She looks over my shoulder and smirks. "All okay? Since when does the gossip column and not baseball stats piss you off?"

I shake my head, feigning confusion. "Sorry. Just remembered something I have to do. I'll catch you guys later." I push away from the island. "You'll eat my eggs, right Dais?"

She nods, peering at me curiously again.

I push out of the kitchen door and into the living room before my brothers can lay into me with the third degree. My fingers feel twitchy, and an unease I can't explain ripples through my stomach. She looked beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking. But the guy next to her, he was in a league I'll never even have access to. Expensive, custom-tailored tuxedo, a watch that probably costs more than Daisy's four years of tuition, hair that doesn't fall out of place no matter the weather.

And, they were kissing. Except it was all wrong. Her body was stiff against his, unyielding. The fingers he placed on her cheek looked like he was forcing her to turn toward him while she fought against his grasp.

Who the fuck is this guy? Is that her boyfriend? Or worse, her fiancé? My heart gallops in my chest and my stomach flops, the green smoothie Jax made me drink after our run this morning threatening to come back up.

Taylor Clarke is involved with another guy. She has someone. Someone who I can tell, even at a cursory glance, isn’t good enough for her. But is that the type of guy she’s attracted to?

Glancing down, I take in my ripped jeans and plain white T-shirt. Yeah, I'm definitely not the type of guy Taylor Clarke should even be seen with, never mind go on a date with. Guys like me shouldn't mix with girls like her. When we do, it usually ends in disaster.

Or starts that way.

"Little man," I call out to Marco as he lopes toward me, his baseball cap on backward.

"You're early." He sounds surprised.

"Didn't wanna leave you hanging." I toss him the baseball I'm holding.

"You wanna go to the park?" His eyes light up, and a part of my heart breaks at his hopeful expression over something so simple as going to the park to toss around an old baseball. In the sweltering heat.

But I get it. It wasn't that long ago I remember sitting by the back door, patiently waiting for my dad to even look in my direction, so we could toss around a baseball. He never had time for that, though. Even when Mom was in the midst of her chemotherapy treatments, or Daisy was crying because she was hungry.

He never had time for any of us.

Only Denver. Until Den wouldn't do what he wanted.

And then he set his sights on me.

If only I told him to go screw himself.

But I would never do anything to jeopardize my sister. And with the MC sniffing around, trying to lay claim to her, I had to step in. He knew it; he probably planned it that way.

Staring into the warm brown eyes of Marco, the wariness in them decreasing each time I see him, I already know I won't do anything to jeopardize him losing that brief flicker of hope for the hardness of being jaded and skeptical.

"Yeah, man. That's why I'm here."

"You don't want to check anything on your phone or something?" he asks, his face slipping momentarily as if the thought is unsettling.

"Nope. Just wanna play some ball. And if you're up for it tomorrow, you can join my buddies and me at the park for a game."

A huge smile crosses his face, and I can't help but grin back. Kids are so resilient. Adults should try harder to be like them.

"Cool."

"Let's go." I nod toward the direction of the park, and he falls in step beside me.

"So, Ms. Taylor," I say, clearing my throat, suddenly nervous, which is ridiculous since I've never been nervous around a girl in my life, never mind talking about one. To an eleven-year-old, no less.

Marco shoots me some speculative side-eye.

"I saw her in the paper," I admit, deciding to just be straight with this little dude.

"You read the gossip column?" His eyes widen in surprise, and he snickers under his breath.

I shove into his shoulder lightly. "My sister had it open on the table."

"Mm-hmm."

I snort. Little man's got jokes.

"And?" he asks.

"Is she dating that guy, the one with—"

"Barrington Wade." Marco makes a face and points a finger down his throat as if he's barfing. He clearly doesn't like him either.

"What do you know about him?" We take a right on Tulip Tree Lane.

"Just what Ria mentions."

"Which is...?"

"He's a douche."

I choke, his words hitting me so unexpectedly I'm not sure how to react.

"What is a douche, anyway?" He looks up at me again, his nose wrinkling like he knows the word is bad, but isn't sure how.

I bite back my laugh, unsure of what to say. But Marco's my dude and honestly, nothing can be worse than trying to convince Daisy she wasn't dying the first time she got her period. "Literally, it's something girls do to wash their, you know." I raise my eyebrows at him, and his face takes on an odd sheen of sweat as he pretends to stick his finger down his throat and barf again. "Figuratively, it's a guy who's a real asshole."

A flash of surprise passes over his face at my profanity, but then he nods. "Thought so."

"So, Ms. Taylor's dating this dou—Barrington?"

Marco shrugs. "I'm not sure. But she does go to a lot of fancy parties with him and gets her picture taken for the paper."

I blow out a deep breath, mulling this over. I'm not sure how things run in the world of Taylor Clarke but going to loads of fancy parties sounds like dating to me.

"You like Ms. Taylor?" Marco squints up at me, shading his eyes from the sun, so he can read my expression.

I swallow thickly before nodding.

"Thought so."

"You think a lot of things, don't you?"

He shrugs. "I see a lot of things people don't think I notice."

"Like what?"

"Like how Ms. Taylor's cheeks turn pink when she sees you. And that Ria makes a mean face. Like when you took us for ice cream."

I chuckle at that. Ria is tough as nails.

"Just be nice to her, and don't make her cry."

"Taylor?"

Marco nods seriously. "She's the best girl I know and if you make her cry, I'll have to punch you in the throat."

I bite my lip again to hold back my laughter, noting the seriousness in his tone. Good for him. For some strange reason, it makes me proud that Marco isn't scared to stand up to anyone. And that he would gladly do so to defend his Ms. Taylor.

"That sounds fair." We enter the park, and I'm grateful for the shade provided by some of the big oak trees.

"You go there." Marco points to a spot in the outfield as he jogs over to his place. "I'm going to burn your glove!"

"Bring it, little man." I hold my glove up and he throws a crisp, clean pass that packs more heat than I thought he had in him.

Not that I'll let him know that.

At least, not yet.

Marco and I guzzle down the water bottles I got us from the vending machine by the snack counter, which is closed now since there aren’t any games until evening.

"Glad you had some quarters," Marco remarks and I nod.

Me too. It's hot as balls out.

"You guys are still here?"

I look up at the voice and see Ria and Taylor walking toward us, my eyes zeroing in on Taylor and noting how her limp seems more pronounced today, her lips drawn into a straight line.

"Just finishing up," Marco answers. "What are you doing here?

"Just making sure this slacker gets her steps in." Ria jerks her head toward Taylor.

Taylor smiles but it's pinched, the flat line of her mouth curling at the corners. She looks tired, exhausted even, shadows marring the delicate skin underneath her eyes.

I take a step toward her and her eyes flicker to mine. Wariness edges her irises and her fingers dig into Ria’s arm as she changes her grip.

She’s different today. Out of sorts. Her usual sparkle is dimmed, and she looks like she could sink to the ground at any moment.

My steps falter, and I clench my fist to keep myself from reaching out to touch her. She shakes her head gently, her eyes cutting to Ria and then Marco and I stop abruptly, understanding that she doesn’t want them to worry about her. The space in my chest shrinks as I realize that even when she’s exhausted and in pain, she worries more about others than she does about herself.

Who the hell is worrying about her? Caring for her?

It sure as shit isn’t Barrington Wade.

“Hey Taylor.” I say, lifting my hand in a half-wave.

She licks her lips, turning the corners of her mouth upward but her grin falls flat. “Hi Carter. How was catch?”

“Awesome. Marco’s doing a lot better since I started training him.”

Marco scowls and shoves me gently. “You mean I’m reminding you how to throw a baseball, old man?” He teases and I laugh, flipping his baseball cap around on his head.

Taylor chuckles but it’s cut short as she averts her gaze and takes a deep breath before holding her arms open to Marco.

He steps into her embrace, and I watch as his eyes close and he breathes her in, in a way that is so innocent and searching, it makes my heart ache for him. For what's he's lost or maybe never even had.

"We should get going, little man."

He nods, patting Taylor's arm as he pulls back.

"Don't overdo your steps, Ms. Taylor."

"I won't, 'Co."

"'Kay. See you around, Ria."

"Later."

I lift my hand in a partial farewell and follow Marco as he walks out of the park.

Every fiber in my being wants to turn around and track Taylor. Make sure she's really okay. See if there's anything she needs.

But I keep up her charade in front of Marco and Ria, knowing I’ll just wait for her by the house with the blue door so we can talk once she’s finished with her steps. I just hope she doesn’t overdo it but even the small amount I know about Taylor leads me to believe she will.