Our foreheads connect and when we finally open our eyes, our gazes meeting, we laugh at the same time, then I capture her lips. I find her breast and squeeze it while I make out with her, feeling so fucking happy.

  So fucking grateful.

  After a brief make-out session, I pull away and whisper, “Christ, Indie, that was . . . that was the best I’ve ever had.” I don’t mind making the admission, because it’s true. This girl just rocked my world upside down. I’m in a post-sex daze—numbers running into letters, not knowing where I am, who I am, what I’m doing kind of daze.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard,” she says softly, caressing my cheek. “I think you ruined me for the rest of my life.”

  “At least we had fun doing it,” I say, wrapping my arms around her and encouraging her to rest on my chest.

  We lie there for I don’t know how long, but after what feels like hours, Indie climbs back on top of me and takes what she wants. We have sex three more times and each time, I keep wondering how it can keep getting better. I’ve had sex with a lot of girls. Single guy. Adrenaline. Willing participants. But nothing compares to sex with Indie. Nothing. The sexual compatibility. The welcome intensity. God, even the laughter. She’s sexy, confident, and brilliant. Absolutely mind-fucking-blowing. And she’s all mine.

  * * *

  “Woo, looking good in there, Castle,” Knight, our shortstop says, peering into the bullpen.

  “He’s popping the shit out of my glove,” Louis, my catcher adds, standing from his squatted position. “I think you could hit it today, man.”

  I shake my head. “Nah, I don’t think I’m ready.”

  “I think you are,” Disik says, coming up next to me with a radar gun in hand. He stands behind me and nods toward Louis. “Let’s see if those workouts have been working,” Disik says with a slight frown. Not sure if the guy knows how to smile. But I can’t really focus on that at the moment. The man who has trained me for the last two years, who believed in me when I was eighteen, that man believes I can throw ninety-five. Fuck.

  Retrieving the ball from Louis, I rub it between my palms, my glove tucked under my arm, and then get settled into my position on the mound. I can only hope I don’t let Disik down.

  Believe in yourself, Castle. You’ve worked fucking hard for this. Get it done.

  I hold my glove up, look down at the catcher, lift my leg, and bound off the mound, my chest leading first and then my arm following through. The ball sails down the shoot and straight into Louis’s glove with a snap.

  I turn to Disik with hope. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even flinch. “Again.”

  Hope disappears.

  I wasn’t ready.

  I get the ball back and repeat the pitch.

  Disik makes me repeat it eight more times. After the tenth pitch, he lowers the radar gun, hands it to our equipment manager, and then just stands there, arms crossed, staring at me.

  I try not to shift under his strong gaze, waiting for him to talk.

  “You’ve been training?”

  “Yes, sir. Upping my weights in the weight room and then working with Indie Mayhem on leg endurance and strength.”

  He grips his jaw and nods. “It’s been working. You just threw nine out of ten pitches hitting ninety-five.”

  “What?” I ask, surprise taking over. “Are you serious?”

  He nods. “Yes. Keep it up, Castle.”

  And then he takes off.

  Holy Fuck.

  The sound of Louis’s gear bounding toward me has me bracing for impact as he congratulates me.

  Shit . . . I did it.

  I hit fucking ninety-five, which means one thing: I’m that much closer to the major leagues.

  And there’s only one person to thank.

  Because she believed in me too.

  * * *

  I contemplate whether going to celebrate with Indie is okay, given the women’s soccer team was eliminated from the championships this past weekend, but hell. I need to see her, so I go barreling up her steps and knock on the door.

  It takes her a few minutes, but when she opens the door, I scoop her up into my arms, spin her around, and push her against the door as I close it. My lips land on hers and my hand—the one that’s not holding a bag of Frankie Donuts—grips the back of her head. I dive into her mouth with my tongue and press my pelvis into her—just as I hear a throat clear behind us.

  I still, wince, and turn around to find her mom sitting on the couch.

  Oh fuck.

  When I release Indie, her face doesn’t read angry, just . . . content.

  “Uh, sorry about that, Mrs. Mayhem,” I say, straightening my shirt and awkwardly handing Indie the bag of donuts. “Just making a donut delivery.”

  “Well, I’ve never seen a donut delivery like that, nor have I ever seen friends greet each other in such a friendly way.”

  Indie sighs next to me and says, “I was just about to tell my mom that we’re seeing each other, but you beat me to it.”

  “Nothing like making an entrance,” I say, feeling incredibly awkward. I scratch the back of my neck and say, “You know, I can come back another time.”

  “No, stay. We can chat,” Mrs. Mayhem says, but Indie grips my hand, holding me in place.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sure Lincoln has a bunch of finals to study for.”

  “Oh yeah, sure. I do,” I answer, even though I don’t have finals in any of my classes, just final papers. But I’m pretty good at picking up the tone of the room. “Just wanted to drop those donuts off.”

  “Such a shame. Maybe we can catch up another time?”

  “Yeah, that would be great.” I wave at Mrs. Mayhem and then reach for the door.

  Thankfully Indie says, “I’m just going to walk him out.”

  “Take your time.”

  Hand in hand, Indie walks me to my Jeep where we both stop at the driver’s door. “I’m sorry,” she says, looking up at me. “My mom surprised me and said she needs to talk to me. I have no idea what she’s going to say, but I’m sure it can’t be great if she drove here on a weeknight.”

  “No need to apologize, babe.” I tilt her chin up and press a chaste kiss across her lips. “I’ll just talk to you later.” I reach for my car door when she stops me.

  “Wait, why did you come over?”

  “It’s not a big deal. I’ll tell you later.”

  She stops me again. “Lincoln, you brought donuts, Frankie Donuts, which means it is a big deal. Tell me. I’ll probably need whatever news you have to help me get through this conversation with my mom.”

  I feel bad about my timing, but I know she won’t let me get away without spilling the beans, so I grip both of her hands and say, “I hit ninety-five today, babe. Nine times.”

  “Oh my God,” she shrieks as she hops up into my arms, her legs going around my waist. “Are you serious?”

  I nod. “Yeah, Disik clocked me. I was feeling pretty good today. Louis said he could tell I’d added some steam to my pitches, so Disik came up to me with a radar gun. At first I didn’t think I hit it, because he kept making me repeat the pitch, but when he finally handed the radar gun away and told me I did it . . . hell, I had to tell you. You were the first person I wanted to tell, Mayhem,” I say, bringing my forehead to hers.

  She grips both of my cheeks. “I’m so proud of you, Lincoln. That’s amazing.”

  “Do you know what this means?”

  “What?” she asks, a huge smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

  “Because I hit ninety-five, that means we get to have sex in the locker room now.”

  “Wait . . . what?” she asks, a little crinkle to her nose. “When did we ever agree to that?”

  “I agreed to it in my head.”

  “And you think that counts?”

  “It does in my book.” I wiggle my eyebrows, and she smooths her hand over my face, laughing.

  “Keep dreaming, Castle.” She lowers her mouth and lightly presses a kiss to my lips. “I’m really proud of you. This made my night, so thank you for telling me, and thank you for the donuts.”

  “Just a small thank you for helping me. Seriously, babe, I’m so grateful for your help.”

  “Don’t forget it when you’re an All-Star pitcher in the big leagues.”

  “Never,” I answer while kissing her again.

  After a few passes of our mouths, she asks, “Depending on when my mom leaves, do you think I could come over?”

  “Yeah, you never have to ask, babe. Come over whenever you want.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” She presses another kiss to my lips and then hops off my waist. “I’ll call you.”

  I give her one more kiss and then head back home, content to wait for her call.

  A call she never makes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  INDIE

  When I shut the door, my mom doesn’t take very long to question me about Lincoln. Honestly, I had no intention of talking about him, but when he showed up, I didn’t want my mom to make a big deal of things with Lincoln there. So I told her.

  And thankfully she didn’t.

  But now we’re alone, and I know her curiosity will need to be answered.

  “And you told me you were just friends.” Her voice is teasing, and I know she’s trying to joke with me, but it’s coming off as more annoying than anything.

  “Things progressed.”

  I take a seat on the couch, leaving the donuts on the coffee table.

  “Is Lincoln your boyfriend?”

  “No.” I shake my head quickly. “Just having fun.”

  Her brow crinkles. “As in just sex?”

  “You know, I think you hardly have any room to judge given the fact that you’re married and apparently have a boyfriend.”

  She leans back, hands clasped in front of her. “I guess I deserved that.” A wave of guilt washes through me, and I’m about to apologize when she says, “And that’s a good segue into why I came to talk to you.”

  “Okay,” I say, pulling a throw pillow into my chest, nerves itching up the back of my spine.

  “As you know, your dad and I are seeing different people. Well, things have progressed for your father, and he’s fallen in love.”

  “With another woman?” I ask, feeling so sick to my stomach about the whole thing that it’s hard to listen to my mom talk about it.

  “Yes, with his mistress. He respects me and cares for me enough that he’s waiting to file for divorce until I can figure out health insurance.”

  “Divorce?” I swallow hard.

  “Yes, honey. Divorce. Your father is quite happy with Rochelle.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Well, Joe and I seem to be getting along just fine.”

  Joe. He has a name. They both have a name.

  It still feels so unreal that my parents have not only been sneaking around with other people, but they’re so accepting of it that they’re going to divorce. When did it start? Who cheated first? When did they both feel it would be okay to ignore every vow they ever took, to keep their daughter in the dark—and who the hell else knows that I’ll have to face next time I’m back home? What ever happened to true love? Does it not exist? They used to be so happy. Weren’t they? What happened to “until death do us part?”

  And where the hell is my father? Where has he been in this? No calls. No texts. No conversation when I was home. Is he so happy with his darling Rachel, or whatever the hell her name is, that he can’t bother to be here? To reach out? To reassure me that no matter what happens with him and Mom, that he’ll always be there for me?

  But why would he do that when he never has been?

  How long has it been since he hugged me and told me he loves me?

  “Okay.” I swallow hard. I will not cry in front of my mother, a woman who doesn’t have any remorse in her eyes. A woman who looks . . . deliriously happy. Maybe a little like I’ve felt with Lincoln. Before now. “Is that why you’re here? Because you’re telling me about your fling?”

  “It isn’t just a fling, sweetie. Joe and I are getting serious, another reason why I’m here.” She sets her hands on her lap and says, “Joe’s moving in.”

  “What?” I ask, blinking a few times. “Moving into our house?”

  She nods.

  “With Dad?”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Oh no, honey, he already moved out. Found a very nice apartment that he and Rochelle are sharing. I helped him pick it out.” What?

  I press my hand to my forehead, all this information starting to swirl around in confusion. And then I think back on my house when I was there. In a word, it was sparse.

  “When, Mom? When did he move out?”

  And for a moment, she looks sheepish. “It doesn’t matter when.” She laughs. Laughs. Fuck. “But your father and I are happy and—”

  “No, Mom. It does matter. Were you and Dad just playing happy families, who scuttled off to their booty calls on Thanksgiving when their daughter came to see them? For what purpose? Why not tell me the truth then?” It feels like my blood is boiling. I don’t think I’ve ever been this . . . enraged.

  “Indie, you’re blowing this out of proportion. It doesn’t—”

  “When? When did you help Dad—your husband—pick out a new apartment to share with his girlfriend? When did you decide your boyfriend should move into our home?”

  “Not just my boyfriend, but my boyfriend and his daughter.”

  My heart stops.

  Literally stops.

  “Daughter?”

  “Yes, she’s the sweetest little thing. Priscilla is her name, and she’s ten. Loves Barbies, something you never enjoyed, and she loves playing beauty salon with me.”

  “Where . . . where is she going to stay?” I ask, my heart sinking with every confession.

  “Well, that’s the thing. Since the house is only a two-bedroom, it makes things quite difficult. Since you’re here in college and wanting to stay over breaks, I was hoping that Priscilla could have your room.”

  My jaw hits the floor.

  She has got to be kidding me.

  “You want Priscilla to sleep in my room?”

  “Well, not just sleep there, honey, but live there. I was going to pack up all your trophies and medals and paint the walls pink, because Priscilla just loves pink. We picked out a comforter at Target the other day; it’s so adorable. But before we move forward, I wanted to make sure it’s going to be okay with you.” Okay with me. That I’ll never see my own room again. I won’t have a home anymore.

  “It seems like you’ve already moved me out, Mom,” I say, a bitter bite to my voice.

  She goes to take my hand but I move away. “Indie, I’m not moving you out, I’m just utilizing a room that’s not being used. The only way I can afford the mortgage is if Joe moves in, as he’s going to pay half. But Joe can’t move in unless Priscilla comes with him.”

  “I see.” I look away, my eyes burning. There is no place for tears, and I won’t let her see any either.

  It’s bad enough that my parents are seeing other people and apparently have already spoken about divorce, but to take away my childhood room from me and replace me with a girl by the name of Priscilla, a girl who loves Barbies and is everything I was not growing up . . . it’s too much.

  “Honey, you didn’t want to come home this past summer. I had to force you. You’re growing up, do you expect me to keep your room as a shrine forever?”

  “No,” I say, steadying my voice, even though it’s wavering. “It’s fine, Mom.” I take a deep breath, put on a good face and then stand from the couch. “Do what you want with the room. It’s not like I’m returning anyway.”

  “Well, we still want you to come home for Christmas, sweetie. You can split time between the house and your dad’s new place. It has an indoor pool. Fancy, right?”

  It takes everything in me not to rear back and kick my mom in the shin.

  An indoor pool?

  That’s what she thinks will make everything better? A goddamn indoor pool?

  Unbelievable.

  “Yeah, fancy.” I move away and say, “I’m sorry to just bolt but I do have finals to study for.”

  “Of course, of course.” She stands as well. “I’m sorry I crashed in on you, but I thought it would be better to tell you this in person.” She comes up to me and clasps my hands. “Thank you for being so terrific. Priscilla is going to just love your room.”

  Great.

  She places a kiss on my cheek and then cups it. “You’re a good daughter. Oh, and sorry about your loss. But hey, now you can focus on supporting Lincoln and his journey to the big leagues.”

  And there it is, the final kick to the crotch. The underlying tension between me and my mom. She’s never supported my pursuit of soccer, wishing I was more like her, happy to settle with a man—even though it doesn’t last a lifetime apparently. Oh, and, it’s good to know that at least I’m replaceable. This time around, Mom has the girly-girl daughter she’s always wanted.

  “Yes, well, we’ll see what happens this spring.”

  “So glad I introduced you two.” She presses another kiss to my cheek as steam flies out my ears. “Love you, sweetie. I’ll send you pictures when we’re done making the transformation of your room. Can’t wait.” She claps her hands, gives me a hug, and then takes off, leaving me alone in my living room with a broken heart. With tears falling down my face.

  Today, I found out I was replaceable.

  And forgettable.

  * * *

  Lincoln: Hey babe, are you headed over? Wasn’t sure if I should get dinner for us.

  Lincoln: Just checking in. Everything okay?

  Lincoln: Indie, growing concerned. Scarlett’s here, and we’re ordering pizza. Are you coming over?

  Lincoln: Indie, babe. Can I have a heads-up that you’re okay, please . . .

  Scarlett: Girl, your dude is freaking out. Can you text him back?

  Scarlett: Okay, so you’re ignoring both of us. I’ll be over in a few.