by Felicia Lynn
Nothing with Charlotte will ever be inconsequential.
The email has definitely made it more challenging to ignore the uncertainty I feel in my gut. She’s not indicated anything’s amiss, but the fact is anything can happen, and she could change her mind. I’d never fold and let her walk away from us that easy, but is that enough?
Lately, I’ve constantly had to remind myself that the worst times are over, and we’re headed straight for the end of the fucking rainbow. Happiness is bliss, but the same can be said for ignorance. With the unfinished business of her family still lingering, I’m reluctant to be naïve enough to believe our future is carved in stone. Hopefully, I’ll be reassured when I see my bling sparkle on her little finger.
Picking up the phone again, I study his words carefully and contemplate my response. Maybe he’s not actually expecting me to reply and is just testing the waters, but he’s going to get a response anyway. Responding now, when the blood pumping through my veins is way above boiling fucking hot, isn’t the wisest, but the instinct to protect Charlotte will always trump a safe play.
Charlotte is his daughter, but after everything, I don’t think they deserve to breathe in her airspace. She’s finally happy, and no one deserves to wear those smiles as much as she does. We’re both fucking happy, and no one gets to touch that, especially not them. Power earns a person many privileges in this world, but that’s not going to be one of them. Not now, not ever.
Charlie and I are a team, and she’s the goddamned captain. The past few months have been a whirlwind of chaos, struggles, betrayals, and heartbreak. Even through all that, we found our way to each other, and I’m holding on tight.
I just need to be careful not to let my girl be tossed around as bait for these beasts. She’s tough, but she’s had enough, and she deserves better than that. I’ll never shy away from a battle when the end result is Charlie living in peace, as long as she’s not in the line of fire with me. Together, we’ve survived all the shit thrown at us and built a much better foundation for what matters most because of it.
Hovering my thumb over the arrow on the screen to reply, I pause momentarily before pressing it with no regrets. My fingers tap out my reply quickly across the screen. I don’t need a playbook for this. These people won’t best me today.
To: The office of South Carolina Governor
From: Tyler Stone
Governor Baker,
Given the circumstances and the status of your relationship with Charlotte, I kindly decline your invitation on behalf of us both. I’m confident your daughter will agree with my decision, considering, as your wife stated, Charlotte is dead to you all.
I WILL be the one to protect Charlotte from now on, even if it means guarding her heart against her own family. It’s actually my honor, sir. She suffered enough on your watch at the hands of you and your wife. Now that I’m in the picture, I won’t stand by and allow my future wife to be subjected to the continued abuse.
Her happiness and safety are worth fighting for. Wars have been waged and won for far less than her smiling face as the treasure. It wouldn’t take a second thought for me, knowing the beauty and value of what I’d be fighting to protect. Unfortunately for you, it’s worth more than you’ll ever know.
Charlotte and I have a life to build together, and at your own wishes, it doesn’t include you. Should you desire to get updates on your daughter’s life, I’m sure given the recent media attention surrounding the draft and us as a couple, press and news won’t be hard to find. We will be traveling together this summer and will have big news and announcements in the coming weeks.
Sincerely,
Tyler Stone
#11
Top 5 MLB Draft Prospect
**Overly protective fiancé
I press send with no hesitation before checking the clock and jumping up to get dressed for the evening. I want to be ready and waiting when she crosses the threshold, and after this, I need to see her smile almost as much as I crave feeling her wrapped in my arms.
WALKING OUT OF THE hospital lobby into the warmth and sunshine, I have a little more pep in my step than usual today and for a good reason. When Tyler Stone plans a date night and won’t clue me in to the plans, the perky step and butterflies taking flight in my tummy come naturally.
My God, I love his surprises. He always seems to find a way to make the memory worthy in some way or another. I’m really excited and can’t wait to get home to my guy.
Home.
It feels foreign to refer to Tyler’s townhouse as home—my home. But if home is where your heart is, as they say, and my hotshot baseball guy is there, then it’s definitely home for me.
Before Tyler came into my life, I never could have imagined the way it would make me feel to have him wrap his arms around me at the end of my day or to sleep next to him every night. Millions of things make living under the same roof amazing and an adventure in and of itself. Romance and love on this level was a purely fictional idea in my mind and unrealistic in real life. It was nothing more than an empty daydream, I thought.
My ‘before Tyler’ world was filled with fake smiles and trying to fit in with a crowd I didn’t enjoy. My goal was to get by unscathed, and I thought I was doing well. My life was complicated enough without having someone else standing in the line of fire with me. I was content on my own, but I was far more alone in that life than I ever realized. Even though I didn’t believe at the time what Tyler and I had together could’ve ever been possible, I was powerless to resist the connection between us.
I’ve never been happier to be wrong about what’s possible in relationships, even if it came with tough lessons. Words can’t explain what we have. Even if someone on the outside were to witness the glimmers of what makes us who we are with their own eyes, there’s no comparison to how it feels to live surrounded by it.
It.
Love?
Love definitely fills our lives, but there’s so much more to it than that, speaking from experience. I feel this in every inch of my soul each day. I sleep wrapped in it. I wake up kissed by it. And even when we’re apart, moving through our days separately, it stays with me. Corny or not, defining the it of Tyler and me is necessary for me. Love is far too broad a term and too common for what we have. To me, it is our love plus. We both understand what love is, and we have so much love for each other, but we also know it’s more than that too. Love plus, it’s us. We’ve earned it with our commitment to each other, despite hard times, and wake up every day, continuing to strive for more.
The drive home will be brief, and knowing my alone time to work undercover at home is limited, I need to finalize my own surprise plans for my guy for the draft in a few days. Before driving, I send a quick text to my partner in planning, but since I’m sure my hotshot will hate what’s in store for him, he’ll probably call her my partner in crime instead or maybe just pains in his ass. Whatever. Tyler may be the master of dates and adventures, but I have some special talents up my sleeve as well.
Me: Hey! I’m heading home, and for obvious reasons we don’t need to discuss since my hotshot’s planned a date, I won’t be able to chat later about plans. I know you already said not to worry, and everything is handled, but I can’t keep myself from obsessing. So . . . is everything still okay? Or has the sky fallen yet?
I immediately see she’s read the message, and the bubble with the dots appears, telling me she’s typing a reply. Then as the bubble disappears, the phone vibrates in my hand with Trace calling across the screen. I smile immediately. I know what’s coming as I answer.
“I already know what you’re going to say, so save your breath,” I tell her, loosely delivering my smarty-pants greeting.
“You know, chick, I love you more than I do my own sisters. But I swear on everything holy, if you text or call me one more time with this craziness, I’m going to kill you. Bad things will come of it, and it’ll be sad. Everyone will miss you if you’re dead, so stop obsessing now and save them all from that
impending mourning. Not to mention, I’ll probably regret my act of violence. After I’ve patted myself on the back, of course. My life would be terribly boring without regular updates about your life with that hotshot baseball boy,” she rambles on as I laugh at her. I can tell she’s busy working on something in the background from all the clanging and rustlings I hear through the phone.
“I was just curious, you know. You don’t have to get so violent. With Tyler over my shoulder, I’ll be out of pocket and unable to chat without the risk of breaking our cover. How’s everything working out? Do you need me to do anything? I feel bad that I’m leaving all the final details to you,” I tell her innocently.
“Oh. For fuck's sake. Shut up. That innocent pity party game isn’t working for you, sister. Go on your date and have a great night. And don’t forget a second of it because I want details, all of them. If you think you might forget, take notes! Got it?” she orders in her typical bossy way.
“You’re insane, and by the way, you haven’t been deprived of many details since the day you rudely demanded them.” Trace and I have become close in the past couple of months. We’ve been friends for a while, but she’s not wrong when she admits she loves me more than she loves her own sisters. She does. I know it, and I love her back just the same.
She distractedly talks to someone else without responding to my rebuttal, but I’m very used to her getting sidetracked mid-conversation by her husband or adorable daughter when we’re on the phone. Boundaries are loose in a family like theirs, and it’s a beautiful thing, so I don’t mind a bit. Like always, I wait for her to come back to the conversation and begin the drive home.
Trace is mommy to Maisey, my favorite nine-year-old, and married to Jaime Taylor, the son of George and Sue, who’ve become surrogate parents in more ways than one. They’ve shown me more love in the time I’ve known them than my own parents have in my lifetime.
George and Sue Taylor own the popular family-run restaurant just off campus, creatively called George’s Kitchen and Pub. Everyone loves George’s, and not just because the food is amazing and the drink specials are great. They’re amazing people and full of so much love. Their restaurant is always swarming with college kids looking for a good meal or a safe place to hang out and have some fun. Sometimes, homesick students find themselves there for nothing more than one of Sue Taylor’s fantastic warm hugs, and she never lets them down either.
George Taylor is an especially precious man, but he likes to stay away from the social aspects of the restaurant. He prefers to hide in the kitchen and stay behind the scenes running things. His wife and two daughters, Mary and Debbie, handle the people and wait on the tables. Jamie, the oldest and only son, runs the bar and has more recently found a new hobby or purpose in annoyingly teasing and bossing around his newly adopted little sister. Me.
When I first met the Taylor family, I was fragile, and they somehow sensed that even if I didn’t realize it myself. A few months ago, my world was flipped upside down. The fragile was no more. I was broken, shattered, and done. The Taylor family took me under their wings for a bit to heal, and I did, coming out better and stronger than ever. But when I was ready to get back to my real world, they refused to let me go it alone.
I was weaved tightly into their family fold. Although tough to deal with emotionally, that hard time brought me an invaluable gift—a loving family. Their appreciation, respect, and love for each other helped me to understand what the word family really meant.
When I have spare time, I’ve even popped into the pub occasionally to help behind the bar or wherever instead of just stopping in to visit or eat. It’s fun and nice to fill the part when I can, even if I’m not a regular on the schedule. Knowing that my mother would have a stroke if she witnessed me working in a pub or behind the bar serving drinks only adds a tad bit more joy to it for me.
“Sorry,” she says, sounding exasperated before continuing. “Fine, but I want a girls’ night soon. I’ll let you arrange the plans and convince your man of the importance of it, in whatever ways you do . . . which I’m sure will be worthy of more details, or I’ll gladly tell him myself and not care one bit about the scowl that will grace his gorgeous face.” Picturing Trace demanding a girls’ night from Tyler, meaning a night I’ll be away from him, I know will definitely earn her a scowl and most likely a growl to go with it. But time with Trace and hopefully Maisey too before her bedtime will make it worth it.
“Tyler is a loving and supportive boyfriend, and he’ll be fine with a girls’ night with you and Maisey,” I lie, likely unconvincingly.
“Fiancé. Oh my God, why can’t you get this right, Charlotte? He’s your fiancé. If he were my fiancé, I can promise you I wouldn’t forget it, but you . . . Ugh. Say it. Fiancé,” she demands, sounding very much like Tyler at that moment.
“Whatever. Fiancé. You know what I meant. And . . . I don’t have a ring on my finger to remind me yet,” I say, sounding exasperated myself now as well.
“Meanwhile, I’m almost home, so I gotta go, but if you need anything for the party, promise you’ll find a way to secretly get me a message without breaking our cover. I really want him to be surprised. Plus, I’m not sure that if he actually knew what was going down, he’d think it was a good thing. But I know he’ll love it and be excited when we’re all there. I hope, anyway,” I say anxiously.
“Oh. He’ll love it. Your hotshot is an attention whore. You know that. Have you seen that boy on the field? But anyway, no one will let the cat out of the bag. Stop stressing. I love you. Now go have some fun and make memories so I can get good details later.” The phone line goes dead before I have a chance to beg for more reassurances, but I smile, knowing she’s right. Everything will be fine.
The MLB draft is in a few days, and as much as Ty pretends it does not weigh on him, I sense the hefty burden of his thoughts. I’ve secretly caught him with his eyes glazed over and lost in his head a few times over the past week. I could almost feel the vibrations from the friction of his wheels spinning. I’d be lying if I said I was okay with him carrying the load on his own and leaving concerns unsaid. But when I’ve tried to talk to him about any of it, he brushes it off, using his especially creative distraction techniques.
The road leading us to now was initially tough on us, but we made it through. I know Tyler has deemed it his job to carry the brunt of it on his own shoulders, but I love him, and it’s hard to stand by and helplessly watch. He wants to protect me, but I want to do the same for him. I worry this burden he’s placed on himself could eventually take a toll, and I’m just not sure at what price.
With Tyler, I’m stronger than I ever thought I could be, and I want to prove to him that I can handle whatever life throws at us as long as we’re together. Giving him even an ounce of the stability he provides for me is all I want, and I know he’ll give me that honor. Hopefully, before it’s too late.
I suspect he already realizes he’s not hiding anything from me. He can’t hide from me any more than I can from him. But with Tyler, I’ve learned it’s usually not him trying to hide or leave things unsaid between us. He just needs time to process his thoughts and feelings before he can reconcile them to words. As long as he knows I’ll be there to help him break free when he’s ready, the least I can do is give him that time. And while I wait, I’ll plan the best draft day party ever, and we’ll celebrate surrounded by all the people who love him.
He’ll probably pretend it’s pure torture and threaten to make me pay for it in some creative way, but I’m hoping he’ll covertly love it. Tyler needs to know how many people are cheering for him and how proud we all are of him. This needs to happen whether he loves the attention or not.
And maybe I’m glutton for punishment, but the prospect of creative penance at Tyler Stone’s hands sends a warm flutter straight through my body.
Bring. It. On. Mr. Stone.
EVERYTHING IS SET AND ready. My accomplices have all checked in to confirm, so I’m not sure why I’m anxiously p
acing upstairs, waiting for the front door to open. She’ll be here any minute, and if I don’t get my shit together and stop acting like a caged animal, she’ll know something’s up with our date tonight before I’m ready for her to know the bigger plan. I want this to be special for her. She deserves a proposal story that will be told for generations.
Plopping onto my back on the bed, I stare at the ceiling fan circling overhead. I reach for my phone I tossed aside earlier to see if she’s sent a text or if I missed a call that she’s running late. As I’m looking, I hear a car door close outside then moments later, the front door open and close. I sigh in relief. She’s home. Now, we can get this show on the road.
Hold it together. You’re Tyler fucking Stone.
Listening to the pitter-patter of her light steps on the stairs calms me, and I smile. My eyes are trained on the door from my position on the bed. As soon as she enters and sees me, I’m gifted with a sweet smile as she tracks straight for my open arms. Reaching out, I pull her to me on the bed without question.
“Hi, buttercup.” I roll her into my side before her lips touch mine. This is everything.
“Hello, Mr. Hotshot, did you have a good day? You look quite relaxed and happy right now.” The sparkle in her eye delivers a pinch of guilt that I’ve achieved keeping the influx of anxiety I feel from her, but it needs to be this way to give her the amazing night she deserves without concern.
“My fiancée is home and in my arms. No matter what else happened in my day, nothing is better than this right now,” I tell her before taking her mouth and rolling on top of her. I’ll never tire of the feel of her tight little body beneath mine. With one little taste of her mouth, it ignites a fire of deep need.
Only three days left until the draft. The prospect of making a professional team has been a lifelong goal. It’s what I’ve been working so hard for all these years. And as much as I want that life, I’m not sure what that means for Charlie and me. Asking her to give up her last year of school and leave behind the life she loves here for my career isn’t an option. But the possibility and probability of us having to live apart for a little while doesn’t sit well with me either. I brush those thoughts off as our lips separate, and I look into her eyes. My fingers skim across her face, pushing the hair away.