Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“Good, good,” he says, rubbing his palms. “I don’t want you getting hurt during this whole…charade.”
“The opposite is happening,” I say, because my dreams are finally coming true. “Maybe the whole pay it forward thing worked out in its own way.”
He scratches his jaw, seeming to consider that as he nods a few times, his gaze drifting to Asher. “And the two of you? You’re friends and all still?”
I snicker. I can’t help it. It just bursts from me.
“What’s that for?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “We’re all good,” I say, but I’m not telling him anything more. My sex life is none of his business. Come to think of it, neither is my love life. I don’t need anyone’s permission to date.
“Okay,” he says, not looking quite satisfied with my answer but accepting it, nonetheless. He exhales, then nods toward the group again. But before we go, he turns to me one last time. “Do me a favor then.”
“What is it?” I ask, a little skeptical.
He squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t break his heart.”
On that mic drop, he walks off to rejoin the others. I stand in place for a long beat, the words echoing. Don’t break his heart.
Does my brother know something? Does he sense something? I catch up to him, grabbing his shirtsleeve. “Did he say something to you? Is that why you said that?” I whisper.
Beckett shakes his head. “No. He didn’t. But I have eyes. Now let’s go.”
His advice—another love lesson—rings in my head as we return to the donors, the kids, the families, the board, and my husband, who’s still chatting intensely with Marcus.
It plays on a loop as Beckett clears his throat, gathering everyone’s attention. Behind him, the bay gently laps the shore, its waves soft like background music.
“I want to thank you all for coming today and supporting Total Teamwork,” Beckett says. “None of this would be possible without Asher’s idea to get it started, so I’ll let him take it from here.”
And the words ring in my head once more as Asher steps to the front of the picnic tables, his usual easy confidence shining. “Thanks, Beckett,” he begins, glancing around at the gathered crowd. “This cause is so important, and I’m grateful to everyone who’s helped make Total Teamwork possible. But today’s not just about me—it’s about the people who’ve supported me along the way. I’ve been lucky to have Maeve by my side, helping in more ways than I can count. I couldn’t do any of this without her. So thank you—to my wife. My best friend.”
His words hit deeper than I’d expected. Everything right now feels so real, from my brother’s unexpected advice to Lia’s watery eyes to my own dreams finally feeling within reach. But this, most of all—the goal Asher and Beckett had years ago to create this charity. They made it happen, and it’s coming true at last.
Asher talks more about the charity, the picnic, the fun run, the upcoming summer camps, and the range of services available. When he’s done, the crowd applauds, and I’m left standing there, feeling the warmth of his words, the heat of his gaze, the love that surrounds us.
Don’t break his heart.
I don’t want to. I’d never want to. But is that even on the table? His heart? As that thought grows roots, so does another one. Is my heart on the table too?
It beats louder, thumps harder.
My thoughts start to race. It’s only been six or seven weeks—how could I possibly be falling in love? My emotions are so tangled, so blurred, I can’t even tell what’s real anymore. Is this part of the act, or am I starting to feel something deeper?
There’s no time to figure it out, since I need to mingle more, so I push down the confusion that swirls inside me. Play the part. Smile. Focus on him, on being the wife. Optics, right?
Asher is amped up when the event ends. I’ve seen him like this after hockey wins. There’s this charged energy around him, like he can’t sit still even as he drives.
“Are you happy with how it went?” I ask on the short ride back to Pacific Heights.
“Hell, yes. This launch is better than I’d imagined. Had a good chat with Marcus for a while too. Smart guy. He knows a ton about working with athletes’ mental health. Well, obviously,” he says. “So we can definitely incorporate more of his skills. But that’s not why I’m so fucking excited right now.”
“Why, then?”
He grins at me, full of secrets, as we pull into the garage. “Let me show you.”
“What is it?” I ask, his energy infectious.
“Patience, my wife,” he says, then he leads me through the house, out onto the terrace, and into the backyard. Fairy lights twinkle along the fence—brand new and lighting up the yard with a soft glow. My eyes drift toward the little shed, the former sunroom.