18. Ronan

Ronan

Peyton's hand is clutching mine as we walk out onto the field where the entire team and their families, plus office staff and their families, are all milling around. The air is cold and damp, as is to be expected in the middle of March on the West Coast. It's a different feel to Toronto where there was every chance we might still have snow on the ground even this late in the spring. The stadium has one of those retractable roofs, but it's not raining today, so it's open, letting in the light from the rare late March sunshine.

When Monty told me about the kick off barbecue the team hosts every year, it just solidified my belief that this move was the right one. A team that cares this much about family is where I want to be.

"Daddy, where's Monty?"

I grin as she tugs on my hand. Peyton's already decided the friendly catcher is her favourite player. "He's here somewhere, Rocket. You gonna challenge him to a base race?"

Peyton giggles. "Yeah!"

"You'll leave him in the dust." I know the second Peyton spies Monty because she goes to drop my hand, but I don't let her. "Hang on, kiddo, I'll come with you." We head toward him together. It's not that I don't trust that Peyton will be fine, but most of these people are strangers to her. I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't keep close. Even if sometimes my little girl is too independent for my old dad heart to handle.

Monty spies us coming and drops down into a crouch, holding his fist out for Peyton. "Hey, kid."

"Hi, Monty! Imma beat you in a base race," Peyton announces with all the confidence of a four-year-old who's been raised around ball players.

"You better make sure I've got someone there to record it." Willow's voice dances across the field at us. "Assuming Dad is okay with it?" She looks to me briefly, then smiles back down at Peyton.

"That's fine," I answer gruffly, feeling off-kilter having her here. She's wearing a Tridents shirt. No name on the back, though, and a part of me really fucking wants to see her wear my name someday.

Peyton tilts her head up at Willow. "Got any Skittles?" she asks innocently, and now Monty and I are both fighting back a laugh.

"Wh-what?" Willow asks, stifling her own smile. "How do you know about my Skittles?"

"The trainer lady gave me some," Peyton answers, but she doesn't stop there. "She said you'd eat 'em all if they're in your office, so she keeps them. And I got some. That's okay, right? Ms. Kerry at preschool said sharing is caring."

Willow's smiling down at my daughter so widely it makes my heart physically ache to see her so enchanted by Peyton. "Of course, it's okay. You're welcome to my Skittles anytime. And as a matter of fact —" she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out two packets "— I always have some with me." Handing one to Peyton, she opens the other and looks inside before picking out the yellow ones and holds them out to Monty. He takes them and tosses them back without a word, but Peyton looks at her like she's crazy.

"Whaddya do that for?" she asks.

Willow shrugs. "I don't like lemon-flavoured candy, so I always give the yellow ones away. Sharing." She winks.

"And we're always happy to take them off her hands," Monty interjects. Just then, Lark walks up with some preppy-looking guy with a bored expression on his face behind her, staring at his phone. If I wasn't looking at him, I might have missed it, but Monty's face grimaces when he sees the guy.

"Hey!" Lark says, giving Willow a hug, then lifts a hand for a high five with Peyton. "Good to see you again. Looks like you found yourself another Skittles fan, Wills."

Peyton looks sagely at Lark. "She doesn't eat the yellow ones."

Lark nods. "Yeah, lucky for us, she gives them away. Let me guess, did he take them?" She thumbs at Monty, and Peyton nods. "He'll eat anything."

"Hey, I have a discerning palate," Monty teases, and Lark shoves him lightly. "What? I do!"

"Cheese pizza and hot dogs is not discerning."

Preppy dude chooses that moment to cut in, tugging on Lark's arm like an impatient toddler. "Babe, I need to take a call. Where can I go for some privacy?" We all turn at the interruption, but he makes no move to introduce himself to anyone or even acknowledge our presence. Wow, the guy's a serious douche.

"Oh, you can use my room." Lark fishes out a key and hands it to him. "But don't take too long, okay?"

He gives her a backward wave, but that's it. When she turns back to us, she's twisting her hands together, an embarrassed flush on her cheeks.

"So, Peyton, is Moana your favourite movie?" Willow asks in an obvious move to get the attention off Lark. She flips the brim of Peyton's hat lightly.

"Uh-huh. Maui is the best."

"He sure is." Willow agrees with a nod. "That song? What can I say except you're welcome," she sings lightly. "That song is awesome."

"It's my dad's walk-up song," Peyton shares proudly, and now I'm the one about to blush. Not that it bothers me. I let Peyton choose my song as soon as I knew the trade was happening, and nothing would make her budge from her decision.

I shrug as I take in Lark, Monty, and Willow all trying not to laugh.

Monty takes that moment to clap his hands together. "Now that I've got that song in my head, Peyton, you wanna do that base race?"

"Wait!" Willow waves at a camera guy who's nearby. "Rudy, go stand at second and catch them rounding the bases."

Monty and Peyton jog over to the field, grabbing a couple of extra players and kids along the way. I stay put, happy to watch my kid in her element.

"She's adorable."

Turning slightly, I grin at Willow's quiet observation. "Yeah, she's pretty awesome. I hit the kid jackpot with her. Just don't come near her with a hairbrush unless you've got something to bribe her with."

Willow laughs under her breath as we watch the race unfold. Monty plays it up, pretending to trip a couple of times, doing a cartwheel, while Peyton runs as fast as her little legs can go, easily beating him. The next runners go, but it's obvious the kids are going to win. A loud cheer goes up at the end and Monty's lifting Peyton onto his shoulders. I don't even notice Willow's moved until I see her holding her phone up, capturing some more footage, a warm smile on her face.

She returns to my side and holds up the recording for me to see. "You're good with me posting it on socials?"

I nod. "Yeah, Peyton loves seeing herself on the team pages. Thanks for checking first."

Monty jogs up and deposits Peyton on the ground, both of them giggling. "Good race, kid. I'll beat you next time." With one last fist bump, Monty leaves, Willow moving as if she's also going somewhere else.

"Willow, could we trouble you to take a photo of us?" I ask suddenly, not ready for her to leave yet. She pauses, and I see her visibly swallow.

"Sure," she says with a bright tone. I unlock my phone and hand it over to her, and she stares at my screen for several long seconds. There's nothing to see, just a photo of Peyton as a baby, asleep on my chest. But she tugs her lower lip between her teeth before looking back up and smiling. "Okay. Let's do a nice one, then a silly one. Ready?"

I lift Peyton into my arms, and we both smile at Willow. An easy thing to do, to be honest. All I want to do is smile at her. And see her smile in return. Jesus, that sounds sappy. But I'm learning she's got a lot of different smiles. The coy, flirty one I got on the airplane. The frustrated-but-not-really one in Hawaii every time I'd ask her to dinner and she'd turn me down. The grateful one when I offered my suite. The sexy one when I made her come the first time. The professional one, the only one I don't like seeing pointed my way, and now I've got another to add to the collection. The soft, warm one she gives my daughter.

That one might just be my second favourite. After the sexy orgasm one, of course.

"Alright, you two, go and get some food before it's all gone. I need to check in on some things." Willow hands me my phone, but before she can leave, Peyton flings her arms around her legs. Willow looks to me in surprise before gently wrapping her arms around Peyton as best she can with their height difference.

"Thanks for the Skittles," Peyton says before breaking away and taking my hand. "C'mon, Dad, I'm hungry."

I let her tug me away to where long tables hold platters of food, chancing one glance back over my shoulder, only to see Willow still standing there, eyes on us, and something I really want to believe is longing written all over her face. But the second she sees me looking at her, it's gone and she's whirling around, walking in the opposite direction.

Oh, Cherry. You don't want to admit that you still want me, but I can tell you do…