1. Monty

Chapter one

Monty

“Hi.” Lark stifles a yawn as she stumbles down the stairs of her low-rise apartment building. Her blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, those bright blue eyes blinking sleepily. I hold out a steaming travel mug and she takes it with a small smile. “Thanks.”

I love that smile.

We turn and walk toward my truck. “You know you don’t have to join me on the early runs every time.”

Her shoulders lift as she takes a small sip, then exhales. “But then I wouldn’t get the good coffee.”

Just like I always do, I bite back the words that her boyfriend could just as easily be the one bringing her coffee from the café she loves instead of me. How hard is it to learn someone’s favourite coffee order and fucking get it for them?

Our drive to the section of Stanley Park where we like to run early in the morning is quiet; the sun still isn’t fully up with how late it is in the year, but street lamps give us enough light. October is a weird month in Vancouver. It can be sunny and warm or freezing and raining. Today, thankfully, the skies are clear. Good thing, since we have our second to last game of the season later tonight.

It sucks not to have made the playoffs, but at the same time, my body is ready for the break. Being a catcher in the major leagues is no joke. I might have an ass you can bounce a coin off, but I’ve also got knees that creak and pop every morning.

The parking lot is empty as we get out of the car and into the crisp morning air. Lark takes one last swallow of her coffee, then lifts her arms overhead to stretch. I’ve trained myself not to stare at her lithe body when she does stuff like this. To ignore the small sighs and moans as she moves her body through her warm-up routine.

To not think about what sounds she might make in a different environment…like a bedroom.

Fuck. Even when I try to ignore my attraction to her, it’s always there. Lingering in the back of my mind and the forefront of my heart.

I have to give my head a mental shake to get shit under control. Clapping my hands together, I say, “Alright, let’s do this. Race you to the hollow tree?” I take off before she can answer, her cry of protest making me chuckle. The wind is bracing as we jog down the paved path that winds around the park’s perimeter, the Burrard Inlet on one side, and a forest on the other. It’s beautiful, especially now, when it’s not full of tourists. Lark catches up to me quickly, punching my arm.

“Not fair, you cheater.”

I simply stick my tongue out at her. “If you can’t keep up, that’s your problem, Birdie.”

Her huff follows me as I accelerate. She claims to hate that nickname, but secretly, I think she loves it.

Being friends with Lark is both the easiest, most natural thing in my life, and the most heartbreaking. Have you ever tried to convince yourself not to love the one woman who’s ever caught your attention? And I do mean ever?

Nothing could keep me from wanting to be near Lark. She’s a shining star and I’m a planetary body caught up in her gravitational pull. Our friendship formed quickly once we discovered our mutual love of all things Star Wars , chips and salsa, and of course, fancy coffee.

But being Lark’s friend comes with a steep price. At times, it’s mentally and emotionally exhausting being around her. Having to hide my attraction to her, feelings that from the start were new and unfamiliar, but exciting at the same time. But I keep all of that stuffed down, deep inside, working hard not to let her see it.

Because her happiness is the most important thing.

And she has a boyfriend. And if he can make her happy, then no way will I ever come between them.

We round the corner, the famous hollow tree in sight. I put on a burst of speed, reaching it seconds before her. Naturally, my only response is to pump my arms in the air and let out a whoop . “That’s right, Dan Montgomery wins again!”

“Cocky much?” Lark huffs when she comes to a stop herself, treating me to a big eye roll.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Birdie.” I grin, but then I, too, slow to a stop, bringing my hands to rest on my hips as I regulate my breathing.

“What time are you going to the stadium?” Lark asks after the two of us focus on breathing and stretching for a couple of minutes.

“Around eleven, I think. Yami and I want to get in some extra practice.”

The connection between pitcher and catcher is sacred on the Tridents. Up until last season, our lead pitcher, Rafe Montego, was my number one guy. Nicknamed “Pops” because he was the oldest on the team, and acted like a dad to all of us, I still miss the guy. But Kai Yamiko or Yami as we call him most of the time, is a solid pitcher. We get along well enough. It’s just been rocky at times, finding our groove. There’s plenty of other pitchers on the team, and I can work with all of them, but if Yami wants to take the lead pitcher spot, he and I need to iron out a few kinks before next season.

And with next year being the last season on my current contract, it’s extra important to make sure we have a great one.

“So…” Lark starts, and I look over to see her twisting her hands together nervously. Her eyes keep darting between the tree and me.

“So?” I parrot back, confused as to what has her acting so strangely.

“Dan, this is so weird.” She exhales. I can’t handle seeing her distressed, and close the distance between us, pulling her in for a hug.

“Hey, whatever it is, it’s okay.” I feel her nod against my chest, and release her, taking a step back.

“BaronaskedmetomarryhimandIsaidyes.”

It takes me a few seconds to catch up to the rapidly blurted out words. And when I do, my stomach flip-flops. Guess that peanut butter sandwich I had before I left wasn’t such a good idea. Then again, I didn’t know this was going to happen.

“Oh,” I say, hoping like hell she can’t tell a part of me is dying inside. I bend over and pretend to tie my shoelace, when in reality, I’m trying to pull myself back together. Because right now, I feel completely torn apart.

Apparently, Lark is unaware of how she’s just destroyed me, as she keeps talking. And I force myself to listen.

“I mean, we’ve been together for so long. And I think our families expected it to happen sooner. I don’t know. It’s crazy, and it’s happening fast. Like, New Year’s Eve fast. And okay, Dan, I need you to say something, please.”

The panic in her voice snaps me out of my bleak thoughts. I might still feel broken, but my friend is spiraling. And if there’s one thing I’ve become good at these last few years, it’s putting her needs before my own.

“Hey. Breathe, Birdie. This is meant to be a good thing, right?” I straighten, forcing a grin, and rub my hands up and down her shoulders until she finally nods. “New Year’s Eve will be good. You’ll never forget your anniversary.” I tease.

She lets out a shaky laugh, but her shoulders relax somewhat. “Yeah, I guess.”

If I had to guess, I’d say she’s feeling pretty damn overwhelmed. Which, to me, as someone who knows the woman pretty fucking well makes sense. Lark’s not one to love having a lot of attention on her, and a wedding is pretty focused on the bride from what little I know.

But she’s doing this, I guess, overwhelmed or not. Which means there’s only one thing for me to say. “Congratulations, Lark. I’m happy for you. And I look mighty fine in a tux, so no worries there.”

The look of relief she gives me says she believes those words.

Guess I’ve also become good at lying to her.

I offer to take Lark out for breakfast to “celebrate” her news. Even though celebrating is the last fucking thing I want to do.

I’ll do anything to see her smile, and when we pull up to the café, the same one I got coffee from earlier this morning, that smile is back where it belongs.

“Mmm, I can’t wait for pancakes.” She moans, rubbing her stomach as we walk inside.

I tuck my ball cap down low, and we head for a booth in the back corner where I can sit facing the wall and hopefully not be recognized.

“Blueberry or strawberry today?” I ask, and she taps her chin, pretending to think seriously about it.

“Blueberry. With a chocolate shake. Let me guess, eggs Benedict for you?” She winks. A part of me rages inside my head, still angry at the fact that I let this woman, who knows me better than anyone, slip through my fingers.

“Yeah, but I might mix it up and try the salmon benny today.” It takes a lot of effort to keep my voice casual as she smiles at me from across the booth. This is the Lark I love. This light, happy, fun-loving woman with a heart of gold.

“Oh, really? Gettin’ fancy on me, Montgomery?” she teases.

Lark is the one person who doesn’t call me Monty. Aside from my parents and a few folks back home, of course. I don’t know why, I’ve never asked her. I like it, though. But it means when she calls me by my last name, it’s a special thrill.

Pathetic as that may sound.

“Well, only the best for you,” I quip right back and her eyes dance with amusement.

“How is you choosing salmon instead of ham best for me?”

I lean back against the booth and fold my hands together on the table. “Simple…” I pause, and Lark sees right through me.

Snorting, she shakes her head. “You’ve got nothing.”

My own head shakes from side to side ruefully. “I really don’t.”

She reaches out and pats my hands. “That’s okay, I still like you.”

Yeah, I like you, too. That’s the problem.

The waitress comes over and we place our order. After she leaves, I lean forward. “When is your application for the internship due?”

Lark chews on her lower lip. “I sent it in yesterday. I’m so nervous. What if they don’t choose me?”

I know how nervous she’s been, how much she hopes to get a spot on the department of kinesiology research team at the local university. Even though the position won’t start until sometime next year, the application process starts early. I wave my hand dismissively. “Don’t be crazy, they will. Who better to study ways to prevent muscle decline in athletes than a trainer who has spent years working directly with a team of professional baseball players.”

She gives me a half smile. “Their research will be groundbreaking. I could learn so much in just a few months and bring it all back to the Tridents to make the team even stronger.”

“You’ll get the spot,” I say confidently, and am rewarded with a nudge of her foot against mine.

“How are you always so positive?”

My shoulders lift in a shrug. “I just believe good things happen to good people. And you’re good people, Birdie.”

Her hand reaches out again and squeezes mine. “So are you.”

Just not good enough for her.