“I scored Yankees tickets from a client. Third baseline. Two rows up,” Nate said as a cab screeched to the curb to pick up a fare. “You up for it?”

Jack’s ears pricked. He was always up for the Yankees. “When?”

“Tonight. Game’s against Boston. It will be epic,” Nate said. The Yankees were down by two games in the division, and the pennant race was on. But none of that mattered.

“Can’t. I have plans,” Jack said, as they neared the avenue.

Nate rubbed his knuckle against his ear. “What’s that? I didn’t hear you. Sounded like you said you had plans.”

“Can’t go. But thanks.”

Nate held up his finger, his brow crinkling. “You never turn down Yankees tickets. You must really like this woman.”

Jack slowed his pace, the observation Nate had made dawning on him. His friend was right. The Yankees were sacrosanct. You didn’t mess with a chance to go to the temple of baseball. And yet, he had no interest in the game. Time was limited with Michelle. The clock was ticking, the second hand racing by faster than he’d like. It was a Saturday morning now, two weeks after their night on the Met Life Tower when they’d agreed to a start and a finish. He could already see the end in sight, and he wanted to make the most of every second with her, especially since she’d be in Paris for some of their thirty days.

“You never even turned down Yankees tickets when you were with Aubrey,” Nate added, and the reminder was like a slap in the face.

“Yeah, well. It’s not like I was some role model for how to be a great fiancé,” Jack muttered.

Nate clapped him on the back. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, man. Nothing that happened was your fault.”

That’s where Nate was wrong. Everything was his fault. Completely and absolutely, and he was ready to linger on that reminder, let it gnaw its way through him like a daily exercise, when he heard a familiar voice.

“Jack fucking Sullivan.”

His eyes snapped up. His sister was marching up to him, slapping her smartphone against her palm, her lips set in a tight line, her nostrils flaring. She wore a short skirt and high-heeled boots. Jack noticed Nate checking out her legs before he too looked up at Casey, her blond hair bouncing high in a ponytail.

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Looks like someone is in trouble with his little sister.”

“What else is new,” Jack mumbled.

When she stopped, she stabbed him in the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jack gave her a confused look. “Tell you what?”

“Yeah. Tell him what?” Nate chimed in, staring at Jack and playing along with Casey’s indignation.

“Oh hi, Nate,” she said in a normal tone, shooting a friendly smile to his buddy.

“Hey, Case. Good to see you.”

When she turned back to Jack, her eyes narrowed again, and he swore he could see smoke billowing out of her ears.