“It’s not easy because you’re scared,” Nichole says. “Are you really going to let fear dictate your future? Or are you going to face that fear head-on and see that there is another side to life, Myla? A side where fear doesn’t control your heart, but rather opens it to new things?”

“I . . . don’t know,” I say.

“Excuse me? Miss?” I turn to my right, where a stadium worker wearing a blue Bobbies polo and baseball cap stands.

“Yes?”

“Are you Myla Moore?”

“Uh, yeah, that would be me.”

He nods. “This is for you.”

He holds out an envelope, and I very shakily take it. “What is this?”

“Not sure. I was just told to hand it to you. Enjoy the game.”

When he leaves, I turn to Nichole who has a huge smile on her face. “Did you do this?”

“Nope, I have no idea what it is, but based on the fact that your boy saw you in the stands, I’m sure he acted quickly to make something happen.”

Confused, I peel open the envelope and find a Bobbies-themed blue and red lanyard attached to a VIP pass as well as a note. I crack open the card and read it out loud. “Miss Moore, please accept this VIP pass to locker room level after the game. Mr. Bisley will be waiting for you. Have any stadium worker direct you. Enjoy the game.”

“Oooo, I knew he was good. But this is really freaking good.” Nichole wraps her arm around my shoulder and squeezes me tight.

“Miss Moore?” the man says again. “I forgot to hand this to you as well.” He holds out a Bobbies jersey, which Nichole takes for me and thanks him.

When she holds the jersey up, I immediately see Bisley across the back with the number twenty-two under it.

“Well, slap my ass. I think I went for the wrong brother.” She takes the envelope from me and then hands over the jersey. “Put it on.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know, this all seems so—”

“Scary?” she asks.

“Yes, scary.”

“Well, then, time to act like an adult and get over those fears.” She helps me put on the jersey and then fluffs my hair over my shoulders right as the crowd stands and erupts in cheers.

Not knowing what the hell is going on, Nichole and I do the same. And then the Bobbies jog off the field.

“Wait, what’s going on?” I ask.

“I think they got three outs,” Nichole says.

I continue to clap as Ryot jogs toward the dugout, and when he reaches the top of the steps, he’s only a few feet away from me. Under the brim of his hat, I catch those laser-sharp eyes as he says, “Looking fine, babe.” And then he ducks into the dugout, disappearing out of sight.

“Oh fuck, someone needs to hose me down,” Nichole says, waving her hand in front of her face.