Hercules' collar jingles as he jumps into the air, trying desperately to catch the slow flash of a lightening bug as they float around the back yard. At two years old, he's smaller than most golden retrievers his age, but what he lacks in height and weight, he makes up for in attitude. Big dog syndrome, I think the vet called it. He only gets about five inches off the ground when he jumps and snaps at them, but in his mind, he thinks he's as tall as me.

I watch as he hides his face between his front paws, and sticks his ass in the air, gearing himself up for another attack, but he misses again, and a loud bark erupts from him.

"Hey!" I scold. He turns his head – tail wagging and pink tongue hanging out of his mouth – and it takes everything I have not to laugh. "No barking."

He charges toward me and sits down, resting his head on my knee. His butt wiggling, he looks up at me, blinking in the way he knows I can't resist, and I give in, scratching him behind his ear the way he likes.

"You need a beer?" Mitchell shouts from the kitchen. I hold up my freshly poured glass of scotch and shake it so he can hear the ice ting against the glass. He closes the sliding door behind him and sits down next to me, sighing as he rests his back against the cushioned patio chair. "Where's the Mrs.?"

I chortle at his use of words. "She spent the day with Jo and Hannah at the beach and then they were all going to dinner."

"No wonder you asked me to hang out."

"What's that mean?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed that you've turned Wyatt and I down every time we've asked you to meet us at Jenkin's lately, or that I haven't heard her voice in the background when we're on the phone. Baby, 90 Day Fiancé is starting. Baby, did you remember to buy tampons for me? You're so fucking busted."

I shrug, not giving two shits if Mitchell thinks I'm whipped. "Sorry not sorry."

He laughs and takes a long sip of his beer. "So, how was L.A?"

It's been almost two weeks since Delaney and I got back from our trip, and I've spent nearly every waking moment with her. Hence the reason Mitchell and I are just now catching up. I dropped her off on our way home from the airport, and we spent Sunday apart and with our respective families, but I'm so God damn drawn to her it's impossible to stay away. I texted her and asked if she'd crack her window so I could sneak in – the way I did when we were teenagers – but she told me I needed to be patient, only for her to show up on my doorstep at midnight with an overnight bag in her hand.

We've spent every night together since. My home is now hers.

But Mitchell's question isn't about Delaney and I. It's about the trip in general, and I'd be a liar if I said it was smooth sailing. I was really apprehensive at first. I was afraid what being back in that atmosphere would be like. Would they ask me why I left when I could have pitched in the minors? Would I be shunned by the people I once considered friends? Would I resent Delaney for leaving me when I needed her most? I had a panic attack in the shower the day of the ESPYS, so bad I had to sit on the floor and tuck my head between my legs while I did the exercises my therapist taught me, but Delaney was so excited, and she kept telling me how she couldn't wait to see me in my element, I couldn't tell her how terrified I was. Somehow, I think she knew anyway.

Having her with me was helpful. When I asked her to go, I meant it when I said I wanted to get her out of South Grove. This town felt like a prison to her when she first got home, and I'm not naïve enough to think it still doesn't at times, so I thought a change of scenery would be healthy for her. I wanted her to let loose and have fun the way I know she can – the way we used to every time we were together. The thought of sharing a hotel room, and possibly a bed, was also an incentive, but I decided to keep that tidbit to myself. At the end of the day, no matter the reason, I just wanted her with me. I always want her with me.

My intentions weren't entirely pure. Yeah, I wanted her by my side because I love her and I never want to be away from her, but I also asked her to go with me because I thought she'd be a good distraction – and she was. With her small, warm hand in mine, and a gentle squeeze from her whenever she sensed I was feeling overwhelmed, I was able to breath and enjoy myself in an atmosphere I never thought I'd appreciate again. But not only did she help me get through the interviews and down the red carpet, she also helped me cope with my past and come to terms with the fact that I've let it control me for far too long. I've let it hurt the people I love most, and push everyone I care about away.

As we were on the plane flying home, her fast asleep on my chest, I said goodbye to my past and hello to my future. I said hello to my new life with her.

I still can't believe I got her back.

It feel fucking amazing to be with her again – in every single way. I'm as happy as a pig in shit, as my father would say, and as giddy as kid that just got his first Xbox. I'm thinking positively for the first time in forever, no longer feeling the need to expect the worst and hope for the best. I'm being kind and chatty to strangers – I didn't get an attitude with the guy who didn't hold the door for me at Starbucks this morning, and when I told him to have a good day, I actually meant it. I'm even being nice to my crew, and I've been overcome with an immense amount of patience, so when one of them makes a mistake that's an easy fix, I don't accuse them of not being able to identify the difference between their ass and their face, which has thrown them for a loop. I'm pretty sure they think I'm either on drugs or some strong anti-depressants.

If this were a movie, I'd be skipping down the street with a crowd of back-up dancers behind me while I whistled and sang along to "You Make My Dreams Come True" by Hall & Oates.

What I can't stop thinking about though – what has me daydreaming when I'm supposed to be doing payroll – is how unbelievable it felt to have her beneath me, naked and writhing and begging for me to touch her. And Jesus Christ – her body. It's believed that men think about sex every seven seconds, and if that's the case, a woman should not be allowed to be as sexy as Delaney is. Innocent, sapphire eyes. Full pouty lips. Bronzed skin. Round, perfect tits that lead into a tiny waist and curvy hips. An ass that deserves its own social media account and long legs that looked so good resting on my shoulders. Silky, golden blonde hair that I love to run my fingers through, but also can't wait to wrap around my fist as I rail her from behind.

But the most alluring thing about her is that she has absolutely no idea what she does to me, or the power she holds. I'm putty in her hands.

I'm experienced, but the minute Delaney told me she wanted me, I felt like that teenage boy on the beach who was about to lose his virginity. When she grabbed me in the alcove in the bar, I had to run through the different ways a pitcher holds a baseball to keep myself from dragging her into a bathroom stall, wrapping her legs around my waist and plunging myself inside of her. Us opening up to each other about our darkest moments was foreplay, and her kiss alone was enough to almost make me cum in my boxer briefs like a thirteen-year-old having his first wet dream, but when she tangled her fingers in my hair and practically humped my face, I was catapulted right into heaven – and fuck me if that wouldn't be the ideal way to go.

"LA was good," I say, a smile spreading across my face. "It was really good."

He takes a sip of his beer, leisurely scratching Hercules behind the ear. "What'd you guys do besides the show? Anything fun?"

"We went to dinner Friday night and then I booked the rooftop veranda at the hotel for just the two of us. It had a firepit, and an incredible view of the city, and we just drank and talked. It was pretty awesome, actually. Then, on Saturday, we went to Disney, then the ESPYS, and then we just got some food and went to a bar." I bring my glass to my lips and smile against the rim as I remember the rant she went on when I asked her what song we should duet for karaoke, and even though I know she was terrified, she stepped way out of her comfort zone and did it anyway, and I've never been prouder. "I even got her to do karaoke."

"No shit!" Mitchell's eyes widen and he laughs in disbelief as I nod. "The girl who forgot her lines in our fifth-grade play and peed her pants onstage did karaoke? I don't believe it."

"I forgot all about that play." Come to think of it, that could be where her fear of being onstage comes from, and the strange anxiety she had about wetting herself.

Makes a lot of sense actually, and I feel like an idiot for not remembering that disaster of a play. Delaney missed a day of school because she was too embarrassed to go back, and I got in trouble for pegging Scott Bailey in the face with a dodgeball for calling her Princess Pee-Pee Pants.

"How was it?" he asks, and I don't need him to clarify what it is.

I could lie and tell him I felt nothing as I walked the carpet, or talked about my job in construction to guys that are still playing the game I'd do anything to be a part of just one more time, or when I stood onstage in front of millions of people and made jokes about my retirement and handed an award to a rookie that was still in the minors while I was wrapped in a sling, being told I'd never play pro again. But in the end, what would be the point in me lying? It wouldn't change the outcome, and honestly, the weight of my secret is getting really heavy.

"It was hard. Really hard, and it was really scary. I had no idea what to expect, and I felt so out of control because of that. Would I feel like an outsider in a world I used to rule? Would everyone avoid me because they have no clue what to say to me? Or would I simply fall to the ground and curl up in a fetal position while I try and breathe myself through a panic attack?"

"So, which one was it? A, B, or C?"

"Neither thankfully. It was just overwhelming. I did enjoy myself, but I mostly just wanted to get it over with. We left as soon as I was done."

He opens another beer, the sharp hiss of the cap exploding into the quiet night and causing Hercules' ear to perk. "I watched the show. I thought you did really well. Your speech was pretty funny, and you looked good."

"Good? No shit, I looked good. I was wearing the hell out of a five-thousand-dollar suit. I looked handsome as fuck," I say teasingly, even though I'm one thousand percent serious. Delaney and I both looked incredible. We were the hottest couple there if you ask me.

"Jackass," he says through a laugh.

"It wasn't easy man, and there were times I regretted saying yes, but having Delaney there helped. She was a good distraction when I needed it and she helped turn off the noise when it got too loud." I take a sip of scotch, curling my lips against my teeth as it burns my throat on the way down. "Is that selfish of me? To have seen her as a distraction?"

"Well, that depends. Did you only ask her to go to LA with you because you felt you needed one? Or did you really want her to go?"

"I really wanted her to go."

"Did you fuck her every time you felt stressed out, or like a panic attack was coming on?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then no. I don't think you were being selfish. At the risk of sounding like a complete pussy, she's your person, and your person can and will be anything you need them to be at any given moment. No questions asked."

"She helped me get some closure."

"Someone had to break through that fortress eventually. No surprise it was her," he says. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, running his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. "How's Delaney doing? You know...after what happened in New York?" My heads turns toward him so fast I feel my neck crack, my angry eyes and wrinkled brow silently asking him how the fuck he knows about New York. "Ripley told me her husband slept with his secretary and kicked Del out of the house, and that's why she's back in South Grove."

"Well, Ripley needs to shut the fuck up," I growl.

"And I told her the same thing. I'm asking about Delaney as her friend, not to report back to the town gossip."

I sigh and rest my head against the back of my chair, staring up at the star-filled night sky. "She's okay. It's been a tough couple of months for her, but she's a fucking badass. Stronger than anyone I know. She'll get through this."

"Good. I know that no relationship is perfect, but nobody deserves to be cheated on. Pretty fucked up thing to do."

I'm not going to sit here and pretend like I understand the mindset of a person who has either cheated on someone, or been cheated on, because it's never happened to me, but from everything I know about Will, it's not the worst thing he's done to Delaney. He controlled her in every possible way – from the way she dressed, and how she wore her hair and make-up to her diet. Seems to me he convinced her to stay in an internship for four years simply because he was afraid she'd become more successful than him. He made her feel like an outsider with his family, and like she'd never be good enough in their eyes because she didn't grow up with a silver spoon in her mouth. He belittled her career. He made her feel small so he could feel big. He married her even though he was most likely sleeping with his assistant before the wedding – and I have a hard time believing she's been the only one – and then blamed it on her when he got caught. He's a narcissistic, gaslighting, cock-goblin who has to bully others simply because he doesn't have the balls to stand up to daddy.

I'd never say this to Delaney, but cheating on her and filing for divorce was one of the kinder things he's done. It set her free.

"Do you think they'll ever get back together?" Mitchell asks.

My stomach rolls with nausea at the thought. "If you had asked me before LA I would have said it was possible, but now, I say definitely not. There's no way in hell she'd go back to him after the things he's done."

"Hmm," he quietly hums. "Okay then."

I try to play it cool, but the more we talk about her, the faster my heart starts to race, and I can't control the smile that's quickly lifting the corners of my mouth. And is that...are those butterflies I feel fluttering around in the pit of my stomach?

I can feel Mitchell staring at me, practically burning a hole in the side of my face. "What?"

"Nothing," he says. He tucks his hands behind his head and lays back in his chair. "It's just without that permanent scowl on your face I forgot what you really looked like."

"Fuck right off." I grab his beer from him, laughing against the mouth of the bottle. "Douchebag."

"Are you together now or what?"

"I mean, we still have a lot of shit to figure out. She's still legally married, but she got a lawyer in New York and started the divorce process. Which means she's going to have to go back and forth for court hearings and whatnot; if he fights her the way she thinks he's going to and won't let them settle out of court that is. And we haven't even touched on if she's going back permanently. I've kind of been avoiding that subject the past couple weeks." I run my hands up and down my face, digging my fingers into my eyes as I think of all the issues that could get in the way of our happily ever after. "The odds aren't in our favor, but we wanna be together, so we're gonna try."

"So, you're going steady?"

I roll my head toward him and arch an eyebrow. What is this, the fifties? "Going steady? Seriously?"

"Are you gonna give her your letterman jacket?"

I give a sarcastic smile. "Very funny."

"Your class ring? Wait..." he trails off. He sits up and turns to me, his shoulders drooping in defeat. "You're not gonna make me go pick out a ring with you, are you?"

"No." I smirk triumphantly. "Not yet anyway. Besides, she's been wearing the one I got her for her eighteenth birthday. So, you're off the hook for now."

"I can't believe this. Greyson McKinnie has a girlfriend." He leans forward and cups his ear, but all I hear is Hercules' collar rattling as he scratches himself.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm listening to the sound of hearts breaking all over the world."

I lightly shove his shoulder, a ripple of laughter flowing between us. "Shut the fuck up. We haven't exactly talked about that yet, but we're adults now. We don't need to declare the title of boyfriend/girlfriend to know we're together. But if anyone asks you, she's my girlfriend. I don't want some chode getting it in his head that she's single."

A snort bubbles out of him as he chuckles. "Why don't you just mark your territory and pee on her already? That should send the message."

"If I didn't think she'd punch me in the nuts I might consider it."

"It was only a matter of time." He picks up his phone and sends off a quick text. "You two are like magnets."

"I don't know about all that, but what I do know is that I'm a lucky son-of-a-bitch. A second chance from her is the last thing I expected. God knows I don't deserve one after the way I treated her."

A comfortable silence falls around us as we add a few more logs to the fire and casually sip on our drinks. It's a gorgeous night. The sky is completely clear – not a cloud in sight – and packed with stars, and the heat of the day has been replaced by a cool breeze. I yawn sleepily as it blows through my hair. Mitchell is on his phone placing his DraftKings bets, and like we do most nights while I sit out here, I'm tossing Hercules' tennis ball into my big back yard for him to fetch and bring back to me – the big back yard Delaney imagined us having way back when we were planning out future together.

I saved the majority of the money I made playing pro, so on top of that and what I bring in running my father's company, I can afford a much bigger, much fancier house. It's a four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bathroom home with a completely finished basement, and a yard that Hercules takes advantage of every chance he gets. I own it outright, and even though it's too big for a single guy to live in alone, it's big enough that if Delaney and I settle down and start a family, we won't outgrow it. But the main reason I chose this house is because it's everything she ever wanted. A home that's not too big and not too small, with a wrap-around porch and a huge yard for our dogs and kids to run around in. She wanted the back yard to be the place where everyone gathered, with a built-in firepit, big, comfy chairs and chaise loungers, and a hammock for us to relax in together.

What she wanted most was to live near the water. She wanted to be able to look out at the ocean from the window in our bedroom, and watch the sun rise and set from our king-sized bed, and I've made sure to do that with her every day for the past two weeks.

It's the house she dreamed of when we were young, and the house I