Page 58 of Stick Fight

Roman yelps and recoils, “Stella, really? This is how you treat your favorite uncle?”

Her answer is a contagious giggle, all dimples and mischief. Roman sighs dramatically as he picks cereal off his shirt and, with great theatrical flair, pops it into his mouth. “Well, waste not, want not.”

Maeve gives Stella a gentle, amused look. “Stella, honey, please do not throw your food at Uncle Roman.”

Uncle Roman.

I have no idea why my chest tightens at that sweet name. Maybe it’s because they really are all a big family, and I miss that.

But the little one just returns to awkwardly spooning cereal into her mouth while chanting, “Mama, mama, mama,” like it’s her favorite word in the world.

And maybe it is. The way Maeve softens, utterly glowing with love, makes something tighten sweetly in my chest.

Tanner, still trying to look like he has things under control, hands Roman a wad of paper towels. “You should really stop being such a target.”

Roman shrugs. “She knows power when she sees it.”

I smile, feeling oddly at home in the chaos. I slide into a chair at the big kitchen table, soaking in the warmth of the space, the laughter, the banter, the scent of cinnamon rolls lingering in the air.

Maeve sets down a glass of wine in front of me, then joins me at the table. “Tanner mentioned you’re in fashion, but that you’re here for a bit and open to something temporary.”

I glance at Tanner, who suddenly looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Imighthave said you were extremely talented,” he admits, guilt and pride mixing on his face.

I give him a grateful smile. “It’s true. I’ve worked in the fashion industry for a while, but I’m sort of regrouping right now.”

“I know all about that,” she says, her eyes full of understanding.

I simply nod. “Roman and I go way back and he was kind enough to offer me a place to stay while I figure things out. And yes, I’d really like to work.”

Maeve’s expression warms. “No pressure at all, but we’re in a bit of a pinch with childcare. Our nanny just moved, and we’d love to have someone even part-time, if the fit is right.”

I glance at Stella, who is now rubbing one sleepy eye with her cereal-crusted fingers, looking like a cherub who just started a food fight.

“If you think I’m a good fit, I’d love to take you up on it. I mean, any girl who throws cereal at Roman and isn’t swayed by his dimples…well, that’s my kind of girl.”

“Hey,” Roman protests, feigning offense. “Is this ‘Roast Roman Night’ and no one told me?”

We all burst out laughing, and he lifts another rogue piece of cereal like a trophy before eating it.

Maeve grins. “Oh, you’re going to fit in with us girls perfectly.” Then she sips her wine and asks, “If you could start next Monday?”

“Monday it is.” A little bubble that feels like hope for better things swells inside me.

“You’re coming to the game on Wednesday, right?”

I look to Roman, who meets my eyes with a steady, soft expression. There’s no pressure in his gaze, just a quiet hope.

“I’m not sure yet,” I reply.

Maeve shrugs playfully. “Well, if you’re free, you should definitely come. Meet the rest of the wives. They’re going to loveyou.”

A wave of warmth rolls through me, unexpected and soul-deep. I like this—being included. Not for who I used to be or who I tried to become, but just… me. The me without the designer heels or the perfectly curated life. For a second, I wonder why I stayed so long in that other world. But I know why. Designing lives in my bones.

What I don’t know is how to be happy when that part of me is being ripped away. I could always go back. To Cass, to that empty version of myself. The woman who smiled on cue, who ignored the betrayals, who made herself small to fit inside someone else’s idea of a perfect life.

No.Hell no.

“I think it would be fun to watch a game in person,” I say, surprising myself.

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