Dylan and I switch our cars back at my apartment.

“Let’s walk to get frozen yogurt around the corner before we go to the airstrip,” I say as I take his hand and lead him across the street.

I’ve never taken anyone to this shop before. When I walk up to the counter, the woman says, “That’ll be it?” after I place my order.

I’m happy to say, “No, one more,” as I turn to Dylan.

Dylan insists on us exercising together before we fly out to Montana in the evening. “Just once,” he says as we drive through the city. “If you hate it, we’ll never do it again. I promise.”

“I should warn you now I’m not in the best shape. I don’t know that I’ve ever really exercised in my life.”

“Sex is exercise,” he offers.

“I guess I’ve done quite a bit of exercise this week then,” I say. “So why do we have to do anything else?”

“Because I need to get a workout in, and I don’t want to miss out on any time with you today.”

“Give me the options,” I say with a groan. “And I’m assuming sex isn’t one of them.”

Dylan leans over to kiss me. “Sex is in its own separate category of exercise. It’s under the headers of erotica, and irreplaceable, and X-rated things.”

“And this kind of exercise is…”

“I’m thinking of something we can do together. How about tennis?”

“Tennis!” I say it like a swear word. “No!”

“Why not?” Dylan furrows his brow. “I thought everyone liked tennis.”

“Where’d you ever get that idea? I hate tennis!”

“Why?”

“One, it’s dangerous.” I begin my checklist. “You can get hit with a ball in the head and not even know until you’re unconscious and it’s too late. Two, it’s very exertive.”

“Two doesn’t count.” Dylan laughs. “Exercise is supposed to be exertive, baby.”

“Three,” I continue. “Repetitive motion is very bad for you. To keep winding up your arm over and over to serve? Repetitive.”

Dylan swerves and turns down a side street. “I know the perfect place to play. Outdoor courts by the ocean, right next to Venice. I used to play all the time growing up in Montana. I’ve even got two rackets in the trunk.”

I scowl. “You’ve got an answer for everything. Besides, I thought your shoulder was sore.”

“It’s not sore right now. If I have to, I’ll serve lefty.”

“That shouldn’t make your aim erratic at all,” I say sarcastically.

Dylan chuckles. “One hour. That’s it. And I promise I won’t hit you in the head.”

Take off.

Tennis wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I actually had fun playing with Dylan. And now we’re on the plane on our way to Montana. This time, I’m the calm one, and Dylan’s anxious because we’re going to his hometown and leaving mine behind. I stare down at Los Angeles as the plane climbs higher and higher and heads north. Dylan made sure I packed a winter coat and sweaters. I’ve never been truly north before when it was cold.

“Actually, I have once,” I say to Dylan as he sits across from me and plays a game on his phone. “My foster family took us to New York City in December. I was fourteen.”

“What do you remember?” he asks me, putting the game down to give me his full attention.

“I had fun. It was just for a weekend, and we fought the whole time—my foster siblings and I—but I’m glad I got to see Manhattan.”

“Are you in touch with them still?” he asks me.

“The family? Now and again. We weren’t close. Zoe’s on pills a lot, or alcohol. And Lionel’s a traveler. For business and women.”

Dylan runs his hand down his face. “I can’t believe I’m complaining about going back home. I feel like a big baby right about now.”

“Why?” I ask him. “It was just different is all.”

He shrugs and then says, “I actually meant—are you in touch with your foster siblings at all? I’ve never heard you mention them.”

No, I don’t mention them much. Even to myself. Chloe’s an artist, but she struggles to stay sober. Chelsea’s married with two kids, but she wishes she were still single and without responsibilities. Bud’s the star of all of us—he got in with a dot-com company that made it through several slumps, and he’s a millionaire now. We’re all still in L.A., and we’re all still ashamed, I guess, of where we came from. Ashamed nobody else wanted us and we ended up together by default.

I look at Dylan. “I know where they are. We send Christmas cards now and again. Sometimes we miss a year.” I pause. “I care about them. I wish them well, but that’s about where it ends.”

Dylan’s eyes fill with worry.

“It’s fine. Maybe someday things will change, but right now, it is what it is.”

“Were there others through the years?” he asks me. “Other kids besides from that one family?”

“Yeah. With my first foster family, the lady was a single woman who seemed to collect kids like she did cats, so there were a bunch of us. But I was only eleven when I left her, and I don’t keep in touch with any of those kids.” I laugh. “They’re not kids now, of course. They’re all grown up.”

Dylan smiles and looks out the window. “It can feel like time freezes sometimes.”

Like Dylan had said, Montana’s definitely cold in February. A strong wind gusts across the airstrip, and I quickly put on my coat and bring the hood up over my head.

As soon as we pick up our rental car, Dylan suggests we check into a motel in town. “Normally, I stay at my parents’ house. Or with Brayden. But I want tonight to just be us. My parents aren’t supposed to be coming home, but they tend to be unpredictable, and I don’t want them showing up in the middle of the night.”

I stare out the window as we drive through the center of Wilcox. It’s very small. There are a lot of antique shops…and not a whole lot else. I think I see a Mexican restaurant. And a bar. It’s called Clyde’s, lit up in big fluorescent letters on the wall.

“Did you drink there a lot?” I point at the nondescript brick building.

“Yeah,” he says. “Clyde’s was about all there was to do around here. Plus, they let us start sometimes at eighteen. After big football games, sometimes we’d be able to coax a beer or two out of the bartender.”

We pull up into the V Motel, and Dylan parks. “I’ll go get us a room. Be right back.”

While he’s gone, I step out of the car and stare down the street, trying to see more. It’s dark already, so my sightseeing—or snooping—will have to wait until tomorrow.

Dylan comes out and grabs our bags, but I insist on taking my purse and bag of clay. He sets off quickly toward our room, talking to me in a whisper. “If it’s really bad, we can go stay at my parents’ house. I just thought this would be more private. If the neighbors see I’m home, they’ll go crazy coming around.”

He unlocks the door to room 123, and we step inside. Two full beds, a dresser with a TV, and not much else. Bare bones. I immediately feel at home.

“This is awesome.” I put my stuff down on one of the beds.

Dylan cocks an eyebrow at me.

“What?” I say. “It is. This is roughing it for you right? So it’s a whole new side of you I get to see.”

Dylan sighs and starts looking for the remote, which he finds in a drawer. He turns on the television, and that’s when we find out the V Motel has no cable.

“Well, that’s no big deal,” I say, bouncing on the bed as I sit on it. “It’s got an antenna. So we’ll just use that.”

Dylan glances at me as he moves the antenna around, and all he gets is static. “I don’t think this is working.”

“There was this old trick I used at my first apartment. If you prop the antenna against something…” I grab the Bible from the drawer and use it to hold the antenna in place. “Sometimes…” Suddenly we get reception. “It works!” I clap. “See? Awesome.”

Dylan smiles and kisses my head. “You’re amazing.”

“I’m handy. I can wire a house too. My first foster parent had a brother who’s an electrician, and he was over all the time. I followed him around, even went on a few jobs with him some Saturdays.” I was desperate for attention back then. Drew was willing to have an apprentice, and he taught me what he knew. It was pretty much all about wiring with him. When it came to emotional issues, he was useless, but if it had to do with electricity, he was a pro.

“You seriously can wire a house?” Dylan asks me.

“You’ve got secrets too you know. Remember—you’re the one who knows all about art and waiting tables. Nobody’s just a one-trick pony right?”

Dylan turns off the TV. “I hope not. Sometimes it feels that way.”

I put my hand in his. “Where to?”

“My cousins are already at the bar. But first, let’s stop by the high school. I’ll show you the football field at night. It’s going to be cold, so bring your gloves. I’ll text Bray we’ll meet them soon.”

The football stadium dominates the school grounds. It’s the only thing I see as we pull into a parking space and step out into the lighted lot.

We walk slowly toward the field, ignoring the biting wind in our faces. I’m mesmerized by images flashing through my mind of Dylan winning big games, being carried around on his teammates’ shoulders, and the whole town putting up banners on the streets to celebrate the team’s victory. It must have been quite a rush. When I mention this to Dylan, he smiles.

“Yeah, it was cool,” he says. “I wasn’t the starter all four years. Sophomore year I split time with a guy.”

“Where’d he end up?”

“He went to U. Montana,” Dylan says. “Majored in finance of some kind. He was a smart guy, and a good friend. Didn’t play pro.”

We take a seat on the chilly bleachers and I stare out at the goalposts. “I’ve never even caught a football. Isn’t that funny?”

Dylan’s eyes light up. “Let’s change that now.”

He takes my hand, and we walk down the steps together. Underneath the back bleacher, he shows me a few footballs lying around.

“Always here,” he says as he picks one up. “Been years, and they still hide them in the same place.”

He teaches me how to throw, and he catches all of them, even my horribly off-base attempts. He teaches me how to catch, and he throws perfect soft spirals directly to me over and over until I’ve caught a few in a row. It’s cold outside, but I get hot from the exertion.

“Two forms of real exercise in one day is a record,” I call to him as I catch one last pass.

He laughs and picks me up in his arms. “You’re good.”

I smile and kiss him. We’re at the fifty-yard line, making out with me in his arms, and I’m still holding the football when I hear, “Dylan Wild! With a lady no less.”

Dylan lowers me to the ground and looks over my shoulder. His face breaks into a huge grin.

“Brayden!” Dylan calls out. “You got my text?”

Brayden reaches us in a run. He throws his arm around Dylan’s neck. “I ducked out of the bar to make sure you were actually going to show up and not spend all your time showing off your hometown.”

“Brayden, this is Jasalie.”

Brayden shakes my hand and then grins at Dylan. “You two are serious.”

“How can you tell that?” I say quickly.

Brayden turns to me. “Dylan never takes any woman onto a football field. That’s his sacred space.”

I like Brayden right away. He’s hot too, in a less conventional way than Dylan. His dirty blond hair is shaggy and nearly goes past his ears. He’s about my height and looks like an athlete also.

“What do you do, Jasalie?”

“Um…” I always hate talking about Apex.

“Jasalie’s an artist,” Dylan says proudly, and I look at him in relief. “A sculptor.”

“Oh, cool.” Brayden’s eyes brighten.

“Along with Colton, Brayden was my favorite receiver senior year of high school,” Dylan says to me. “Now he’s a coach for Wilcox High. He could have played pro if he’d wanted to.”

Brayden chuckles. “Not all of us had the same drive to succeed as you and Colton do, Dyl. I like staying here in Montana. It’s where I’ll raise my kids.”

“Are you married?” I say politely.

Brayden bursts out laughing. “Not even close. But someday I will be.”

I look at his handsome face that’s as honest and trustworthy as Dylan’s. “I’m sure you will,” I say.

“Cam just got to the bar,” Brayden says to Dylan. “His flight was late. His dad’s—you know.” His voice lowers at the mention of Cam’s dad, and Dylan frowns.

“Still on him, huh?” Dylan says.

“Yeah. So he needs a break tonight,” Brayden continues. “Ayd and Jenson are already there. We called Colt already, just to bug him.”

Dylan laughs. “On his freaking honeymoon? Did he kill you?”

Brayden’s smile widens. “Came close. He put Sky on the phone, and she politely put us in our place. Told us that unless it’s an emergency, her husband is requesting a contact-free zone for the week.”

When we reach our car, Dylan tells Brayden we’ll follow him to the bar.

Brayden waves good-bye to me before getting into his truck.

“Sorry to spring one of the cousins on you like that,” Dylan says to me as we drive off. “I didn’t think he’d show up at the field, but I should have known better. My cousins aren’t exactly shy.”

“I’m happy to meet all of them,” I say as I try to fix my hair in the car mirror.

I can’t see very well, though, and we’ve already pulled into Clyde’s parking lot.

“You look beautiful,” Dylan says.

I smile at him, but I feel like I don’t really belong here. All these people meeting up for drinks feels like old times plus one.

“Maybe I should take the car back to the motel,” I suggest. “I can come pick you up later.”

But Dylan takes my hand. “Please come with me. You’ll have a good time. I promise.”

Brayden meets us outside the front of the bar. As soon as the three of us walk inside the doors and the customers see Dylan, the yelling gets so deafeningly loud I nearly block my ears. He waves and smiles like this is nothing, but the energy coming at us terrifies me. I wonder if this is what it feels like to come out of the tunnel before games. Or to meet with the hordes of media after games.

Dylan introduces me to everyone in sight. Most of the men are wearing cowboy hats or baseball caps, and the women are dressed casually in jeans and sweaters. The bartender’s filling up pitchers of beer so quickly it’s like he’s afraid we’ll run out before he’s served up another.

I shake my head no at the offer of a beer, but Dylan takes one for himself. I try to force myself into my social mode by striking up a conversation with the man next to me, but he only has eyes for Dylan. Everything Dylan says, they all laugh. Every time he laughs, they laugh harder. I almost feel like I don’t exist. But I find the whole experience fascinating.

After about ten minutes of this, the bartender nods to Dylan and gestures toward the back of the bar. Dylan takes my hand as he and Brayden push past the crowd and head for an unmarked door. Brayden opens it, and Dylan ushers me ahead of him into a quiet, dimly-lit back room where three more hot guys are playing pool and laughing.

They look up as we enter, and all I hear is—

“Dyl!”

“No way! You really brought someone with you? You’re going down just like Colt!”

“Come on over and fill us in!”

Dylan shuts the door firmly behind us, and just like that, the crowded bar disappears. And I’m left facing three curious stares.

“Jasalie,” Dylan says in a soft tone, his arm around me protectively. “These are the rest of my cousins.”

After a short while of each cousin talking over himself to explain who each of them is, I think I can put the right name to the face.

Jenson’s not really a Wild, but he and Colton met as kids, and now he’s considered one of them. He’s blond and a former football player who, like Brayden, chose another path. He says he’s got twin sons who he adores, but when I ask about his wife, his expression turns dark, and he makes it clear that he’s single. He tells me he flew in from Pennsylvania and that he wouldn’t have missed meeting me for the world.

I raise an eyebrow as Dylan and Brayden start up a game of pool a few feet away from us. “How come?”

“Because,” Cameron, the dark-haired hockey playing cousin from Minnesota tells me in a lowered voice, “Dylan doesn’t trust any—and I mean any—woman. So if he’s bringing you home like this, you must have gotten through some serious combination locks.”

“So you’re a hockey player?” I say politely, in a blatant effort to change the subject.

He nearly scowls at the question.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I must have misheard.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry for overreacting. I’ve been thinking of quitting, but my dad won’t give up the dream.”

“I hope everything works out for you.”

Cam relaxes at my calm tone. “Thanks. So. We’ve met a few of Dylan’s dates before but never in his home state. So back to you and how you’re the first woman Dylan’s brought home to Montana. Must be serious.”

I smile and again glance over at Dylan. He’s fully engaged in the game with Brayden, and both of them are cracking up at Dylan’s poor shot.

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” I say finally.

Cam breaks into a laugh. “You’re honest. That’s exactly what Dylan needs. I can’t imagine all the yes people he’s surrounded by in that crazy world of his. One reason I never want to go into the majors.”

“I can understand what you mean. Seeing into his world this past week has certainly been an eye-opener.”

“Are you in entertainment at all? Since you live in L.A., I have to ask, of course.” He grins like he’s a natural flirt but is doing his best to rein it in with me. “Not to pigeonhole you, but you’re beautiful and clearly could be a model or an actress.”

Jenson groans. “Easy on the creep factor, Cam.”

I smile. “It’s okay. No, I’m not. I try to avoid that part of Los Angeles, honestly.”

He raises his beer to me. “You’re good for Dylan. I hope you can make it work.”

“Yeah, Colton told us about the crazy deal Dylan offered you,” Ayden says, his bright blue eyes sparkling with amusement underneath his blue baseball cap with the red B in the center. “Any woman who takes a deal like that from a damn stranger must be someone special. Hey Dyl!” he calls out. “Did that tight-ass see the photos and agree to back your charity yet?”

Dylan’s looking at his phone as he and Brayden walk over to us. Dylan’s eyes find mine as he answers Ayden’s question with a nod and a, “Yeah, he did.”

Ayden puts up his hand to me for a high-five. I laugh and slap his hand.

“I didn’t do anything other than pose for a few photos.”

Dylan leans in and kisses my temple. “She’s the only reason I got it.”

I turn to him. “I didn’t even know you’d found out.”

He holds up his phone so I can see the screen. “Tim literally just texted me the news.”

I read the congratulatory message, and then I impulsively kiss Dylan. “I’m so happy for you,” I say in his ear.

His arms go tightly around me, and I hear Cameron say quietly enough that I don’t think I’m supposed to hear, “She’s nothing like any of the other women we met through him in L.A. Thank fuck.”

“No, she’s not.” The woman talking sounds familiar for some reason, but my face is still buried in Dylan’s shoulder. “Cam, your inside voice needs some work. We can all hear you, including the amazing person you’re talking about.”

Cam laughs. “No offense meant, Jasalie. We all like you already. That’s all I meant.”

I pull back from Dylan and start to tell Cam I understand and not to worry when—