Trip had the windows in his 2008 two-door Honda Accord rolled down. The wind was unusually warm for the beginning of April and whipped my hair wildly in every direction, but I refused to tie it back. I didn't want to risk having a kink for the remainder of the day.

After adjusting the volume on the stereo, I rested my arm on the center console. My position in the passenger seat had granted me aux cord privileges, though I doubted Trip would've denied it to me. After scrolling through my Spotify and queuing up a few songs, I glanced over at him.

Sunlight shone through the driver's side window and glinted off of Trip's rings as he tilted the steering wheel to change lanes. I wasn't the slightest bit surprised that his driving seemed effortless, and I quieted the urge to reach over and fix the crooked collar of his blue flannel shirt.

This would've resembled a page ripped out of my daydreams if it wasn't for the non-stop bickering in the backseat.

"Headmistress Harvey wouldn't approve of this seating arrangement," Grayson grumbled, sitting directly behind me. I could practically feel his spiffy white Nike Air Jordan's digging into my back through the seat.

"Then it's a good thing that she's not in the backseat of Trip's car," Macallan retorted lazily.

"Remind me why I'm in the backseat of this car?" Grayson asked through a groan.

"Because you're a halfway decent friend supporting Tony D, I'm supporting Jameson, and they're going to look cute," Macallan rattled off, still maintaining her lazy tone. "Besides, if you hadn't crashed your dad's Range Rover, you could've driven your own vehicle to the Diamond Duel."

"That was a low blow."

"Would you prefer if I aimed for your face again?"

"Touché, Macallan," Grayson muttered. "Trip, when does my backseat banishment end?"

"You're liberated in ten minutes," Trip said with a ghost of a grin.

We'd been in Trip's car for less than thirty minutes, Boston's Saturday traffic miraculously light. I'd spent last night at Macallan's house, and Trip had picked us up from there with Grayson abdicating the passenger seat to me. Our weekend privileges allowed us to leave Cannondale with permission, and the four of us certainly wouldn't be the only students at the New England Diamond Duel this evening.

Boston hosted the New England Diamond Duel every spring, a baseball tournament that invited the most qualified teams from high-profile private schools. This happened to include the New Livingston Day School Lions and their esteemed captain, Dallas Gunther.

I hadn't bothered to make the connection until Dad offered to drive Macallan and me after his round of golf with Patrick Gunther. While we'd had several civil conversations since my enlightenment on his relationship status last weekend, I wasn't above picking spending time with Trip over him.

Trip sighed, briefly eyeing me from behind the dark lenses of his Clubmaster sunglasses. "They're failing this exercise in civility."

A subtle laugh escaped me and I smiled at Trip even though I knew he wouldn't catch it. "You thought they wouldn't?"

"Shame on me for being an optimist."

I was busy tracing Trip's profile with my eyes when Macallan leaned forward in a wave of her Glossier perfume and jabbed me in the shoulder. "Chan, this music is ancient."

I twisted around in my seat. "Third Eye Blind's first album is timeless."

"Don't they sing that song about crystal meth?" Grayson asked, balancing a banged-up elbow at the base of the window. His bangs flopped in the wind like the ears of a golden retriever.

"Semi-Charmed Life would be the only song you know," I rolled my eyes as I twisted back around. "Is there anything you want me to queue, Trip?"

Trip shook his head. "This is a great album. I actually have the CD somewhere in there that I snagged from a vintage record store in Cambridge."

He took his right hand off the steering wheel and placed it on top of the one I still had resting on the center console. His light touch was there and then gone in what felt like a heartbeat, but it sent warmth rippling through me. We had our own kind of mellow yet intentional energy that eclipsed anything I'd ever felt.

As Trip had predicted, we arrived at the sprawling baseball venue in ten minutes. After he secured a prime parking spot, we started up the sidewalk to the nearest field, the branches of blossoming trees swaying in the breeze.

Typical teenage boy hype music floated down from the speakers mounted upon the tiny announcer's box, and the evening sun bathed the bleachers in warm light. I slid my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose as I cast a glance out to the field, where New Livingston was warming up in their black away jerseys. I wasn't close enough to pinpoint New Livingston's captain, but I didn't have much of an incentive, anyway.

"I told you that we had time to get food before the game," Grayson complained to Macallan, pointing an accusatory finger out at the field. "Cannondale hasn't even warmed up yet."

"You're acting as if you weren't just sizing up the snack-stand over yonder," Macallan replied, entirely unsympathetic to Grayson's plight. Watching her boyfriend play baseball would outweigh his appetite every day of the week.

"Because it's my only option, Macallan!" Grayson exploded. "I would never intentionally seek out that kind of crap. Besides, I'm a proud vegan."

I tuned out their resurgence of bickering, looping an arm through one of Trip's as we approached the tall bleachers. We claimed seats located a few rows up from Cannondale's dugout, the team wearing their white and blue home jerseys. Trip and I sat between the other two for obvious reasons.

Macallan was in the middle of enthusiastically explaining Jameson's pitching stats for the tournament so far - an impressive 12 strikeouts - when I took note of Dad's arrival. The Gunthers walked in front of him and Dr. Teá Daly, who looked exceptionally fashionable in casual weekend attire.

Tension I hadn't previously acknowledged eased from my shoulders as they headed over to the opposite end of our crowded section, but I still tracked Dad's movements. He'd traded in his gold-rimmed frames for the black Ray-Ban sunglasses he'd worn for at least a decade but regularly misplaced. Just as Dad went to follow the Gunthers up the far aisle, he smiled back at Teá. It was the kind that I knew reached his eyes, even if I couldn't see them from behind the dark lenses.

I inhaled an unsteady breath as I tore my gaze away. I couldn't remember the last time Dad smiled like that. I couldn't remember the last time I noticed.

"Jameson's got a 1.2 ERA, right?" Trip asked.

Macallan nodded, her smile undeniably proud. "These Fairfield County boys aren't ready for him."

"But any self-respecting team here knows Cannondale and Jameson's pretty stats," Grayson asserted. "This is the championship game, and they want to stick it to our Bostonian asses."

"That sounds extreme," I interjected, forcing myself to participate in the conversation. I absentmindedly ran a finger over a crease on Trip's khakis.

"Well, those Fairfield County types usually support the Yankees. That part of Connecticut is essentially composed of Manhattan commuters and transplants," Macallan informed me, seemingly siding with Grayson for the first time in probably forever.

I nodded wearily, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees and balancing my chin on my interlaced fingers. If it wasn't for Trip and Macallan, I would've had zero interest in attending the Diamond Duel. But here I was, at said sporting event with Dad and Teá on the opposite end of the bleachers, resembling a picture perfect couple.

Had Dad talked to me, trusted me with the truth, I would have understood - or at the very least felt like I was worthy of the truth. I wouldn't be pathetically chancing glances in his direction every thirty seconds or desperate to squash the urge to talk to him beneath the heel of my shoe.

Trip's hand drifted up my back, brushing some of my hair over my shoulder. He kept his voice low when he asked, "So on a scale of 1 to miserable?"

My lips curled into a wry smile at the edge of humor in Trip's voice, and I flicked a glance back at him. "There's no scale. Just misery."

Trip's hand danced back across to rest on my opposite shoulder, gently pulling me closer to him. His arm was a sturdy wall I could have collapsed against if I wanted to. Both of us were aware that we weren't diving headfirst into this conversation right here and right now. But this small gesture was enough to reassure me that we would when we had a moment alone.

I wished I could mute the voice in my head that wanted to steal my words back. Trip shouldn't have to shoulder my emotional baggage like a carry-on duffle bag that accompanied our relationship. But I valued confiding in him, trusting him in a comparable way to the girl sitting beside me - Macallan was the closest I would ever come to having a sister. That was why I'd relayed the entire situation to Trip when I returned to Cannondale last Friday, unfortunately having to pause a few times to wipe my eyes with the cuff of my sweater.

"I do really like her bag, Chan," Macallan casually gestured over to the other side of the bleachers, where Teá had placed her granite-colored calfskin tote bag beside her, undoubtedly Celinè.

"I told you she's stylish," I said, the words coming out quietly.

While Dr. Teá Daly's professional attire had secured my fashion envy before I'd known who she was, my initial Google search revealed she was a great many other impressive things too. Before joining the BC faculty, she was a professor at UVA, with her research focusing on political psychology and behavioral economics. She graduated from Boston College with a B.A. in political science, and Stanford University with an M.A. and Ph.D. in political science. She was also the author of three New York Times bestsellers, one of which I recognized from a bookshelf in Dad's study.

Dr. Teá Daly was essentially a celebrity in the world of academia.

Trip's arm slipped from my shoulders as he bent forward to access his backpack, the movement pulling me out of my reverie. He sorted through it for a moment before pulling out a black hat emblazoned with Duke's blue 'D'. Knowing that I'd never seen it before, I wondered if it was new. Trip had flown to Durham at the end of February for a play-day while I took the train to Manhattan. But regardless of the hat's date of purchase, I knew I needed it.

The hat just grazed Trip's hairline when I clamped my hand on its brim and swiftly snatched it away.

"Chandler," Trip protested, his disapproval underscored by amusement.

"You have sunglasses," I said, whipping off my own sunglasses with my free hand. Before I could set them in my lap, Macallan carefully snagged them and slipped them on. My heroine.

"I also have a hat. That I intended to wear."

I gave an exaggerated, wistful sigh and made a show of inspecting the hat as though it was a divine artifact. "I don't ask for much, Trip."

"And yet you're asking for my hat?" Trip eyed me from over the dark lenses of his sunglasses, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes ensnaring my attention the way they always did. I loosened my grip on the brim. He had eyes like that. Eyes that made you forget where you were and what you were doing because they were all you could see.

"Maybe," I said softly, tilting my head to one side. "Listen, I'd be significantly less miserable if I had your hat."

Trip eyed me for a moment longer, but something changed in his expression. His eyes softened, his lips hinted at a smile. He shook his head a fraction.

"It's whatever you want, Chandler."

Trip reached for the hat, and I let him take it. When he set it on my head, I could only hope that I gave him my best, most radiant smile.

"Well, that was heartwarming," Grayson drawled, propping up his Air Jordan's on the empty row in front of us.

Trip shoved Grayson in the shoulder without looking at him.

"Hi, Chan!"

An invisible string tugged my attention towards the field, and a part of me regretted my reaction, which ultimately prompted Trip to turn his attention as well.

It only took me a moment to realize Dallas Gunther wasn't looking at me as he waved. "Hi, Chan's boyfriend!"

I nearly gave myself whiplash turning to catch Trip's reaction. His casual diplomacy constantly impressed and astounded me.

"Who am I waving at?" he asked through a cordial smile.

Before I could shoot the who in question a seething glare, I was already looking at the back of his #3 jersey as he turned to throw the ball to one of his teammates. Dallas really had the audacity to attempt to take a swipe at me right off the bat. Our worlds colliding didn't mean our worlds had to explode.

"Dallas Gunther," I sighed out, and gestured over to the other end of the bleachers. "My dad is sitting with his parents, and was roommates with Mr. Gunther at Cornell."

Grayson leaned in front of Trip. "I've heard that guy's name thrown around before. Tony D knows him from football, thinks he's a real jerk."

At the moment, I also thought Dallas was a real jerk. He never went out of his way to be obnoxious the way some other 18-year-old boys did. Not to me.

"Takes a real jerk to know a real jerk," Macallan chimed in as she stood up. Her crystalline eyes met mine from over the lenses of my sunglasses she still wore. "I'm going to go see if I can persuade Dallas not to provoke Tony D."

Grayson jumped to his feet. "I'm coming with you. Not because I'm worried about you, I'm worried about him. We don't want any more fists flying, right?

"I appreciate the gesture, but this guy doesn't need a bodyguard." Macallan stepped down into the row in front of us, her blonde hair a beacon beneath the sun as she started in the direction of 1st base.

Grayson still followed her. "Then I'm going to scout out the vegetarian options at the snack stand. I don't think I can make it through seven innings without an actual meal."

"Whatever. Let's just go," Macallan called from over her shoulder.

I tried to restrain a laugh. For all I knew, maybe this exercise in civility wasn't quite doomed. I would never appreciate Grayson's company, but maybe I could tolerate it.

"Macallan knows him?" Trip asked. His gaze had followed Macallan down to where she'd managed to lure Dallas over from his position at 1st base. The low field divider separated them by a few yards.

"We went to his birthday party last summer, but I think they met at a dinner party a few years ago." I shrugged a delicate shoulder. "They might even be in the same fantasy football league."

"I see," he replied with a slow, methodical nod.

I didn't know how much I wanted to unpack Trip's response, but it was clear he had decided to move on. The same could be said for Macallan a few minutes later when I saw her walk away from whatever her conversation was with Dallas with a self-satisfied smirk.

While Cannondale's starters descended upon the infield, Jameson and Tony D split away from their teammates to converse at the pitcher's mound. They stood with the commanding disposition anyone would expect from the baseball team's captains.

As I watched Macallan make her way back to our spot in the bleachers, something on the field drew her attention, and she stopped halfway up the aisle. Dallas was forced to cut through the infield to get back to the New Livingston dugout, but his pace seemed to slow as he approached Jameson and Tony D.

I swore Macallan and I saw it coming before the three of them did. Without realizing it, my hand reached for Trip's knee in an attempt to brace myself for the inevitable.

As Dallas passed the mound, he shifted to walk backwards, and both Cannondale captains turned their attention to him. The wicked expression visible from beneath the brim of Dallas's black baseball cap disappointed me. He was better than this.

I didn't need to hear the exchange to know that Dallas and Tony D were already trading insults, with poor Jameson caught in the crossfire. Tony D only made it two strides forward before Jameson caught him by the elbow, sending him a warning look. Dallas retreated to New Livingston's dugout, and that seemed to dissipate tensions. For now, at least.

✘ ✘ ✘

I pretended not to find baseball breathtakingly dull.

There was a great deal of standing around, and even with two Cannondale home runs, I missed the speed and momentum of lacrosse. However, I seemed alone in this assessment of the Diamond Duel championship game. It was 4 - 4 at the top of the 5th inning, and the three other lacrosse players I sat with seemed perfectly engaged - especially Macallan. With Jameson standing on the pitching mound, she rarely blinked and wore a proud little smile. She wouldn't be moving an inch until the game ended. Thankfully, I only had to endure the rest of the inning; Trip had promised to accompany me on a sanity walk during the 6th.

The only reason why I noted Dallas's presence on the field was because Tony D put a hard tag on his helmet as he slid headfirst into 2nd base. I shared an apprehensive look with Macallan and the collective gasp that emanated from the crowd reinforced the heightening of tension between the two athletes. Dallas got up, brushed the dirt off the front of his jersey, and clearly sent a few words Tony D's way before returning to the New Livingston dugout.

As Tony D reassumed his position at short-stop, he shook his head as though he was attempting to recenter himself. He wasn't hot-headed or prone to violence. Cannondale wouldn't have allowed his coaches to name him as a captain in two sports if he was.

The same went for Dallas, but it didn't feel right to compare him to Tony D. We'd seen each other through various stages of our lives, leading me to set him apart in a way that I didn't entirely understand. But whatever stage Dallas had found himself in now was foreign to me. There was something both wild and uneasy about him that I couldn't unsee.

Cannondale went to bat at the bottom of the 5th inning. Tony D stepped up to the plate second, aggressively fiddling with the velcro of his batting gloves.

Both Trip and Grayson clapped when he ripped a hit into center field and safely made it to first base. I didn't miss the seemingly challenging glance Dallas cast up to me as if to verify that I was, in fact, paying attention. He knew of my distaste for baseball, courtesy of the handful of Yankee games we'd attended together as kids.

As Cannondale's sole freshman on varsity marched up to bat, Tony D took a lead, daring to stray a little less than halfway to 2nd base. Despite being 6''6', he shifted lightly in his royal blue cleats, the loose dirt forming a trail in the basepath.

There was a collective inhale as New Livingston's pitcher wound up to throw, but he quickly turned over his shoulder. Macallan cursed under her breath as the ball found Dallas's waiting glove at 1st before Tony D slid back into the base. An ugly thudding sound reverberated off of Tony D's helmet as Dallas brought his glove down to tag him, and I felt Trip cringe beside me.

"Okay, ouch," Grayson remarked sympathetically.

Even though Dallas's move almost exactly resembled what Tony D had done to him earlier in the inning, this seemed different. This seemed too intentional.

Tony D sprung to his feet, his white jersey marred with fresh streaks of dirt. As he walked back to the Cannondale dugout, he shouldered Dallas, hard. Too hard for him not to retaliate.

"Oh, no."

In the split second that it took me to process that I'd said those two, single syllable words out loud, Dallas had seized Tony D's forearm to yank him back a step, preventing him from walking away. The same wild energy that had flared up in Dallas during warm-ups recaptured his features as he and Tony D resumed their testosterone-fueled quarreling.

With the arm that Dallas held captive, Tony D shoved him away to steal it back. I was borderline grateful when their voices carried up into the bleachers.

"What is your problem, Gunther?" Tony D raised his voice for the first time. "You're acting like a deranged psycho."

"You're my problem, you city garbage rat!" Dallas smacked Tony D in the chest with the back of his glove.

I arched an eyebrow. City garbage rat?

Tony D lived in the same affluent Boston suburb as Kelsey, though I presumed Dallas had intended to insult his character. And judging by Tony D's stormy expression, he'd succeeded.

"Man, I don't know what drugs you've been on lately, but stop taking your tweaking out on me."

I didn't realize the playing had stopped until the umpire started jogging over alongside Cannondale's coach, stricken. Everyone in the bleachers had their eyes on the pair, and secondhand embarrassment began to prickle beneath my skin. I wouldn't be defending Dallas anytime soon. I wouldn't be looking for explanations from him either. I didn't need or want one.

Trip nudged Grayson. "Tony D seems to think he's more than just a 'real jerk'."

Grayson laughed. "We'll be hearing all about it for the foreseeable future."

"This is no time for laughter!" Macallan scolded.

A few more coaches had descended upon the escalating altercation as the boys graduated to more physical blows. After a flash of shoving and jersey grabbing, they were pulled off of each other by their respective coaches, still hurling god knows what kind of petty insults at each other.

Upon reaching a supposedly safe distance, Cannondale's coach released Tony D, and Jameson intercepted him from the on-deck circle. He slung an arm around Tony D's shoulders, escorting him back into the dugout.

My attention shifted to the walkway at the base of the bleachers, where Dallas's parents headed in the direction of New Livingston's dugout. Patrick Gunther took purposeful strides, his black New Livingston baseball cap failing to shield the intensity of his expression. The concern etched into Meredith Gunther's delicate features led me to believe that whatever was going on inside of Dallas's head was something they were aware of, at least to some extent. I imagined it was going to be a very long drive back to Fairfield County.

"So much for playing nice," Macallan sighed, entirely despondent. "They're the future of ACC football, and they both just got their butts kicked out of the game."

"How mature of them." I set a hand on Trip's knee. "Ready for that walk?"

Trip nodded. "Lead the way."

I caught Macallan's attention before maneuvering out of the row, seeking confirmation that she was fine to remain with Grayson.

Macallan smiled, tilting her head in the direction of the stairs. "Go enjoy your walk. I can play nice."

"Thank you." I sincerely meant it.

The walk did wonders for my mind. I credited the warm spring breeze and light conversation for carrying away the unnecessary melodrama of the afternoon. I eventually split off from Trip to stop by the restroom but regretted the detour when I went to rejoin him on the walkway running alongside the field.

Of course, I'd planned to introduce Trip to my Dad, but Dr. Teá Daley's presence wasn't a variable I'd accounted for. I also hadn't accounted for me not being present for that introduction.

Even though Trip stood with his back to me, I knew my intervention wasn't necessary. His preternatural diplomatic skills always took the wheel.

"I read your last publication in International Security on the U.S. cost on the global war on terror," Trip was saying to Teá. "I wish I could take your Strategy and War class at BC."

It was very cute when Trip casually engaged in an intellectual conversation with two highly regarded academics.

Priorities, I chastised myself.

"I know Duke offers comparable courses within the Security, Peace & Conflict subfield," Teá replied. She exuded the same refined professionalism I'd witnessed at BC but seemed more earnest speaking to someone who wasn't her student.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." I directed both my words and faint smile at Dad as I looped an arm through one of Trip's. He eased into my touch, just enough for me to notice.

"Not at all," Dad said, returning the smile. I didn't need to evaluate his body language to know that he was content, gently curling his fingers around Teá's shoulder. "Chandler, this is Dr. Teá Daley. I believe you crossed paths in Stokes Hall last week."

I nodded in confirmation, but traditional introductions evaded me. "I love your bag."

Teá had a dazzling smile. "I was told you had a keen eye for fashion."

I wished I didn't know why I mirrored Teá's smile. I wished I could pretend I was entirely apathetic to her presence. I wished I wasn't so keen to impress her, trying to remember what it felt like to have a female role model who respected me.

"Well, Chandler," Dad said, garnering my focus. "I hope you know you can invite Trip over for dinner."

"Of course," I nodded. I couldn't bring myself to meet Trip's gaze, but I trailed my hand down his forearm, my fingertips grazing the skin of his wrist below the cuffed sleeve of his flannel. "I'll definitely be taking you up on that. Are you coming to the Belmont game on Thursday?"

Dad's face creased into a frown. "I'm sorry, Chandler. I have this dinner with the dean and other department heads."

"It's fine. I get it. That's important." The nonchalance with which I delivered my words might have seemed like overkill, but I wanted to believe that this was my best attempt at civility.

"Chan, you know if I could-"

"Say 'hi' to the Gunthers for me." I dropped my hand from Trip's wrist to give Dad a brief hug and smiled at Teá as I stepped away. "It was really lovely meeting you, Dr. Daley."

"You as well, Chandler."

Trip skated through his goodbyes with the same deft cordiality I'd come to expect from him. That half-smile of his could inspire world peace.

Before Trip and I reached the stairs leading up to our section of the bleachers, he stopped, turning around to face me. The breeze tried to tug a few of his wayward curls along with it.

"Are you all right?"

I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around Trip's waist, feeling a small smile coaxing my lips upward as I lifted my gaze to meet his.

"You always know what to say," I told him. "I shouldn't be surprised. I also don't want to take that for granted. Thank you for knowing what to say, especially when I don't."

Trip didn't react for what felt like an eternity. His arms fell lightly around me, fingertips brushing against my spine through the soft cotton of my sweater. Finally, he shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "I don't," he said quietly. "But for you, I try. I'll always try."