“Who’s winning?”“I don’t have a f*cking clue nor do I f*cking care.”Echo’s head ticks back.“Back off, Beth.” I cross the room, drop a kiss on the curve of Echo’s neck and whisper in her ear, “She’d rip me to pieces, too, right now. She’s a b*tch when the Yankees play.”Her eyebrows rise. “Is she a Red Sox fan?”Isaiah chuckles and we both throw him a glare, but he doesn’t notice as he’s absorbed in a car manual.“Beth hates baseball.”Echo’s eyes dart from Beth to the television to me then she waves her hand in the air for an explanation.“She watches,” I explain. “Yankees only. It’s what she does and there are some things we don’t question about each other.”“Just the Yankees?” Echo whispers.“Just the Yankees,” I repeat.“And she hates baseball?”“With a passion.”“That’s...” Echo says in a hushed tone. “That’s messed up.”