“This is ‘Con Te Partirò’ by Andrea Bocelli. You’ve heard ‘Time To Say Goodbye’ that he also sang but in English.” Heswitches the song and instantly the dots connect. “I don’t know if you were obligated to at your high school, but we had to take two foreign languages. I picked Italian and for our final, we had to pick a song and sing a few lyrics. We got extra credit if we sang the entire song.”
“Aren’t you an overachiever?” I tease. “So, you can speak it then?”
“What can I say? I like getting good grades, and my dad would have also beat my ass,” he sheepishly admits. “Can’t say I blame him. He and Mom came to this country and worked their asses off to give us a better future. Getting good grades was the least I could do for them. I still struggle with a few words, but overall, I can speak and understand it.”
I nod because I know. Mom might’ve been one of the highest paid professional swimmers, but her life wasn’t easy before it. Then she accidentally had me and it fucked up her plans.
“I was homeschooled, but foreign language was still in my curriculum. I’m basic; I took Spanish.” I shuffle on my feet, twisting my ring.
When he notices, I stop. Nothing horrible or traumatic happened to me, but I hate talking about those years. The loneliness. The long hours of constantly working at my desk with my teacher on the other side of the monitor. Mom reminding me how useless I was anytime my grades weren’t where they needed to be.
“Say something to me,” I say before he gets the chance to get a word out.
He thinks about it for a second and exhales.
“Sto facendo di tutto per non baciarti in questo momento.”
I lift a brow, holding back a smile. “Well? You know I have no idea what that means.”
He stares at me for a long beat, his amber eyes holding me in place and burning me up. “I said, I hope you’re ready to eat.”
22
DANIEL
Angel hitsme with a curveball that just misses the outside corner, making the count 2-2.
We’re hitting live at-bat, and while we consistently do this throughout the preseason, we’ve been ramping up more on it. Spending more hours in and outdoors, so the coaches can calculate our batting averages and we can work on anything we need to improve on.
From the corner of my eye, I see Noah positioning back into a squat as Angel readies himself.
“Stay ready,” Noah lowly says from behind his mitt.
With the slight tip of my head, I position my feet, tightening my hands around the bat. He pitches but I mistakenly swing and miss because it’s a fastball dot on the black, and it’s a strike.
Now that makes the count 2-3. I’m out.
“I told you to stay ready.” Noah stands, removing his face guard.
“Perdon papi!” Angel shouts from the mound, the corner of his mouth just barely quirking upward into a small smile. It’s meant to come off asI’m sorry, better luck next time, I’m a team playerkind of smile, but I know him enough to know he’s full of shit.
That’s hisI’m better than you, you suck asssmile.
I grin, not letting his secret taunt get to me. Not that it ever does, and either way I’m in too good of a mood to give a damn.
“Bring it in,” Coach D announces, waving his hand in for us all to gather around. “Good job out there.” He praises us once we’re all circled around him and spends the next few minutes going over things we need to tweak to improve before he releases us until we have to show up back tonight for our second practice of the day.
“Sanchez, Garcia, once you’re done showering, in my office,” Coach says as he walks out of the field.
Angel and I look at each other and while he furtively smiles, my mood isn’t as positive as it was a second ago. I know what it’s about; it’s something we talked about a few months ago, something I knew was bound to come.
I should be ecstatic, but my stomach only knots, twists, and churns when Angel and I are both sitting in his office.
“I want to start off by saying that I’m immensely proud of you both.” He bears a small smile, but I feel it exude with pride. He’s not always a man of many words, but the faintest smile is enough to express exactly what he’s feeling and is struggling to say. “I don’t want to prolong this more than I need to, but I’m honored to have been able to coach you both.”
“Aw, Vincenzo D’Angelo.” Angel places a hand on his chest, brows drawn together and lips pursed in a pout. “You love us.”
On a normal day, Coach D would not let that slide, but I know this is a special occasion, so he’ll let it pass.
