I square my shoulders, stare Coach directly in the eye. “You wanna bench Asher?” I say. “Then you can bench me too,sir.”
“Don’t make threats you can’t carry through.” He says it evenly, but his voice is hard.
“Watch me.” And I march out of his office, back to the dressing area. Don’t think. Just peel off my jersey, toss it on the laundry pile. My uniform socks and pants go next. I pull on my street clothes. In them, I’m someone else, not the son Brad and Barb trained me to be, the perfect ballplayer—at least on the field. Not the little brother who Blake had to bail out of trouble so many times he left. I thought it was because he was sick of dealing with me. Now I know it’s because he couldn’t stand the thought of watching me destroy myself.
I’m still those men, but that’s not only who I am anymore. Maybe I could be someone else, someone worthy of Asher and Savannah. I pull off the black silicone ring I usually wear during games. Put on the metal one—platinum—that used to be heavy on my hand. Today, it feels like something else. A promise. Avow.
LeBlanc spots that I’m out of uniform and does a double-take. “Where’re you going, Forsyth? Game’s about to start.”
I shove my wallet and my keys in my pocket, pick up my phone and hope that the plan I’m formulating has any chance of working. “You’re gonna have to play this one without me.”
“We’re already a man down—no idea what’s up with Adler.”
I could shrug or deny I know anything about it.I don’t care what Adler does. What I would have said when he first got here, and I just wanted to keep him away from Savannah. What I would have done a month ago as a way of denying that there was anything between him and me beyond what happened on the field.
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”Part one of it, anyway. I wait to make sure I have LeBlanc’s full attention, then add, “We’re kind of a package deal.”
“Huh.” LeBlanc seems entirely unsurprised. Catchers really do know everything that happens in a clubhouse. I brace myself for a flinch or a sneering remark or whatever else is coming my way.
“Well,” LeBlanc says, after a minute, “what’re you waiting for?”
That’s all the encouragement I need. I walk out of the clubhouse, not as a ballplayer or Brad and Barb’s son or even Blake’s brother. Just a man who’s got his priorities in order for once. Because I know what I’m walking away from is far less important than what I’m running toward.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Asher
It’s Wednesday,I think. Thursday? Possibly Friday. I check my phone, note the day of the week listed. Immediately forget it. I’ve been inside since Coach benched me, long enough my mom texted to ask why my location hadn’t moved.
Concussionheadache. That’s a lie. My head’s fine. I just can’t escape this feeling in my chest like I’m being slowly crushed by an impossible weight.
I should get up. Run. Do my meditation app. Lift something heavy until my muscles burn. I thought about going downtown to an art museum, losing myself for a while in the galleries.More beautiful things just out of reach.
Savannah hasn’t called. I texted her once: not delivered, not read. She must have blocked my number. A clean break like a surgical cut, opening something deep inside me I thought was long since healed.
Brayden texted a bunch of times. Called a few times after that. I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say.
I’m in love with your wife. What I knew from the moment I met Savannah.I’m in love with you too. Something that took much longer to admit but isn’t any less true.
But I can’t have them and play ball. The team made that clear when Coach threw me out of the clubhouse. I have no idea if they’ll even put me on the roster for the postseason.Bench me, trade me, fucking cut me. It doesn’t matter.
I have the curtains drawn in my room. Around their edges, I can just make out the fading sunlight. Midafternoon. Almost game time. I should be getting amped up to go out on the field. Instead, it feels like I can barely move my limbs. I’m about to roll over, to go back to sleep, even if I barely woke up, when there’s a noise from the hallway. Someone pounding on the door.
I don’t get up. Just stuff the pillow over my head to smother the sound. I spent my first day benched, pacing in the apartment, livid that Coach did this. Rage took over my body—a wave, followed by the adrenaline crash that I’m now in. A false sort of peace before it builds up and the same thing happens again.
And if that happens…
I’m a danger to whoever’s banging on my door. I can’t be around people like this—not anyone I care about. Not anyone who might get caught in my blast radius. I shut my eyes, try to shut out the noise. They’ll go away soon enough.
“Asher,get the fuck out of bed.” My comforter gets torn off, the pillow over my ear picked up and flung across the room. Brayden is standing in my bedroom, looking at me in outrage.
I check my phone for the time. “You’re supposed to be playing.”
“You’re supposed to be—” He gestures around, the light gleaming off his metal wedding band. “Not whatever this is.”
Which doesn’t explain what the fuck he’s doing here. “How’d you know where to find me?”
“You have location sharing on. And your landlord let me in. Turns out she’s a big fan ofBlake Forsyth, and I didn’t correct her when she thought that’s who I was.” He says it without his usual flinch at being mistaken for Blake. Huh. “Now get the fuck out of bed.” He doesn’t give me time to object, just grabs me by my ankle like he’s gonna drag me out of here.
