Ax shoved a thumb in my direction. “We have a major league baseball shortstop and pitcher. We’ll be fine.”
“Minor league pitcher,” I corrected.
Freeze was the only one from our high school team with a permanent spot on a major league roster, playing for the Palmer City Owls—the team I always dreamed I’d play for. He got his nickname when we were kids because he stopped hits no one else could. People joked that he could slow down time, something that hadn’t changed in the years since I’d known him, at least from what I saw onSportsCenter.
Ax introduced us to the team. Most of the guys worked on his landscaping crew, but there were a few familiar faces, including our high school team’s centerfielder, Cafferty, who had once been a close friend. Brenna stood behind us, her left hand gripping her right forearm while her eyes warily bounded around the group.
I reached for Brenna’s arm, lightly tugging her to my side. “Y’all remember Brenna, right?”
Her eyebrows squished together. I shrugged. Trying to break the ice with dumb humor never hurt anyone, except maybe by embarrassing the person who said it. Making her feel comfortable was more important than how these guys perceived me.
Brenna waved shyly. “Hey.”
“Quinn.” Freeze spoke first. His presence was more intimidating in person than on TV. About my height—six feet—with an intense stare, dark eyes, and thick eyebrows. He’d amassed more tattoos than me, and both of his olive arms were covered with artwork.
Brenna had thrown the ball to him at second base thousands of times, and they’d been closer than many of the guys on theteam. But his competitive streak rivaled my own. Not getting a shot at state drove them apart.
“It’s good to see you out here again,” he continued. “I thought about you over the years, about how I fucked up. I was a dumb kid.”
Stark stepped forward, towering over all of us. His imposing frame was perfect for a first baseman. “We were all dumb kids. We should’ve never made you leave the team. None of it was your fault.”
Brenna’s shoulders sagged with relief. The way she wore her emotions like a blinking neon sign was one of the things I loved most about her. She’d always been self-conscious about being emotional while growing up. She missed out on seeing her strengths. The depth of her loyalty exceeded anyone I’d ever known. There was nothing like the feeling of having Brenna Quinn on your side.
“It was a long time ago,” she repeated my words from earlier. “Thank you for saying it though.”
Ax threw an arm across her shoulders, sending a zing of jealousy through me. “Time to get serious about this game. Let me tell you about our batting signs.” He tossed me a look over his shoulder. “You too, Sharpe.”
He walked us to the side of the field, out of sight of the opposing team. Ax told us this was a light-hearted game, but I doubted it, given the seriousness with which he concealed information from the other team.
“I assume y’all will use your own pitching signs?” Ax asked.
I looked to Brenna for an answer, to see if she remembered them.
“You want us”— she gestured between her and me with one hand—“to pitch and catch?”
Suppressing my smile took effort. “I throw faster now, so I understand if you don’t feel comfortable…”
Brenna straightened, her eyes sparking with her familiar competitiveness. “That’s not it. I’m just surprised. This is our first game with the team.”
Firstgame.It implied there would be more.
“You two are our secret weapon,” Ax said, his eyes swiveling between us. “So you’ll work out your own signs?”
“We’re good,” I confirmed before snatching Brenna’s hand and leading her to the dugout. I cursed myself for breaking my vow to keep my distance, for taking any excuse to hold her hand.
I sat on the bench as Brenna started fastening catcher’s equipment to her body—two shin pads and a chest protector. She held the helmet under her arm, pressed into her hip. The sight of her dressed for the game took me back to long weekends together, playing baseball or hanging with friends. Nights under the lights, the two of us locked in, shutting down the other team.
Kissing each other, hidden from teammates and coaches, any chance we got.
I liked seeing her in baseball clothes and catcher’s gear.She’s fucking engaged, you twit.
I cleared my throat. “You remember our signs?”
“Of course I do. We’ve used the same ones since we were kids.”
Even when in high school, our coaches never made us change them. They realized Bren and I had our own language, and it was best not to mess with that magic.
“All right.” I clapped her on the shoulder as I passed her on the way out of the dugout. “Let’s go.”
