Dustin eyed him for a minute. He was facing the field, watching with the eyes of an eagle for slight changes in the batters, from the way they pulled the bat to their hand position to foot placement. The dugout wasn’t that big; Dustin should have assumed someone was listening. He didn’t mind them hearing about Clover—there weren’t many secrets between the players when it came to women—but to have him comment on the improvement to Dustin’s hitting meant Dustin had been doing really bad before. He wondered how close they’d been to benching him, before glaring at Brayden.
“Wanna know what I think?” Coach Santacruiz spit out a mouthful of sunflower seed shells. Dustin clenched his jaw shut to keep it from hitting the ground. Santacruiz never talked to him during the game.
He didn’t wait for Dustin to answer. “I think you’re working so hard to get this girl out of your head that you’re hyper-focused on the game.” He hadn’t moved from his sentry position with his arms crossed and a package of seeds within arm’s reach.
Dustin bounced his fist on the bench, trying not to be totally weirded out by the friendly, conversational tone from the man who’d once asked him if he’d “taken money from the other team to swing at the worst pitch ever thrown in the history of baseball.”
He stared at Santacruiz’s back, waiting to see if there was more before reluctantly saying, “Maybe.”
“I’m not complaining,” said Santacruiz. He turned back to the game and pretended to ignore Dustin and Brayden again.
Dustin widened his eyes at Brayden, silently asking, “What the heck was that?”
Brayden stifled his snickers with a handful of Big League Bubble Gum and cleared his throat a couple times. They took a mutual vow of silence for the rest of the game.
Dadds was on first, and Heath Darsey was at the plate. One strike, two balls.
Dustin grabbed a handful of bubble gum and got to work on it while his head worked over what Coach had said. Reluctantly, Dustin admitted Coach wasn’t wrong. He’d worked hard to put thoughts of Clover on the shelf. He’d had to. She’d gotten into his head this afternoon, and he didn’t have time to figure out why. So, instead of analyzing the situation with the team psychologist—because there hadn’t been time for a feelings-fest with the shrink, and he wasn’t the type to lay his thoughts out there anyway—he’d focused on the game.
Dustin couldn’t complain about his performance either. Tonight was the first night he’d felt love for the game in a long time. Before his brother picked up his family and business and moved them all to St. George, Dustin played every game with this much intensity. Now, he was pulled in so many directions that he couldn’t give his all to anything.
When he’d got up to the plate, he’d wanted tocrushthe ball. To show Clover baseball was work. He’d worked darn hard tonight, mentally and physically, and it had paid off.
Brayden grasped both ends of the bat and swung it over his head, stretching his shoulders. “She was cute, though. In a low-key way.”
Instead of agreeing, Dustin said, “You like low-key.”
“That I do.” Brayden had been dating a girl they’d met when Coach Wolfe took them all rappelling. Dustin wasn’t into the heights and stuck to a shorter cliff. Brayden was all over the thrill of hanging by a thin rope over possible death. Dustin suspected Brayden was exploring his new hobby and a more solid relationship with Tilly. He changed when she was around—lit up, acted more mature, more content.
Heath hit a single to the right and chugged it to first base. Safe by a nickel, he called time so he could take off his batting gloves and shin guards and give them to the batboy.
“You going back to the shelter?” Brayden asked, chomping away at his bubble gum like a kid on the playground.
“Have to,” Dustin grunted.
“Tell her I said hi.” Brayden grinned over his shoulder as he dug through the sports’ drink cooler and grabbed a fruit punch.
Dustin glared after him, a strange sense of unease making him itch all the way down his back. Brayden already had a girl; he didn’t need Clover, too. Dustin shifted in his seat. Clover wasn’t Brayden’s type with her long, wavy hair and big eyes. She was all hometown innocence and unknown beauty. She carried herself with confidence, and yet there was a hesitancy, like she wasn’t sure she fit in. She hadn’t fit in at the club. He’d spotted her the moment he walked in, zeroing in on her like she’d been standing under a spotlight. It was that darn innocence wrapped around her like a coat of jewels that made her sparkle—drawing Dustin under her spell.
Apparently, she’d caught Brayden in her net too. The pile of crap had a girlfriend; what was he doing checking out Clover? Dustin had no trouble telling the guy to keep his eyes to himself. He did have a problem playing matchmaker. Say hi for Brayden? Not on your life.
If Brayden wanted to date Clover, he’d have to go through Dustin.That didn’t sound right.Dustin shrugged, not caring how it sounded in his head as long as the result was the same.
Devin Capiro hit a line drive to the shortstop, and the game was over. Dustin exploded off the bench with the team, flooding home plate and bouncing off bodies in celebration. Redrocks won 7–4! The guys pounded one another on the back and used towels to make shaving cream pies, which they smashed in one another’s faces.
Dustin did a quick interview on the field for the local news and headed for the locker room. He loved the Redrocks’ locker room with freshly laundered uniforms hanging on wooden pegs and cleats tucked into the bottom of open lockers. Red benches and high-gloss paint on the walls gave the impression of shiny and new, and it stayed new—Harper Wolfe insisted on quality.
Coach Santacruiz winked as he walked by. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Colt.”
Dustin nodded, but his insides churned. He knew exactly what the coach meant. He wanted a repeat of tonight at their next game. What Coach hadn’t said, but Dustin felt all the way down to his slightly sweaty socks, was the “or else.”
Changing into an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt so he could Sheetrock for the next five hours had him in knots.
“Good game.” Gary Betts patted Dustin on the shoulder as he left, his clean uniform hanging in his locker.
Dustin chewed his lip. He was going to have to perform at the same level in the game tomorrow on only a few hours of sleep—the knowledge was like carrying a heavy pack.
He’d have to figure out a way to get pumped before the game. No matter what it took, he needed to lay it all on the field, or he might not have a spot on the team next season.
