Two days ago, I thought I knew—we had a clean, rational, perfectly safe line where we could make eyes at each other and grab any spare moments we found. With Logan watching, thatwas the most we could do, but it felt like we could manage it, at least.
But then he showed up at my door.
I pulled him into my room.
He spun me around in front of his teammates, and I let myself imagine what it would be like if Jake weren’t in the picture and we could do that every day.
And then Jake showed up early.
Before I can say something stupid likeI don’t care about the line,footsteps crunch on gravel outside.
Lucas lets go immediately.
I push up, step back, and smooth my shirt, all while trying to calm the hurricane in my chest.
“Up and at ’em, sleepy head,” I say, bright and professional as the driver appears.
Lucas stretches like he just woke up, arms high over his head, shirt riding up just enough that I have to force my eyes away from his abs.
He flashes me that easy grin I took for granted last year, back when I didn’t trust it. I never imagined Lucas had the staying power to wait out my insecurity.
And now I’m afraid Jake’s presence is going to drive Lucas away more than my insecurity ever could.
“Time to go,” I say, turning to step down when Lucas’s hand catches mine. And squeezes. Heat floods up my arm, into my chest—to the one place I can’t keep guarded anymore. And when he lets go, the absence almost hurts.
I climb down, and Lucas hops down beside me, smiling casually for any onlookers, but his eyes?—
His eyes are sharp and searching, like he’s trying to find a crack in my composure. “All right,” he says. “Where do you want me?”
It’s a question no one ever asks me. They usually tell me where they needme.
Where do I want Lucas?
With me.
The answer lives in my throat.
Instead, I nod toward the gym doors.
“Inside.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Scottie
The gym floors are unnaturally shiny, and the chemical tang of floor cleaner is even stronger than the scent of the hand sanitizer the assistant principal made every kid use on the way in.
The students are already seated on the bleachers, knees bouncing, faces flushed with excitement. The players are all mic’d up already, and Cooper is drawing enormous attention, as he should be. He’s the top player in baseball and, in his words, he’s making baseball fun again. Heplaysthe game. He doesn’t suffer it.
He’s rubbed off on Lucas and Logan, who come from a family of baseball purists and used to think bat flips should come with written apologies. Next to Coop, Lucas is the most famous person in the room, thanks to social media and his rapidly rising star.
The kids lose it when he steps into the spotlight.
He kneels so he’s eye level with them, encourages a young boy before gently adjusting his grip. He tells a girl her fastball is “scary in the best way” and laughs when he trips over his own shoelaces.
He’s like sunlight—intense, warm, patient, and so bright, it burns to look at him, but I would rather go blind than look away.
This is why I needed him here.
