“I sent him the wrong itinerary,” Scottie lies. Blinks twice before continuing with confidence: “Doug wanted us to go over pitch usage.”
The mention of Doug makes the hairs on my neck stand up. Talking about him at all feels dangerous—almost stupidly so, not that I’d tell Scottie that.
Logan nods slowly. Players are streaming past us toward the players’ lot, duffel bags thumping against their hips, cleats dangling from one guy’s fingers. The hallway smells like sunscreen and pine tar, and someone’s blasting country music from a phone speaker at an obnoxious volume.
“Cool. Good luck in your game today.”
“You too,” I say. “But wait up. I’ll walk with you. See you later, Quinn,” I say, waving at Scottie like I don’t hate myself for pretending she’s nothing more to me than a work associate.
I fall into step with Logan, but he doesn’t say anything.
Neither do I.
Every time I lie to Logan, it takes a chunk of my soul with it. I feel like I’m riddled with holes, and walking with my twin makes each one of them ache. I hate keeping a secret this big from the person who knows everything about me. It hurts living a lie when I want to live the dream. As stupid as that sounds.
“Joe’s with you guys today, right?” I ask when we’re halfway to the parking lot. The laughter of our teammates echoes too loudly through the tunnel.
“Yup. And you have Mel, right?”
“And Doug,” I add.
“I’m glad he’s watching you and not me,” Logan says.
“I’m not. You’ve been on fire all month. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re wearing Firebirds red on opening day.”
“Don’t jinx me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We’re almost to the busses when Logan stops. Looks at me. “I know something’s going on, and I really resent you for freezing me out.”
“Logan, no?—”
“Don’t, man. Don’t give me another story.” He looks up as Jake passes us with a nod. “Your story checks out. It always does. But this wasn’t justourdream. It was Mom’s. Us getting called up together, playing big leagues together. She would be here all month long, if she were alive—watching her boys. Team Fischer. But we haven’t been Team Fischer all month.”
“We’re sharing a room?—”
“Save it, Lucas. You didn’t even stay to watch my interview with the media?—”
“Because Scottie was chewing me a new one for talking about Jake!”
“It’s always something,” Logan says, shaking his head. “We’ve been around each other, but you haven’t beenhere.”
His eyes move off of me to the bus behind me … where Scottie’s boarding.
“You’ve beenthere.”
“It’s not what you think.” The words stumble out of me.
“I don’t care what it is, butyoushould. Because if you have to keep it a secret from the people who love you, it’s not right.”
Joe and Mel come right behind us, each of them grabbing a Fischer.
“Hustle, boys. You wait for the big leaguers. They don’t wait for you,” Joe says, directing Logan to his bus, leaving me to follow Mel to mine.
When I climb onto the bus, I see Scottie talking to Gabriela in the second row. I’m almost relieved she’s already sitting with someone else, so I don’t have to keep up this tightrope walk of shame.
Coop’s sitting a few rows from the back, and he waves me over.
