PR fix.
… fake dating …
My hands slap against the tile wall.
That’s not something I would imagine. Not something my brain would invent while half asleep, feverish, and miserable.
Something cold cuts through the steam.
His hand in my hair.
The way he went quiet afterward.
The way he smiled last night but didn’t push.
The way he stayed.
I suck in a sharp breath, the steam suddenly too thick, the shower too hot.
No, no, no, no, no.
I remember his nearness. That pause. The way his fingers stilled for just a second before continuing, like something suddenly clicked into place.
My eyes fly open. My knees go weak, making me sway fully into the stream.
I gasp, water spraying my face as the truth crashes down all at once.
HE KNOWS.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lucas
My body’s still buzzing from the bullpen when I slide into the ice bath.
I inhale sharply and try to control my breathing while my body processes the shocking cold. The contrast hits hard—my muscles still feel hot and alive, like they’re smoldering under my skin, and then the ice clamps down, sharp and numbing in a way that makes me feel strangely light.
“Bro, you were insane out there,” Logan says, climbing into the bath beside mine. “Everything came out clean. You didn’t miss arm-side once.”
“I keep telling you: shut your brain off and justbethe ball.” I settle deeper under the water now that I’m acclimating.
“‘Be the ball’?” Logan repeats. “I can’t look at you.”
“I just mean be present, dork,” I say. “Turn off your thoughts and be in the moment.”
“Some brains don’t have an off switch,” Logan says, shuddering as he forces himself down into the ice. He means itas a joke, but there’s too much else there. I hate when he gets so deep into his own head that he starts spiraling, especially when I can’t keep him from going under. I’m used to dancing around his anxiety, but right now, I’m being selfish, too.
If I get into Logan’s head, I won’t be able to keep him out of mine, and if that happens, he’ll know everything, from how deeply my feelings run to the fact that Scottie’s nothing more than a PR fix. And then he’ll see the way his human light bulb of a twin is flickering, and his worry will go from a quiet hum to a full alarm that wrecks his knuckleball completely.
Twin code is a dangerous thing.
Logan’s looking at me, and I realize I didn’t take his bait when he was teasing me about my brain having an off switch. I was supposed to joke about being dumb or say something about his mouth needing an off switch. All it takes is five seconds for Logan to turn introspective.
“If I wake up at night, I have a million thoughts immediately fighting for attention,” he says.
My brow wrinkles, but I try to smooth it before he notices.
“Look up guided meditation,” a voice says, and a moment later, Fletch is climbing into an ice bath across from us. He’s only a couple of years older than us, but an injury in the Majors pushed him into coaching early.
