“Yeah. No more third base for me after that. But good news for you is, I spent my junior and senior years at first. And I was really fucking good at it.”
Chet nods with a genuine smile. He settles into his stance, bat on his shoulder as he readies himself for me to toss the ball.
“Where’d you play?” he asks.
I barely get the “Ole” part out of my mouth before a familiar voice from my past finishes for me.
“Miss,” Jayden says.
His voice is more mature than I remember it. But the tone is the same. The hint that he’s smiling through his words. I can hear it. All it took was a single syllable.
I exhale and roll my shoulders as I bury the palmed ball against my thigh. As much as I’ve prepared myself for our first conversation here, like this, in these roles, I couldn’t have prepared my insides for the sudden chemistry experiment that occurs the moment our eyes meet. It’s his smile. And his eyes. But mostly his smile. It’s always been his fucking smile.
“Jayden,” I say, closing my mouth for a tight-lipped smile I’m sure he’s familiar with. I’ve made this same expression to him many times over the years, usually when he’s picking on me.
“Good to see you, Colby.”
“Coach,” I correct.
He sucks in his bottom lip and rears his head back as he holds on to the chain link from the other side of the hitting tunnel.
“Right. I’m sorry, Coach. I promise to get better at that.”
“Sure you will,” I huff out with a short laugh.
“Ready?” I hold the ball up for Chet, but he’s no longer in his stance. Instead, he’s staring at us with a slightly open mouth and an amused grin playing at the corners of his lips.
“Well, this is gonna be fun,” he says, swinging his bat in a circle before resting it back on his shoulder and resetting his feet.
“An absolute carnival of joy,” I say, my tone flat. I release the ball and catch the inside corner of the plate. Chet swingsthrough it, hitting a hard grounder that clangs off the fencing near Jayden’s feet.
I smirk when Jayden jumps back.
“I’ve played fortwoCoach Kesslers,” Jayden says.
Great. He’s going to tell the story now. Better him than me, I guess.
“He sure did,” I say, encouraging him.
“Ohhh, so y’all grew up together, I take it?”
Chet nods, ready for the next pitch. I toss it, and he takes another swing. His balance is off, so I get up and move behind him to demonstrate adjusting his path to the ball.
“I’ve known Coach for, what . . . twenty years?” Jayden says.
“Well, we met at six, and we’re both twenty-six now, so yes, Jayden. That’s how math works.”
I may be feeling a tad snarky.
“Ooh, and there’s history. Okay, I get it,” Chet says.
I step around his front and meet his eyes briefly, then shake my head. “Nothing to get.”
That’s a lie. There’s a lot to get. To get over. To get me in trouble. To get off my chest. But now is not the time.
“We were friends,” I say.
“Were?” Jayden’s surprised tone catches me off-guard, but I manage to keep from meeting his gaze again. And I keep my mouth shut. This is most definitely not the time and place to dig into that detail.
