I step behind the screen again and send another pitch Chet’s way. He crushes it, and the smile on his face nearly erases the acid burning its way up my esophagus from having to face Jayden. This is why I got into this work. To help high-level athletes find their best selves, at least at the plate. I might not be able to work miracles anywhere else, but this one area of expertise is mine. I’m good enough to break a few glass ceilings to get here.
“Let’s hit some more like that, yeah?” I prompt. Chet nods and taps the plate with his bat, digging his feet in before I release another pitch.
I’m lulled by the sound of wood cracking against the ball, but I never once forget that Jayden is lingering behind me. Always hovering. Never putting himself in front of me, though. Always just out of reach.
There was a time when I thought things between us were different. Kisses do a lot of talking when words can’t, and Jayden gave me one hell of a kiss. Then he broke my fucking heart.
I finish out the bucket with Chet, and he helps me gather the balls he hit into the back of the tunnel. I’m acutely aware when an extra pair of feet joins us in kicking the balls into the corner. Jayden’s laces are gold, and I can’t help but smirk when I spot them. Always with the little extra flair. That’s always been his biggest problem. Jayden is all show and not quite enough substance.
I can help him even out the scales on the field. But in life? He’s going to have to figure that shit out on his own. Jayden was my father’s favorite player, and for a man who swore to never pick favorites, it was obvious that Jayden found a way to crack that code in the dugout. The two of them were in sync when it came to the game. But my dad always warned me that great ballplayers don’t always make great people. And he nailed it with Jayden.
“Colby.” He says my name low, under his breath, his body a little too near for professionalism as he hands me a ball.
“Coach,” I correct, clearing my throat and lifting my gaze to meet his. I take the ball from his hand, and our fingers graze. It’s enough. It’s too much. I take in a sharp breath through my nose but hold my position, standing my ground. Close.Too close.
His head leans slightly to the side, and his gaze drifts up a hint as he bites the tip of his tongue and holds his smile at bay.It’s the dimple, I think. That’s what draws people in. I try to avoid staring at it, but it’s right there. Then his gaze drops again, and the smile evens out.
“Can we talk?”
My throat is literally bubbling with nerves and bile. I don’t look away, no matter how badly I want to.
“I’m working.”
His head tilts farther to the side, and he breathes out a laugh.
“Yeah, I know. Just . . . sometime. Soon. Like, later today. Or coffee maybe.”
My gaze shifts to the movement behind him. Chet rests the nearly full bucket—all but the three balls I’m holding in my hands—on the stool behind the L-screen. His brows rise, and I sense the mixed questions he’s asking with his expression.Yeah. This isn’t appropriate.I slip by Jayden and get back to work, annoyed that this little break with Jayden caught Chet’s attention.
“I have a sign-up for extra time in the clubhouse. If I have any open spots this week, you can take one.” I clear my throat and hold up a ball, ready to get back to work. Chet sets his feet in the batter’s box and I toss the ball, knowing full well Jayden is still standing in the back of the tunnel. Chet grounds one toward Jayden’s feet and I smirk, watching him dance to avoid it.
“All right! Christ, I get it! I’ll get in line.” Jayden slips under the netting that runs along the side of the tunnel and rolls his eyes at me as he passes.
“You better put your name down quick, kid. I plan on monopolizing Coach’s time this week before I head back to Texas. She knows her shit.” Chet smacks the next ball I toss like an audible exclamation point.
“Yeah, I know. She’s the best,” Jayden mumbles.
I let his obligatory compliment roll over me, focused instead on proving it with action, not words. But then Jayden throws inone last line, uttering “She always has been,” just loud enough for me. Golden laces with words meant just for me. There was a time that would have stuck with me for days. Even still, after all this time and all the lessons I’ve learned, it will linger for the rest of the afternoon.
TWO
JAYDEN VARGAS
Colby Kessler is a lot more serious than I remember.
Did I do that to her?
I drop my gear by my locker and march over to the board where Colby’s schedule is posted. After a quick glance behind me, I take the pencil tethered to the clipboard and fill my name in for nearly every open session that doesn’t conflict with my scheduled workouts. I figure five days in a row of me showing up is bound to break some ice. Or maybe she’ll break my nose.
Maybe I deserve that.
A low chuckle startles me, and I hook the clipboard back to the wall, hoping I didn’t leap out of my shoes as far as it feels like I did. I turn around in time to catch Jake’s smirk.
“Careful there, Vargas. You’re looking a bit stalker-like, monopolizing Coach’s schedule like that.” Jake’s eyes linger on me for an extra beat.
“Pfft!Whatever. I’m just showing I’m willing to put in the work. If I want to get my ass to the show this season, I need to play the part of most-coachable.”
It’s not a total lie. If I’ve learned anything from playing under Coach Shuster down here in Sweetwater for the last two seasons, it’s that he likes to see hustle. And what he reports to thefront office in Texas carries a lot of weight. I’m not getting any younger, and I’m not getting dealt to another team, so it’s this year or . . . I’m not quite ready to admit never just yet.
