Add into the mix the news story I can’t seem to get away from, and I decide it’s best that I pop in my earbuds and simply listen to music for most of the ride. It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to endure my brother’s presence when we reach Little Rock. He’s meeting the team there. Flying out, because he’s special. I don’t know how many games they’ll keep him down here with us, but I hope whatever lesson they are trying to teach him is short.
Yeah, he’s in a bit of a hitting slump. But he also just got suspended. And no one with insight into this game thinks he’sdown here to practice and work hard. Adriel got sent down for punishment. The front office wants to prove to him that he’s expendable. As difficult as my brother is, though, I’m not sure the front office is right on this one. Even in a slump, he’s the hottest bat in their offense.
I end up playing through my gameday playlist four times before we pull into the hotel in Little Rock. My eyes scan the valet parking circle as the bus crawls to a stop. I half expect to see a new McLaren waiting by the door, the replacement for the last one my brother fucking destroyed. Instead, though, Adriel is standing in a suit outside a blacked-out Chevy Tahoe. Davis Halvorson, my brother’s agent, is standing next to him. My mom refers to Davis as the walking, talking miracle man. The first time she called him that, it was because he got my brother a solid early deal. The next several times, however, were because he pulled Adriel’s ass out of trouble.
Let’s see what miracle he can work in Little Rock and Sweetwater.
“He’s actually here,” Jake mutters.
“Trust me. It’s going to feel like he’s fucking everywhere,” I grumble.
We’re the last ones off, and my brother is surrounded by my teammates as I make my way to the underbelly of the bus with Jake.
“You know, your dad is actually a way bigger deal than Adriel is,” I say to Jake.
He purses his lips but shrugs in agreement. He might not get along with his dad, but he can’t deny the man had a hell of a career. He also never wrapped a car around a pole or got kicked out of a nightclub for throwing glasses at bartenders. I also don’t think Roddy’s ever shot any strange shit into his veins or up his nose because he wanted to have a good time or get stronger the easy way.
Those last things are secrets only I know about Adriel. At least, I used to be the only one to know. My brother isn’t exactly discreet. Hopefully, he’s off the shit now. The last thing he needs is to get tested and banned for a full season. Our mom deserves better.
“Baby brother.” Adriel’s voice reaches around my neck and pulls me close. I force a smile on my face, one I’m sure he sees through, and throw my arms around him.
“Hey, man. Finally playing together. Look at that!” I say.
I pull back, and our hands slide together for the kind of shake that’s a show of both strength and familiarity. I flex merely to match him. I hate the patterns I fall into around him. This isn’t a competition. We don’t even play the same positions.
We release our grip, but suddenly, a short blonde with her hair pulled into the tightest ponytail I’ve ever seen wraps her hands around our wrists and forces our hands back together.
“I missed the shot. I need you two to hug and shake one more time,” she says. For some reason, we listen to her orders.
“Okay, so . . . good to see you, like I said,” I say, meeting Adriel’s amused gaze.
“What the fuck?” he says through a chuckle.
I shake my head.
“No idea, man.” The two of us turn to face the spunky woman in a black pantsuit with a deep red blouse underneath. She looks like the assistant for satin, the way she’s dressed, and her black heels practically point into the concrete like needles.
“Great. That was great, guys. I’ll get with you soon about setting up our interviews. This is so good for the team.” She buzzes away as fast as she appeared, and I spin on my heel to look to Jake for some sort of answer.
He holds up his hands and shakes his head.
“Don’t look at me. Her name is Campbell Hines, and she’s the new marketing director. She’s been pitching me on doinga sit-down interview with my dad for three weeks. She’s . . . relentless.” Jake tugs his gear bag up over his shoulder, along with his duffel bag, and marches toward the hotel lobby entrance.
“Great,” I mutter, turning back to my brother.
Naturally, though, Adriel is already gone. I spot him by the other entrance, taking a hit off his vape while he talks with two women in Little Rock fan shirts. I’m sure he’s trying to convince them to root for the Mavericks this week. Or, rather, to root for him. Somehow, I have a feeling the two of them will end up in his room tonight.
I draw in a deep breath, then head into the hotel lobby behind Jake. I step to the desk for my key just as Colby spins around with hers, and we nearly bump chests. She braces herself with a palm over my heart, and for the first time since she left my bed last night, it beats loud and hard.
SEVENTEEN
COLBY
I’ll give Adriel this: for a guy who is supposedly teetering on his best seasons being behind him, he sure does act like the shit when he steps to the plate.
He had three at-bats tonight, swinging nine times right through the air as if expecting to make easy contact and launch the ball into the river that winds behind the center field wall. Instead, he struck out three times. A pair of drunk dudes behind home plate heckled him to the point he capped off the night by flashing them a middle finger.
And my job is to fix him. In a week or two.
