“How’d that go?” Jayden says.
I tense at the sound of his voice so nearby. My mind immediately races to worry.Everyone’s watching.
I shrug.
“We’ll see how this round goes. But I think . . . good.” I turn and find Jayden isn’t alone. He’s standing with Jake, which somehow gives me relief. It feels dangerous to be alone with him.
I follow them back to the field, and the three of us lean against the backstop to watch Adriel do his best. His first swing is the same, and I clear my throat when it ricochets off the third base line screen. He pivots to give me a sideways glance and smirks.
“Yeah, I got it,” he says.
He adjusts his hat and steps back for a moment, retightening the Velcro on his gloves before moving in for another swing. This time, Adriel skips the part in his routine where he lets the bat sink down on his shoulder. In fact, he keeps it from touching his shoulder completely. And when he meets the ball out in front of the plate, he sends it over the left-field wall and onto what looks to be a very lovely walking path.
“Hope nobody’s taking a walk right now,” Jake remarks.
I chuckle, and Jayden leans into me for a second.
“Nice job, Coach,” he says, stepping to the side to take a few warm-up swings for his round. His gaze lingers on me, and for a moment, I revel in the attention. But I quickly remember where I am. Who we are. And when I turn back to face Coach Bastion, I can’t help but feel a different type of heat coming from his stare.
TWENTY
JAYDEN
I figure Adriel and I won’t be able to avoid doing press forever, so when the new marketing director asks us to sit for a few remote press spots after tonight’s game, I opt to rip the Band-Aid off and say yesfor both of us. I don’t realize I’m inevitably roping Colby into a press junket, too. And as viral as basicallyanystory involving my brother seems to be, given his knack for crashing cars, getting kicked out of bars, and just general mayhem, it seems the juicier piece of gossip is that I grew up with my new hitting coach.
“So, in high school, did the two of you ever . . .” Casey, the late-night reporter from Oklahoma City’s entertainment news is really stuck on this idea.
Adriel chuckles and takes the small lavalier mic from my hand, holding it close to his lips.
“Are you asking if my baby brother pined after this one for years, and she wouldn’t give him the time of day? I mean . . . of course.”
My brother hands the mic back to me and hits me with his elbow. I glare at him. I’m not sure whether he thinks he’s helping.
“To answer your question, Casey, I was so afraid of getting told to run poles by her father—my coach at the time—I wouldn’t have dreamed of it.” It’s a lie, and all three of us in this room know it. We’re apparently good actors, though, because we laugh as if I told the truth.
“Fair enough,” Casey says with a chuckle.
She ends her spot, and I toss the mic on the table, then sit back in my chair and rub my temples, wishing I were anywhere else.
“At least they aren’t asking about my latest drug test and if I’m nervous,” Adriel groans.
I roll my head to the side to meet my brother’s eyes as he peels his lips from the water bottle he was about to drink from.
“What?” he shrugs.
“The fact you even put yourself in a position where you have to worry about drug testing,” I grit through my teeth, my whisper not very whispery.
“Hey,” he bites out, leaning forward and casting his gaze toward Colby, who is bent over in her chair with her head in her hands.
I shake my head and slide my foot into my brother’s.
“Don’t fuck with her life, man. Just be smart,” I say, my voice still hushed.
He rolls his eyes a bit, but mutters, “Yeah, yeah.”
All I can do is trust that the part of my brother that always stood up for Colby when we were younger is still in there somewhere.
“Are we about done here?” I ask Campbell, our marketing rep. She’s skimming through messages on her phone and holds up a finger.
