“Okay,” he says.
I get to my feet before my courage dissolves, and Jayden remains seated on the side of the bed as my hand slips away.
“Okay,” I hum.
I drop the keycard on the hotel dresser and back away, my eyes on his soft smile, ignoring all the ways it appears uncertain. I’m sure my expression is the same. I feel it in my lips; they’re ready to crack. But I hold my emotions at bay for a few more steps, until I get to his door. I don’t saygood luck tomorroworsee you in the morning. He doesn’t need my luck, and I won’t see him. He’ll be here, and I’ll be in Oklahoma. Unless, of course, Coach reevaluates without me. And then, who knows where I’ll land.
TWENTY-TWO
JAYDEN
It’s no use pretending I slept last night. My jaw locks with my yawn, and Jake jabs me in the ribs as I wait to take my round for batting practice before our morning game.
“You out partying with your brother?” he teases.
I roll my eyes. “Hardly,” I grumble.
Jake steps in to take his round of swings, and I scan the field in search of Colby. I haven’t seen her yet this morning, and I haven’t seen Coach Shuster, either. I hope he hasn’t pulled her in for discipline. If she’s being scolded, I should be too.
Last night, maybe five whole minutes passed after Colby left my room before I texted her, promising everything would be okay. She told me I needed to sleep, to be ready for the game this morning. She was right; I probably should have slept. But instead, I started piecing together what led to her spiral. And when I saw the comments at the bottom of the story about Adriel getting called back up to Texas, the reason for Cobly’s absence came into glaring focus.
This is why you can’t have women in the clubhouse.
That was the tamest of the bunch. Most of the comments were nasty assumptions about how Colby got her job. And when I followed the threads online into various social mediaplatforms, I fell down rabbit hole after rabbit hole about things that didn’t exist—like a strange love triangle between me, Colby, and my brother involving a secret baby. I actually laughed that one off. And I was nearly tired enough to succumb to sleep with the intent to assure Colby that things truly would be all right this morning when I clicked on the worst social media string of them all.
It was comment after comment rehashing our worst nightmare. Someone linked my father’s arrest records from driving under the influence three times before. Another person shared a screenshot of the newspaper article that day after the crash. But it was the link to Colby’s mother’s obituary that truly went too far. Just because something is printed in a paper doesn’t mean the circumstances aren’t private. That obituary was made so the multitude of people who loved Meg Kessler would know how to celebrate her. And some internet sleuth uncovered it in the middle of the night to show how it serves as one more piece of evidence why Colby shouldn’t be coaching me.
I called my brother, but it went right to voicemail. I’m sure he was on a plane already. Not that he cares about the mess left in his wake. Even if he didn’t directly cause this strange fallout for Colby, he has at least some power to put things right. He could tell the world our side of the story, or better yet,hers.Ask for grace.
Yeah, we all knew each other before fate plopped us together in Sweetwater and Little Rock. But we also did our damn jobs. And we did them well. Colby probably the best of all of us. Fuck, my brother just keeps lucking out.
“Vargas!” Coach Bastion barks my name.
“Yeah, sorry,” I grunt, yanking my bat from the backstop and stepping around to the plate to take my swings.
He eyes me for a moment before tossing in the first pitch. I take a half-assed hack and glance over my shoulder, halfexpecting to hear Colby telling me to look ready, to close off my stance. But the only person watching is Jake, and he’s focused on rubbing pine tar on his grip.
“You got somewhere else you’d like to be?” Coach Bastion says, throwing a ball my way while I’m not fully looking.
“Hey!” I toss my bat across the cage and trudge toward him. He drops the two balls in his palms into the bag and marches toward me. I roll my sleeves up, seriously considering decking a man more than twice my age. It helps that he looks like he’s considering hitting back. We nearly meet in the middle when Jake rushes between us, forcing his arms straight and pushing us both back a few steps with his palms on our chests.
“Whoa, whoa, come on now. Let’s take a beat . . .” Jake glances over his shoulder, and Coach Bastion takes his shot at me, swinging toward my chin and slapping my jaw with his fingertips.
“The fuck?” I press my palm against the skin he scratched, then hold my hand out to inspect. I spot some blood.
“You’re lucky I couldn’t get a full swing in. That I had to fight like a girl,” he says, pressing into Jake’s palm.
I’ve stepped back, not because I don’t want to hit him, but because Coach Shuster is marching toward us from behind Bastion.
“What’s your obsession with saying people do shit like a girl. Is that why Coach Kessler isn’t here? Did you make her uncomfortable with your sexist bullshit?”
Colby told me Bastion was on her ass about things, and I can only imagine the types of comments she had to endure.
“Coach Kessler is in Sweetwater. And you two better get your asses in the dugout right the fuck now!” Coach Shuster’s round cheeks are a bright red, his lips stretched thin over what I imagine to be gritted teeth.
“She’s in Sweetwater?” I pick up on that important piece of info just as Coach Shuster grabs my right sleeve and jerks me around, sending me a few steps ahead of him and Coach Bastion with a healthy shove.
“Yeah, she’s waiting for the team to get back. And I’m about to send you two there too,” Coach Shuster mumbles while the three of us drag our feet over the infield grass before hopping the chalk line and taking the steps down into the dugout.
