My father’s gaze shifts to Adriel, and the older Vargas takes in a deep breath before jutting his hand out to shake my dad’s.
“It’s good to see you, Coach,” he says.
My dad slowly reaches for Adriel’s palm, an amused smirk playing at his lips before he breaks into a solid laugh.
“Get out of here with that. Bring it in, son,” my dad says, pulling Adriel toward him and embracing him just as he did his brother.
I don’t call it out, but I catch the tear well up in Adriel’s right eye when our gazes meet over my father’s shoulder. He doesn’t hide it from me, but when they part, Adriel swipes his forearm over his face before anyone notices.
“Looks like you’re having an All-Star season at just the right time,” my dad says, referencing the upcoming free agency that’s likely to bring Adriel millions.
“I’ve had some help getting focused,” he says, flitting his gaze to me.
When it comes to the post-game press, Adriel still takes most of the credit for his stellar month. And he should. He’s the one seeing the ball so well. But in the quiet moments, he shows me his gratitude. It’s something I never expected to develop between us, but I’m glad it has.
“Is Mom here yet?” Adriel asks, peering around the stands behind home plate and toward the concourse.
“I haven’t seen her, but I’ll make sure she gets to her seat. She was coming right from the hospital,” my father explains.
“Vargas! I need you!” Both brothers turn to the field. Our head coach is waving Adriel toward our home dugout, so he gives my father one more hug, then play-punches his brotheron the shoulder before skipping back into the dugout and to the clubhouse with Coach.
“I should probably get my hacks in,” Jayden says, nodding toward the mound where his team is getting set up for BP.
He shakes my father’s hand and the two of them hold on to one another for a moment, locking eyes and nodding.
“Go prove your worth, kid,” my dad says.
“He already has,” I toss in.
I walk with Jayden behind the backstop where a group of Chicago players are taking their swings. Our fingertips stretch toward one another’s as we walk, like magnets trying to connect to opposite charges. Every brush of his pinky against mine sends a rush of flames up my arm.
“This long-distance shit is for the birds,” he says with a laugh.
I chuckle and hang my head before glancing at him sideways with a sad smile.
“I hate it. But it’s worth it. I won’t stop,” I say.
“We aren’t quitters,” he says with a smirk.
That’s the inside joke we’ve started, like a little team cheer to get us through the long stretches that we’re apart. Over the last thirty days, I’ve seen him more through my phone and laptop than I have in person. We made a calendar of all the places where our teams overlapped travel and were in the same vicinity. Of course, now that he’s been called up, that calendar is useless. I’m going to need to make another one.
We’ll both be at the All-Star weekend, as fans at least, rooting for his brother. It will almost be like a vacation for us. We’re even staying in the same room. It’s not that anything is forbidden between us, if it ever truly was, but the gossip that comes from the tiniest action still has the power to take over the narrative. I’m just not sure I’m ready for that.
“Hey, did Adriel let you know about our bet?” Jayden says.
I glance toward our dugout where Adriel disappeared a moment ago, and I smirk.
“Yeah, he said something about you buying dinner tonight after he kicks your ass,” I gloat. I might love Jayden, but Adriel is my player. I got him ready for today.
“Yeah, that’s the theory,” he says, his lips pulling into a tight smirk that rattles my confidence a touch.
“Not that my guy is going to do anything short of go four-for-four today, but just in case . . . what’s in this for you? If you somehow, you know, go one better?” My heart thumps wildly as Jayden widens his stance and crosses his arms over his chest, something in his gaze feeling rather predatory.
“I get to kiss you post-game, right here. In front of anyone who sticks around to see it,” he says, puckering up and bracing his body for my inevitable rejection.
“Ha!” I cross my arms and match his stance. He doesn’t flinch, though, and the first drops of sweat build along my spine. I glance out to the Chicago coach throwing BP and push my tongue into my cheek.
“What? You don’t think you’ve gotten your guy ready for me, Kessler?” Jayden teases.
