Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I supposed I had no business walking over to him that night to begin with, even to pretend to teach him how to bowl. I was way out of line. But his initial reaction to me before he shuttered himself away again had been surprising, to say the least. I’d heard this little gasp in the back of his throat as he’d trembled. Actually fucking trembled. And that was not something I could lock away. That was some sort of clue, right?
I hadn’t seen Maclain since November, and now it was January. And I figured it would all work out one way or another. Maybe it would even be smoother between us now.
“Hey, Mom, baseball officially starts again next week,” I said, helping line up the plastic nacho boats, as Gemma liked to call them.
“Good. You should make the most of your last year.”
As I kissed her cheek, I noticed the tiredness behind her eyes. My parents worked so hard, and probably even more so when I was away for baseball. They had my sister and part-time help, but once I earned my business degree and finished with the season, I would be glad to relieve their burden, even a little bit.
“Don’t get that look in your eye,” she said, waving the bottle of ketchup refill in my direction. “I know you, and there should be no regrets. You are here plenty for us.”
“Yeah, okay.” I reached for a towel to wipe my hands, then looked toward the lanes, logging the number of patrons we had tonight. “Why don’t you and Daddy knock off early, and I’ll close up for you?”
“No, honey, that won’t be—”
“Please,” I insisted. “It’s the least I can do before my schedule gets crazy again.”
“You’re a good son, Dominic.” Mom pulled me into a hug and I squeezed her tight, feeling like I needed that extra affection to soothe my turbulent thoughts.
3
Maclain
The team packed together in the Pirates’ clubhouse. From what I could tell as I glanced around, most of the team was in attendance, including the new players. Our former third baseman had graduated last year, and we’d heard that he’d gotten drafted to a minor league team in the summer, and Devers, our power hitter, had been scouted pretty hard all fall after he’d hit a grand slam in the regionals. No doubt, for Devers this season hinged on his stats and whether he’d be invited to try out for the big league.
The meeting room held rows of long tables and folding chairs, and the coaches used the projector to watch game tape and the whiteboard at the front to strategize plays. We were all very familiar with this space and normally sat in the same spots, but since this was a new season, I decided to head to the other side toward the back, just to shake things up. Plus, it would obscure my view of Girard.
Unfortunately, Girard had also decided to change seats, likely to accommodate the new players on the roster, and I could now easily stare at him from this vantage point, something I didn’t want to do but couldn’t seem to help. It had only been a couple of months since we saw each other, and obviously Girard still looked the same, but today I noted the scruff on his jaw and wondered if it would feel rough against my hand. Or maybe my lips…
“Everyone have a good holiday?” Coach Crawford asked in a booming voice, interrupting my straying thoughts before my ridiculous fantasies about my teammate got the best of me. The coach’s question had the effect of a bucket of cold water over my head, dousing any remnants of a flame.
Fuck the holidays. Mine had, of course, been shitty, but no way was I going to admit that. What did they really mean anyway? Getting together with family you barely liked?
Dad had called to say he was spending the break with Nina, the new woman he was dating. She was nice enough—they always were—and because he’d been trying to impress her, he’d acted more interested in my life during the short phone call. I could barely stomach the overly sweet sound of his voice as he pretended to give a damn about my college baseball career.
So I’d spent Christmas at the apartment while my roommates, Hollister and Donovan, celebrated with their families. I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me, so I pretended to have plans as well. I considered ordering Chinese takeout, then meeting a girl I regularly hooked up with when she was home on break. But I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to get it up, all because of the guy sitting across the room right now. The same one who had trouble looking me in the eye and made my stomach feel all funny.