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Brows pulled together, I popped out an AirPod and eyed him in silent question.
“You never laugh at him.”
“Laugh?”
“Yeah. You’re locked and loaded. No one gets through to you on game days but Pop. That’s what you always say.” Mason shrugged.
“Oh.” He was right. That was my normal pregame ritual. But when I turned on my music and sat back to get into the zone, the text that made my phone buzz didn’t come from my father. Avery’s ridiculousness about pancakes was exactly what I needed to ease the tension creeping over me.
Our first spring training game was today, and my slider was doing better. I was ready and focused. Even Tom Wilson and I had been getting along mostly okay for the last few weeks.
“I’ll bet ten to one he’s talking to Blondie.”
I glared at Emerson, who was standing in front of his locker, wearing just his girdle. Although they had all taken to calling AveryBlondie so that Wilson didn’t clue into who they constantly razzed me about, their use of my name for her was getting annoying. More so from Emerson than anyone else, though, because somehow, he could always tell when she called or texted.
“Ooh, I’m not betting against Bambi.” Mason chuckled, throwing an elbow into my side. “But damn, that girl’s gotten past the Do Not Disturb filter. That shit sounds serious.”
They all knew nothing had changed. I simply shook my head and turned back to my roommate.
“How do you always know?”
Two lockers over, Asher Price, our new catcher, snorted. He’d been fitting in well with the team, and I had no complaints about him squatting behind the plate. He possessed this naturally chill aura that was contagious. So far, he and I had clicked well. “It’s not hard to tell when you’re talking to her.”
I pivoted and narrowed my eyes on the new guy.
“You get that look.” He shrugged, then dipped his chin and went back to buttoning his jersey.
“Right.” Emerson whacked Price’s arm twice.
Our new catcher’s eyes went a little wide, and he stepped away from the mostly naked dude touching him.
“He totally does.” Emerson shook out his pants and stepped into them. “Like you don’t get why you’re smiling, but you don’t give a shit that you are.”
“I think it’s more like you’re staring at the most precious thing in the world, and you can’t believe your luck that she’s smiling back.” Asher dropped into his chair and untangled his socks.
“The right woman, man.” Eddie, our shortstop, added with a slow nod. “Makes you feel all kinds of lucky.”
“I don’t think I want that.” Kyle kicked one foot out and hooked Mason’s vacant chair with the tip of his shoe, then pulled it closer.
With an aggravated sigh, Mason yanked it back. And the fight for the chair would continue.
“I don’t want to be tied down or forced to stay in one place,” Kyle went on. “I like freedom.”
On either side of me, Eddie and Asher shook their heads. A yearago, I would have agreed with Kyle, but the truth was, spending time with Avery was the farthest thing from a chore, and I’d never once felt stuck or tied down. It was my favorite pastime and what I looked forward to most every week. But they’d given me enough shit, and I needed to get back to my pregame routine and focus.
“I’m in the zone,” I reminded them, jamming my AirPod back in. Then I pulled up Avery’s messages and got back to the conversation about whipped cream and pancakes.
It wasn’t until it was almost time to head out that I realized Pop had stopped answering me. He was normally quick to give me a full rundown of every batter and what he thought I should do, so it was strange that he’d gone radio silent. Quickly, I fired off a message.
Me: You okay, Pop? You didn’t finish your take on Arizona bats
He hadn’t replied by the time I had to head to the field, so I put my phone in my locker and forced myself to push away the echo of worry in my mind. My father would want me to focus on my game rather than stress over what was probably nothing.
The second I stepped onto the mound, I tapped my wrist twice and let it go.
Four innings later, I was in the zone. Our bats were on fire and we were leading six to nothing. My fastball was hitting, and even my slider wasn’t shit.
Price tapped the inside of his thigh and flashed four fingers.
