Page 9 of George’s Big Day

“This is what I said a second ago,” Carson declared innocently.

“Well, he wouldn’t have to ice it if he didn’t throw the goddamn ball.” Kurt sounded both indignant and accusatory.

“C’mon. That was an accident,” Vince deflected. “I dared him to hit the tree, and he missed and hit Baylor.”

“That’s your story?” Kurt thundered at him. “It was unintentional?”

“Of course, that ball wasn’t even traveling that fast. If he’d hit him with his full power from back in the day, that ball would have been moving at between sixty-two and sixty-five miles per hour.” Vince sounded so matter-of-fact. “Now that would have stung a bit.”

“No shit,” I said to Carson.

He waggled his eyebrows at me.

“Stung a bit?” Baylor was still yelling, even though we were all together on the deck now. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? That, what he did, hurt like a motherfucker, Vince!”

“I could see that if he’d hit you in the head.” Vince shrugged. “But it’s just your bicep, isn’t it?”

“Is there ibuprofen in your medicine cabinet?” Carson asked me.

“Yes, there’s⁠—”

“I’m going to sue you,” Baylor told Carson.

“For what? An accident? A tap with a ball?”

“A tap?” He was incredulous. “You hit me with a football in the arm. I might have nerve damage.”

“From a ball thrown by me?” Carson mocked. “Me?”

“Yes, by you. Are you kidding? I know how hard and fast you⁠—”

“Not anymore,” Carson said with an evil grin. “Not for years. I mean, c’mon, Baylor, every one of my doctors will tell you I can’t possibly throw with any real power. Those days are long gone.”

“You’re insane! I felt how⁠—”

“No, you’re mistaken,” Carson mollified him. “That’s impossible, and everything about my throwing arm is documented.”

“The hell are you talking about?” Baylor sounded worked up now.

“It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal!” His face was getting red.

Before Carson could say anything else, Vince took hold of the arm that was a miracle of modern medicine and rehabilitation, and led him toward the house.

“I think maybe you should be happy it was a tap with a football and not a tap with a bullet,” I warned him.

“What?” Baylor gasped.

“You had to have heard me,” I goaded him.

“Is that a threat?”

“What else could it possibly be?” I sneered at him.

When he took a step toward me, Geri was there so fast, head down, teeth bared, a low warning growl in the back of his throat.

Baylor made the mistake of wheeling on Kurt then, and Freki pushed between them, same stance, unsure of Baylor’s intentions.