Page 113 of Hiding in the Outfield

“Ah, right. That, sorry.” He slides his hands over his thighs—an Olander nervous habit. “But yeah, having those men on my team changed my perspective. I mean, once I went to college, my perspective changed. It’s a big fucking world outside our small town. But once I had guys under my care? I wasn’t going to let anyone make them feel uncomfortable or like they didn’t belong.” His fingers tighten. “I wasn’t going to let anyone be the kind of guy I used to be. Like recognizes like, as they say.”

“That’s really great, Jake. I’m glad you’re looking out for them. And I’m glad you’ve been able to dig your way out of the bullshit we were raised in.”

“So, you still want me in your life?” he asks hesitantly. “Despite…”

“I was no better than you, Jake,” I say quietly. “Kind of sounds like you came around a lot earlier than I did. So, yes, I want you in my life. Let’s leave the bullshit where it deserves to be—with Mom and Dad.”

“I like the sound of that.”

He finally looks around. “Where are we?”

My cheeks heat. “I hadn’t really been paying attention to where I was driving. But, um, this is where that guy I mentioned lives.”

His mouth opens in a silent ‘oh’.

“Would you…would you want to meet him?”

FORTY-TWO

FRANKIE

Jackson walks in the door, and my pulse stutters to a stop. Something’s not right. His gait is all wrong; his shoulders are weighed down, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. He’s almost unrecognizable compared to the man who left here yesterday.

I hurry to meet him. “What happened? What’s⁠—”

He swallows me in a hug. And doesn’t let go. No, he latches on and holds on to me like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth. Fuck. What the hell happened at lunch? I know he always dreads seeing his family, and I don’t blame him—I wouldn’t want to have lunch with those trolls either—but this is alarming. He’s never been like this after they’ve visited.

“I told them.” His words are muffled in my shirt, but he might as well have screamed them.

I manage to pry myself from him and grip his face. “You what?” I search those red-rimmed blue eyes. Oh God. Red-rimmed. “Jackie, what happened? What’d they say? What’d they do?” My blood boils over. “Dear fucking God, who do I need to kill?” I will murder. I will fucking dismember.

“What’s going on? Why is Frankie killing people? Should I grab a bat?” Shane’s voice filters into the townhouse. East is right behind him. They’d met Maddy in the city for a quick lunch. “And who the fuck is this? Ohhh, you’re totally Olander’s brother. Can’t miss the family resemblance.”

My attention lands on the stranger standing awkwardly at the far end of the kitchen, close to the entry. The one I totally missed while wrapped up in my concern for Jackson. And yes, he is very clearly Jackie’s brother. They’re nearly identical except for their hair. They both have the sides buzzed, but Jackson’s is long and messy on top, whereas this guy is all short and neat and contained.

Shane’s attention falls back on me, where I’m in Jackson’s arms, and his eyes widen. The oh-shit alarm bells are going off in his blue eyes. Oh dear, and poor Easton looks like he’s seconds from passing out. This is way too much for that poor, anxious boy to handle.

“Jackson?” I ask, searching his misty blue eyes.

“I told my family,” he says quietly. “The fact that only one of them is here tells you everything you need to know.”

“Dolcezza,” I whisper. I settle my hand over his heart as an aching sadness spreads through me.

He shrugs a shoulder and sends me a stiff, dimple-less smile. “It was expected.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less. Doesn’t make it any less wrong.”

We all seek it: love from our parents. Even when they don’t deserve us. My gaze strays to Shane. Unfortunately, we live in a world where parental love isn’t a given. Something I will never understand.

“It’s okay.” His whisper is broken and so clearly gives away the lie, but a little warmth blooms in his eyes. He grabs my hand and gives it a little tug. “I still got a happy surprise out of it. Come meet my brother.”

“I really feel like I’m intruding on something I should not be a part of,” Shane says. Then he plops down in one of the kitchen chairs, crossing his ankle over his knee. He pulls one out next to him for Easton, pats it, and watches on with interest.

Jackson chuckles as we walk by them. He leads me up to his brother. “Frankie, this is my brother, Jacob.” He squeezes my hand hard. “Jake,” he says, the word sounding like it’s choking him, “this is my…um, this is Frankie.”

My heart rate stumbles just like Jackson did over his words. Over what he nearly let slip but didn’t. Because we are that in almost every sense of the word, but circumstances won’t allow for it to be real.

“Breathe, Jack.” His brother shoots him an encouraging smile, and that’s all I need to know that this is going to be okay. Their parents might be heartless bastards, but these two will hold strong.