Page 14 of Serving Bunt

In other news, the All-Star break was still a week out, and the team was playing like absolute garbage. If anything, we’d gotten worse.

Abuelita had even offered to perform a full spiritual cleansing of the locker room, complete with sage smudging and holy water, which she had somehow smuggled on the plane ride from San Juan, but sadly, the guys hadn’t gone for it. Not because they didn’t love Abuelita—trust, she was adored by all and feared by most—but rather because agreeing to the ritual would mean officially admitting there was a curse.

Pride was a hell of a drug, even when it came wrapped in superstition and Puerto Rican grandma logic.

“You’re too quiet, mijo.”

I poked at a piece of brisket, avoiding her eyes. “Says the woman who used to smack my hands if I dared speak with a mouthful of food.”

She took a sip of horchata, then fixed me with a withering stare. Abuelita might’ve been small in stature, but she had a formidable presence. She might be able to fool other people with her naturally rosy cheeks and closet full of floral muumuus, but the woman had HGE.

Hurricane Granny Energy.

“You’re thinking too much. Something weighing on you?” She reached across the table and touched my wrist. “Boy trouble?”

“Boy trouble? What am I, seventeen?”

“I’m not asking for details,” she said, holding up a hand. “Yet. But I know that face. It’s the same one you made when that boy broke your heart in tenth grade.”

“Carlos Reyes.”

“Hmph. Carlos Stupido.” She jammed her fork in my direction. “I play dominoes with his mother and she cheats every time.”

I let out a long breath, pushing my plate aside. There was no point trying to hide it from her. She’d always been able to read me better than anyone.

“There is someone,” I admitted quietly. “A teammate.”

Abuelita didn’t look surprised. She just nodded slowly, waiting for me to keep going.

“I’ve got feelings for him, and I don’t know what to do about it. Things have been complicated for a while. Ever since . . .” I swallowed hard and went on. “He found out that I lied to him.”

“Ay, Peter Rafael.” She sighed, using my full name the way she only did when I was in trouble. “Lying to someone you care about? That’s never the way. You know better than that.”

“I know, I know. Believe me, I’m aware that I should’ve handled things differently, but there’s a lot more to it than you think, and no, I’m not going into the details.”

Having a close relationship with my abuela was one thing; explaining to her that I was responsible for one of the most downloaded fanfic stories on the internet—the one where one specific strawberry-blond shortstop bent me over the dugout bench while I sucked off the team mascot—was another.

Some things were better left between me, my laptop, and whatever higher power was judging my search history.

“Does this boy feel the same?”

I shrugged. “I thought he did, but now we barely talk outside of baseball stuff. And as much as I want to be with him, I’m worried about losing our friendship more than anything.”

Abuelita hummed, considering this. “You’ll figure it out, mijo. You always do.”

I gave her a small smile. For the first time in weeks, saying it out loud to someone who loved me unconditionally felt like loosening a knot I hadn’t realized was choking me.

“But remember,” she added. “The truth might sting, but a lie festers. Fix it before it poisons everything.”

She patted my hand, then leaned back in her chair.

“Well, bless my heart and pass the hot sauce.”

An unmistakable Southern drawl cut through the noise of the food cart pod. I looked up just in time to see Clarke skipping toward us with one hand resting on her belly and the other waving wildly, like she was directing traffic. Soren was at her side, carrying a tray loaded up with no less than a dozen items.

Bennett trailed closely behind them, his cochlear implants catching the golden light. Bella’s arm was looped through his like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go.

I blinked. “What the hell are you guys doing all the way out here?”