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Mom swished the mop near her feet. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“You had every right to bring it up.” Last time I checked, our house wasn’t a dictatorship—or it didn’t used to be. I tied off the top of one of the trash bags and scooped it up, pausing at the door to grab my book bag. “I’ll see you later.”

“Text us when you’re on your way home. Remember you have a curfew,” Mom warned.

Did anyone else have a curfew in the summer? Doubtful.

My body immediately relaxed when I stepped into the fresh, humid air. On these kinds of nights, you could almost taste summer. Sweet and salty mixed with earth.

I tossed the bags into the dumpster before kicking it to make the lid drop. All I wanted after all this drama was a cold lemonade from the Brew and a slow drive home with the windows down, far from here, far from baseball and all the hell it had already brought us this season.

Unfortunately, baseball had other plans, in the form of an ace pitcher.

“Have you lost your mind?” I hurried across the parking lot, peering in every direction to make sure we were alone. We were.

For now.

“It’s a nice night.” Reed leaned against my Jeep, looking like he owned it.

If he scratched it, I’d kill him. “Do you have a death wish, Fulton?”

“Do you always have to be so dramatic, Crowley?” He crossed his arms. “Relax. We’re not surrounded by a cast and crew. No kids walking by with fishing poles this time. All the cars have left.”

Yeah, except Dad’s truck.

The concession door was closed, and I didn’t see any sign of him, but we were in a parking lot.

With no other cars nearby.

Dad would definitely turn into a Category Five if he caught me out here with the pitcher who just destroyed his team.

“I wasn’t ready to go home yet.” Reed stared across the lot at the darkened baseball field.

I almost asked him how that was my problem, but curiosity—or maybe heat exhaustion—got the best of me. “Why?” I propped my arm against the roll bar. “You won, remember?”

“I know,” he said.

I waved him on. “So…”

“So…going home means a lecture from Granddad. I’m not in the mood.” He turned his hat backward. “It wasn’t my best game.”

For a moment, all I could do was blink at him. He was a Fulton, and I was a Crowley, so why the hell would he be saying this to me, of all people? Regardless, I stepped up to the plate.

“No, it wasn’t,” I said.

His eyebrows shot up.

If you’re looking for sympathy, you’ve come to the wrong place.

“Your curveball needs some work.” I shrugged.

“Does it, now?”

I unzipped the front of my backpack and took out a bag of peanuts, but Reed made no motion to speak or move. He just stared at me like I had grown two heads or something. I hated that look. “What do you really want, Fulton? And don’t give me that crap excuse about not wanting to go home.” I cracked open a shell. “You could’ve gone to Scoops or the Brew. I’m sure your team is already out celebrating.”

“Is it so hard to believe that maybe I just wanted to talk?” He picked at his fingernails.

To me? Um, yeah.