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The first pitch was a curve ball. Strike one.
Two more, big brother. You got this.
The next pitch was low and inside. Ball one.
Anxiety twisted my stomach as the next two pitches went by, one of them a foul ball that shot behind the dugout like a cannon.
Jack leaned down to read the sign the catcher gave him. He nodded, agreeing with the pitch choice. He released the ball and the batter swung as I held my breath, hoping like hell the batter would ground out if he made contact at all.
The ball slammed into the catcher’s glove as the umpire screamed, “Strike three! You’re out!” and the batter slammed his bat against the dirt.
“He did it! He pitched a perfect game!” I yelled at Gramps as if he hadn’t just been watching the same thing I had.
We jumped up from our seats and hugged, shouting with excitement. From the look on his face, I knew Gramps was wishing we were there to celebrate with Jack in person as much as I was.
Gran walked in. “What’s with all the yelling?”
“Jack pitched a perfect game, Ma,” Gramps yelled before grabbing her and swinging around the floor, spinning and dan
cing.
I fired off a text to Jack that simply read, Congratulations, as one from Cassie came in saying how excited she was.
It was a good night to be a Carter fan.
• • •
My cell phone rang early the next morning and I grabbed it, silencing it before it woke up the entire house. I looked at the clock, noting how damn early it was before answering.
“Jack? Do you know what time it is here?”
“Dean. Ah shit, Dean.”
I immediately sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. He sounded weird, which couldn’t be good.
“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” My mind raced, wondering if he’d gotten hurt, or in a car accident. I couldn’t have prepared myself for what was about to come.
“I fucked up, little brother. Shit, I fucked up so bad.” He breathed into the phone, and I thought I heard him crying.
Chills raced down my body as worry and confusion ripped through me.
“What happened? What did you do? Jack, tell me what happened.”
He sucked in a breath, the sound raspy in my ear. “I slept with some chick last night,” he said, and my head started to spin. “I woke up this morning, and she was in my fucking bed.” He sounded beyond disgusted.
“You what?” I shrieked. “Tell me you’re kidding. Tell me you’re fucking kidding, Jack.”
I was instantly sick to my stomach. In one night, Jack had gone from having the greatest game of his career to completely obliterating his personal life. I knew it, and he damn well knew it too.
“I don’t know what to do, Dean. I don’t know what to fucking do.” He sounded borderline hysterical, like he was going to lose it, and I didn’t know what to tell him. What could I possibly say that would make what he’d done last night better?
“How can I fix this?” He sounded desperate, broken, and it fueled my sudden anger.
“Fix it?” I said with a sadistic laugh. “Yeah, right. Cassie will never forgive you for this.”
“I know. You think I don’t know that?” he shouted, but pulled himself together. “Sorry, man. I’m beside myself right now. I can’t believe I let this happen.” The sound of his footsteps in the background told me he must be pacing somewhere.
“How did you? How did this happen?”
