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Chapter One
Coury
Balls zipped across the field house floor and smacked into well-oiled leather, and Coury Henderson breathed it in from the bleachers.
Baseball.
Coury closed his eyes and felt the ache in his side—stupid torn oblique—and the heavier one in his chest.
He sighed. It should be me down there practicing . . .
A rattle and jounce announced the arrival of another spectator.
“Here you are.” Nico set a travel mug of coffee next to Coury’s leg. “Two sugars and a splash of cream.”
“Thanks, Nero.”
“Anytime, Cokey.” Nico sat and stretched his long legs onto the bench below. He eyed the phone gripped in Coury’s hand. “Please tell me you’re not texting that awful being.”
That was a nice word for his ex. Hailey had cheated, and when he found out she’d blamed him. And baseball. The life of a minor leaguer—low pay, undesirable destinations, constant uncertainty—didn’t mesh with her post-college plans. It had hurt, but it was nothing to the prospect of not playing this season. Or worse, not graduating because he failed his science requirement.
“Nope—took your advice. Deleted her from my phone and unfollowed her on social media. Totally don’t know that she got back from the South of France with Mr. Richy Pants. Yesterday.”
Nico snorted. “Forgot one?”
“Twitter.” He’d blocked her right after he’d seen all the happy photos.
His phone dinged. “Finally.” At Nico’s suspicious brow, Coury grinned. “Not Hailey. Beckett.”
“Oh him,” Nico said, “your best friend.”
Coury rolled his eyes.
“Best and longest.”
“Go on then, bemuse yourself with him. I’ll gawk at Luke.” Nico sighed. “God, my boyfriend’s hot.”
Beckett: Why are you messaging me at 7 fucking 30 on a SUNDAY?
Coury: First practice.
Not a real practice, just a bunch of guys working the rust off before the university officially allowed them to start.
Beckett: You’re playing?
Coury: Watching.
Coury: Also, you messaged me first. At two a.m. Fair’s fair. What did you need?
Beckett: I’ll be there this weekend.
Nico peeked at Coury’s phone. “What’s up?”
“He’s coming to visit.”
Beckett: Liam’s living with Pop now. I’m staying there, but I’ll end up crashing with you.
Coury: ??
Pop was funny as shit—seventy going on seventeen—but not usually Beckett’s accommodation of choice.
Three seconds later, his phone rang; Beckett’s name flashed on the screen.
Nico slapped the bench and stood. “As much as I want to eavesdrop, I’ll be good and go cheer on my boyfriend.”
Coury raised his mug, thanking him again for the coffee, and answered. “Hello?”
“Liam moved off campus because his roommate was a dick and a homophobe,” Beckett said. “I figured if I stayed there too, I could get him to come out with us. He’s kinda been avoiding everyone. It’s not healthy.”
“That sucks. You’re a good brother.”
“I mean, he probably won’t come, but I gotta try. The douche canoe called him a prissy little girl.”
“Who is he? Luke, Nico, and I will go break his leg.” He was only half kidding. Liam was a good guy. A bit quiet, and not into sports . . . but Coury really would kick that fucker’s ass if he found out his name.
“Oh shit, the LGBT fight club is on the move.”
“Got that right. We protect our own.”
The line went silent, and Coury checked to see if the call had dropped. “Oh, right. I keep forgetting you’re bi.”
Coury rolled his eyes. “Anyway . . .”
“It’s too early and I’m still hung over. How about you come to Pop’s house on Friday and we ask Liam to go with us? He’s more likely to feel welcome if you ask.”
“Sure.”
Out on the turf, Luke fielded a sharp ground ball and zinged it to the first baseman. It hit the guy’s outstretched mitt with a snap.
He felt for Liam. It sucked being treated like that.
God, he ached to be out there. He sighed. “What time?”
* * *
Liam
Liam Wright shifted his backpack, put his shoulder against the front door, and pushed. Another thing on his list of things to do around the house; he hadn’t realized all the little things Pop lived with that needed fixing.
Not that he was Mr. Fix-it, but he wasn’t terrible. Dad taught him the basics of home repair. The door, however, might be beyond him. Won’t know till I try.
“Pop!” He hung his house keys on the peg and put his coat away.
“Kitchen.”
Liam smiled. His moving in had snapped Pop back into a cooking fanatic, something he hadn’t been since Grandma had passed.
He toed out of his sneakers, moved them to the mat, and followed his nose to his grandfather. Too many delicious smells to guess what he was making, but his stomach rumbled in appreciation.
“You’re home later than usual.”
Crap. The one time he forgot to call. “Sorry, I went to the gym after class. Did you need me to do something?”
Pop smiled and ruffled Liam’s hair. “No, kiddo, I’m good. It’s been a few years since I had a youngster in the house. I forget how busy your lives are.”
