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“I assure you I broke it off. It isn’t my fault he hasn’t come to terms yet.” I don’t clarify whoheis. I technically haven’t broken the news to Dad. Unlike when I’m around Dalton, I don’t get to be myself when it comes to my dad. That will be a different battle to fight. But I need Dalton to understand it’s over between Bobby and me. I erase the distance between us and place my hand on his biceps. I ignore the size and strength beneath my palm and soften my tone. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Dalton stares at my hand a moment before he caves. “You’re right. Dad’s drinking has gotten worse. He wants me to come home.”
“What! Now?”
Dalton gives a quick nod.
“But it’s midseason.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “As if that matters. He doesn’t care about me playing baseball. He only cares what I can do for him back home.”
“Doesn’t he realize how talented you are?”
The look Dalton pins me with screams “get real” and “are you kidding” at the same time. “He doesn’t know shit about me other than I’m not home running his shop.”
“Is that the real reason for wanting you back? So you can run his shop?”
“That and among other things. He’s still harping on me to be back for Steve’s parole hearing.”
“Does it help when you’re there?”
He shrugs. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt, but my presence never helped before. I’ve missed the last two hearings.”
“Are you feeling guilty?”
His stare holds a vulnerability he rarely shows. I briefly wonder if the ground is wet from his shield’s meltdown.
“Yes, but for the wrong reasons. I don’t want to go. Don’t get me wrong, I want to support my brother, but I can’t stand to be around my old man. It’s the reason I’ve stayed away.”
“Last week when you blew up in the dugout, was it because of your dad?” He never did tell me the reason, but the picture is coming together.
He studies me, and I can see the pain buried deep in his eyes. The muscles beneath my palm tense. I want to pull him even closer and embrace him—to comfort him—but I can’t go there, not fully. It doesn’t matter if I ended things with Bobby, I’m still not good for Dalton. The power Dad wields over him hasn’t lessened. Dalton may not realize, but he’ll face further repercussions in tomorrow’s game. I have no doubt that Dad will test him.
“It was because of him, wasn’t it?” I prod.
Dalton licks his lips. “Dad had called right before game time.”
I can tell he’s uncomfortable talking about this. Whether he wants to admit it or not, that conversation threw his game off, and he needs to discuss it. He carries too much weight on his shoulders.
“Is this the underlying reason you got in that fight the other night?”
“Part of it.”
“What does that mean?” I prod. He needs to give me something to work with. I can’t help him if he doesn’t tell me.
“It means not to worry about it.”
“Not to worry about it?” I screech, backing up. My hands fly to my hips. I tip my chin up and glare. “You threw the first punch. That looks really bad, Dalton. What prompted you to do that?”
“I had my reasons. Just leave it at that.”
He’s beyond frustrating. Here I thought we were making progress. “There aren’t any excuses for starting a fight. This makes you look bad.”
“You weren’t there.” He steps into my space. The heat radiating off him licks my skin.
“Then tell me what happened,” I practically beg.
His eyes smolder as his body hovers beside me. I feel trapped. Not by the physical sense—he’d move out of the way if I shoved him—but more from emotions. Is there such a thing as an emotional trance? If so, that’s what he has me in. I just want him to answer. More importantly, I just want him to be safe. I can’t be the reason another person loses their career.
