“Because I love the game, always have.” He nudged my shoulder again, and I got a whiff of him. Damn, he smelled good, like vintage leather and maybe some spice. And everything nice.
“Hollister and I used to practice every day after school,” he said, glancing across a couple seats to the other side of the aisle, where Hollister was sitting solo.
“Okay, I heard my name,” Hollister said, turning toward us. “Gossiping about me again?”
“Yeah, telling him how you made me play catch until our moms called us in at night. You were a pain in the ass.”
Hollister scrunched his nose, then cracked a wistful smile. “Those were the good old days.”
“Aw, are you guys having a kumbaya moment?” Girard asked from the seat in front of Hollister.
“Not anything you haven’t heard before,” Donovan replied.
“How about you?” I asked Girard. “How long have you been playing the game?”
And that started a nostalgic thread of stories that spread through the back of the bus as they each shared when they’d caught the baseball bug, and it was…nice and sweet. Even Maclain admitted he had an affinity for his very first baseball mitt that he kept in his room at home.
“Okay, head in the game, gentlemen,” my dad said, standing at the front of the bus and essentially ruining the moment, though he had no idea the team was reminiscing about childhood. I noticed his gaze snag briefly on me and Donovan, and I had a feeling another lecture was coming.
“Remember about not playing favorites,” he’d reminded me mid-season during one of our Sunday dinners.
“I’m not doing it on purpose, Dad. I can’t help it if the guy sometimes sits by me or includes me in stuff. What can I say, I’m fun to be around.” And he’d cracked a fleeting smile despite wanting to remain stern with me. “Besides, Donovan is the team captain, and he does stuff like that. If you didn’t want him to have leadership qualities, you should’ve chosen someone else.”
“He’s got a point,” Mom agreed, winking at me. She knew I’d been laying it on thick. But she also knew what a stickler my dad could be when it came to the business. According to Mom, he’d always been that way in whatever coaching job he’d accepted. And coaching for Easton University had been one of his dreams. I certainly didn’t want to ruin that.
While Dad gave his pep talk, Donovan returned to his seat beside Hollister, and I could finally breathe more freely. Not because I wanted him to move—hell no, I’d been enjoying myself. But because I could feel all the eyes on us during the storytelling hour, and it was making me uncomfortable, wondering what they’d really been thinking about Donovan sitting with me.
That you’re friendly. Duh. Why would it be anything more?
At the field, I got right to work, earbuds in, ignoring everything around me besides what needed done. I looked over my dad’s shoulder at the lineup as I laid out the equipment, making sure the players’ favorite bats were within arm’s reach while on deck.
There was a soberness to the team’s mood, and everyone seemed determined to make up for the loss last week. Even Maclain, who’d pitched the second game, seemed intent on not messing up as bad as he did last time.
Maclain didn’t look up into the stands this time, unless I missed it, but most parents couldn’t make away games that weren’t within a reasonable driving distance. Our side of the stands were virtually empty, while the opposing team’s were pretty full, and I found myself missing my chats with Ricky. He’d be sure to ask me lots of questions at our next home game on Wednesday, so I needed to brush up on the team’s stats.
Despite no screaming fans or proud families looking on, the Pirates were able to squeak out two wins, which would help them ride the wave confidently into the game in the morning. Had we been in town, most of the team might’ve headed to Geordie’s for pizza afterward. But between the long bus ride and the two games, they all seemed to be dragging anyway.
We stopped for fast food instead, and there was a happy vibe in the air, the team even doing Donovan’s little cheer on the bus ride to the hotel.
I followed my dad to the counter, and after helping him check everyone in, handed out keys. Trailing behind a group of players to the elevator, I noticed Donovan and I were on the same floor, where the coaches had reserved a block of rooms.
I mumbled a good-night when I got to my door and only heard Donovan’s groggy voice in return.
“See you in the mornin’.”
7
Brady
Damn it. I couldn’t believe our freaking toilet got clogged.
Fucking Hollister. At home we always poked fun at him for spending too long in the bathroom, but normally it was because of his ridiculous grooming routine. This time it seemed the toilet was on the blink before we’d arrived. I’d pointed out the leak before Hollister shut the door behind him. I was nearly asleep when I heard him cursing up a storm.