“The game you pitched in Cleveland was okay. That loss wasn’t on you.”
He grimaced just thinking about that game. His leg had been fine, and he’d pitched six strong innings. The relief team had given up three runs and they hadn’t been able to make up the deficit. “Yeah, that sucked.”
“Mom says to tell you hi, and that she and Dad will be up to catch a game this month.”
He nodded. “I talked to her the other day. She said something about a trip up this way but she didn’t have the dates nailed down yet. Something about doing paint and fabric shopping with Katrina and the kids.”
Barrett nodded. “They’re in remodel mode at Grant’s place. Oh, and we’re having dinner with Grant and Katrina and the kids tonight.”
“We are? Since when?”
“Since I told them I was going to be in town. Katrina invited me to dinner and said I was supposed to bring you, too, unless you had a game.”
“Which I don’t. Not tonight. You know I just got back in town after a road trip, right?”
Barrett slid him a look. “Oh, right. I keep your travel schedule on my phone so I know your whereabouts at all times.”
“Fuck off, Barrett.”
Barrett laughed. “Love you, too, Tucker.”
He’d planned to make good use of his day off by getting in touch with Aubry. That would have to be delayed since the last thing he wanted to do was drag her over to meet his brothers.
“So, dinner, huh?” Tucker asked, his stomach grumbling at the thought.
“Yeah. You should go take a shower. You look like shit.”
“I was at the gym working out, asshole.”
“That’s not why you look like shit. You always look bad.”
“Kiss my ass. And should you really be insulting your twin’s appearance?”
“I wouldn’t if you actually looked like me, which you don’t, unfortunately for you.” Barrett flexed his considerable muscles.
Rolling his eyes, Tucker finished his beer and tossed the bottle in the recycle bin. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Good. I’m going to play a video game while you’re getting pretty. Try to do that in under two hours.”
In less than twenty minutes, Tucker had showered and gotten dressed.
He went out into the living room and grabbed his phone from the table behind the sofa, stared at it for a few minutes and thought about giving Aubry a call at the hospital.
Barrett turned around. “You ready?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“In less than two hours, too. Are you sure you’re pretty enough?”
“Prettier than you, asshole.” He slipped his phone in his pocket, figuring he’d call Aubry later.
He drove them over to Grant’s house. It took about thirty minutes to get there. He’d made sure when he rented his condo that he didn’t live right damn down the street from Grant. He loved his family—all of them. But independence meant a lot to him. And while he liked seeing his brothers and enjoyed getting together with all of them, he needed to be on his own. Too much togetherness? Not necessarily a good thing.
But he had to admit, when he’d signed with the Rivers last year, he’d been happy to be in the same city as Grant. They wouldn’t see each other all the time, but they’d be close enough.
Barrett, on the other hand . . .
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked as he glanced over at his brother, who was rifling through the contents of his glove compartment.
“Checking to see if you have any women’s underwear in here.”
Tucker shook his head. “No.”
“Then what the hell are you doing in your spare time?”
“I had a girlfriend. We broke up recently.” He wasn’t about to tell Barrett about the incident with Laura in the wine cellar. Barrett would never let him live it down.
“Yeah? What did you do wrong?”
He pulled onto the highway, easing into traffic. “Why would you assume I was the one who did anything wrong? Maybe it was her.”
“Oh, it had to be you.”
“Trust me. It wasn’t me.”
“So tell me about it.”
“She wanted to move in together. And she drank a lot. When she drank, things got ugly. We argued, I broke it off. That pissed her off.”
Barrett laughed. “She sounds like a real sweet girl. You sure know how to pick ’em, Bro.”
“I don’t see Miss America hanging off your arm, douchebag.”