Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
The players, along with the new outfielders Coach introduced, sent welcoming words his way, and I mumbled in agreement. I needed to get back on my game, which might take me a practice or two. I’d prefer to glide into my final season in a smoother fashion. Head down, work hard. Avoid Girard and any other distractions as much as possible.
And yet, I couldn’t help speculating whether Girard would click better with the newb than with me. Maybe Vickers would even take my place on the roster if he was that good. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth. Christ, I was so mixed up where Girard was concerned.
“And now, Kellan has some announcements.”
Coach motioned to move the meeting along. He was tough but fair, and the fact that he’d immediately accepted his son and Donovan was admirable. He’d originally axed his son from the team because he’d violated his rules, but then the players voted unanimously to keep him. I briefly considered not voting just to be a dick—you know, my usual schtick. But I recognized Kellan’s value, and he did keep us organized and supplied the best snacks, even if Donovan got special treatment.
“Okay, Pirates, a couple of things,” Kellan said with a grin. Ever since his and Donovan’s relationship had been revealed, he was…friendlier with the team. Which meant he’d been holding himself back last year because of his dad’s strict guidelines. Now he seemed to be more himself. Sassier, sarcastic, and didn’t take any shit. But he still didn’t want to rock the boat, so I noticed when he reeled it in.
Or maybe being with Donovan had softened him. Imagine that. A person or relationship smoothing out your edges? Yeah, no.
“We have the kick-off banquet coming up.” He threw a cursory glance to Coach Adams, who planned those sorts of things with him and was now passing out flyers. “A couple of fundraisers too, and I’ll pass that information to you during the next practices.”
“We’ve got a tough schedule ahead of us, Pirates,” Coach Adams said, handing me a sheet of paper with the banquet date and dress code. “But don’t forget we’re also a unit, a family.”
“A dysfunctional one,” I muttered, and everyone laughed.
Coach Crawford shook his head, but there was a smirk on his lips. “So let’s start the season strong.”
After the clapping died down, Donovan stood up to do his team-captain part. I’d given him a hard time last year, but maybe he was just an easy target with his perfect hair and personality and family. However, now that I knew how hard it’d been for him to come out, I felt differently—and terrible—about how I’d acted.
“If anyone wants to come by our place straight after, we’ll order a bunch of pizzas to celebrate the start of the season,” Donovan said, his gaze landing on me. I nodded, as did Hollister. We’d discussed the plan earlier, and I’d be ordering a bunch of food on the way home.
“Plus, it’s not technically the official start of the season,” Hollister added, no doubt remembering Coach’s rules about partying, “so Coach won’t give us too hard of a time.”
Then we all stood and squashed closer together in a circle so we could stretch our hands toward the center to do the ridiculous team cheer. Which wasn’t actually that ridiculous at all, but I’d never admit it. Was that team pride blooming in my chest? Call it nostalgia again.
“Be fierce, play smart, win big!”
4
Girard
Damn, seeing Maclain again after a couple months of absence, struck my chest like a lightning bolt. Throughout the team meeting, I could feel his gaze pressing into my skin when he didn’t think I was paying attention, which meant he was affected as well, even though he’d never admit it. Of course, I could never guess exactly what he was thinking, which was frustrating all on its own.
Truth be told, from the first time Maclain had spouted off at me during a tense game last season and I gave it right back, I sensed there was something between us. Some sort of subliminal tension that never seemed to resolve itself. I began looking forward to seeing his grumpy ass every game, which didn’t make a ton of sense, at least not until newer sensations began happening in my body—and not only in my groin. There was also this strange tumbling feeling in my stomach whenever I earned a glimpse of that crooked little smile. It felt like a small victory, and I found myself wanting to draw that same reaction from him whenever possible, but it was definitely hard won.
I didn’t know if we’d ever figure it out or come to some resolution, but this was a new season, and a new chance for us to maybe become real friends outside of our shared baseball life. Maybe that was the way to go—trying to find another kind of common ground.