Bat Boy (Easton U Pirates 1)

Though if he knew I was struggling with a crush on his son, of all people, he might bench me too. Not because Kellan was gay—I actually didn’t know that for certain, though I got an interesting vibe I couldn’t easily explain. But who was I to talk? I had trouble even recognizing stuff about myself.

Coach called us into the dugout, where he spoke some encouraging words before nodding to me. As the team captain, it was my job to keep the guys upbeat and ready to work.

“Okay, Pirates, all hands in.” I waited until we were piled against each other in a semicircle. “One, two, three—be fierce, play smart, win big!”

Then we jogged back onto the field while the opposing team lined up their batters.

As Maclain took the mound, I noticed his gaze sweeping over the bleachers before his features shuttered away his disappointment. His dad hadn’t shown again, and I knew how much that bummed him out even if he never said it out loud. His mom had died when he was young, and his dad was apparently a busy man and always on business trips—I’d gotten at least that much from Maclain. Hollister said he met the man once, and he was an arrogant prick. Obviously, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. But Hollister had developed a soft spot for Maclain because of one drunken night where he’d shown some vulnerability. If I didn’t know how deep his pain ran, I would’ve told him to fuck off a long time ago and would’ve never agreed to let him move in. But behind closed doors, he was amenable most of the time.

I gave the bleachers one last glance. When Ricky waved animatedly, Hollister grinned in my direction. He understood what having my family there meant to me, and I was relieved he didn’t rag on me about it. Whereas everything else was open season between us, that topic had remained off-limits.

Soon enough the inning began, the first batter of the opposing team was winding up at home plate, and I got lost in the game. He hit the ball up the third base line and made it to first base, and the second batter smacked a good one right up the middle, whizzing by Maclain’s head, which only ticked him off.

By the fourth batter, and no outs, it was clear that Maclain and Girard were not in sync. And from my position behind him, I could see Maclain was being inflexible as hell, calling off most of Girard’s signals. But Girard could be stubborn too, and their arguments behind the scenes could be surprisingly amusing.

Girard gestured for a time-out and jogged to the mound. After they went back and forth, motioning wildly for a minute, I moved closer, feeling obligated to help as the team captain. But also, not wanting to get in the middle of their mess.

“What the fuck, Maclain?” Girard spit out. “Stop blowing me off.”

Maclain narrowed his eyes. “Stop calling shitty signals.”

“Oh, it’s my fault, huh?” Girard countered. “Then why are the bases full?”

Maclain kicked at the dirt. “Screw you, Girard.”

But he knew Girard was right—Maclain was always pure emotion in the game, and it was to his detriment. And just as I suspected, Coach jogged onto the field to see what the holdup was.

“Better work it out, Maclain, or you’ll be watching from the bench,” he said, which only made Maclain’s jaw tighten. “Girard put in extra hours this week, so trust his calls.”

I winced, even though Coach was right. Girard was good about studying the opposing team prior to games. But it wasn’t like we hadn’t seen this kind of confrontation before between these two. When they were in sync, they were on fire. When they weren’t, it was the silent treatment between them for days.

When Girard and Coach left the mound, I tried to throw him some encouraging words. “You’re damned good at your job too. So, shake it off, Maclain.”

I was talking about his dad not showing up and he knew it, but the rest of the team didn’t. No way I’d tell his business, but even alone, back at the house, he wouldn’t be that forthcoming, so I always had to read between the lines. It was probably what kept us from getting closer. Plus, he was mostly a private person, unless it was to bust my balls in front of the guys. He seemed to thrive on that, so he was pretty hard to figure out.

“Fuck right off,” he muttered.

Our second baseman shook his head, as frustrated as me. But I was used to it, so I let it drop. Besides, we didn’t want to draw any more attention from the stands.

When my gaze snagged on Kellan watching closely from the dugout, his lip between his teeth, it nearly made me smile. He was as invested in our games as the players were, and it was pretty adorable.