“But they were married, right?”

  “Yeah,” Cory says, scooping up some more cake. I know he’ll be on the treadmill first thing tomorrow, working off the calories. “But you two have a strong bond.”

  “Not strong enough,” I reply. “He could barely look me in the eyes, or spend five minutes in the same room, so how am I supposed to help him if he won’t let me?”

  “Well, you can’t wait until he’s ready, so you have to remind him that he’s not alone in this world. That there are a lot of people who love him. I mean . . . you do love him, right?”

  I bite my bottom lip and flop back on the couch. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do,” Cory says. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

  “Because he just broke my heart, why would I want to admit it?”

  “You can’t change how you feel about him, but you can change how you approach him. It might be hard and you might want to quit at times, but if you really love him like I know you do, then you need to show him no matter how hard he pushes, you’ll always be in his life.”

  “And what if he doesn’t respond? What if I’m a broken record, talking to someone who never wants to talk to me?”

  “Then he’s the biggest moron in the world.”

  I roll my eyes, a light laugh coming from me. “Helpful.”

  He shrugs and then nods at the box between us. “At least I brought cake.”

  “Which makes you my favorite brother.”

  “I should be your favorite no matter what. I did listen to you the most growing up.”

  I wave around his apartment. “And look where it got you.” Jokingly I say, “You’re welcome.”

  He chuckles and then grows serious again. “You know what to do, Mills, right?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “I just hope it works.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  CARSON

  JUNE

  “Hey,” Knox says, coming up to me in the cages that belong to the Bobcats Double-A team, the Phoenix Studmuffins—fucking stupid-as-shit name. “Were you planning on saying hi?”

  I drive my hands through the strike zone and smack the waiting ball off the tee and straight back up the middle.

  Without looking at him, I say, “Hi.”

  I place another ball on the tee just as Knox lets himself in the cage. I get ready to swing but he steps in front of me and puts a hand to my shoulder.

  “Dude, what’s going on? You’ve been in town for three days, but I didn’t even fucking know until one of the guys told me. Were you going to tell me? Do you need a place to stay?”

  “I’m good. Now move so I can hit these balls. I have ten more buckets to get through.”

  “Ten?” Knox asks, his voice cracking. “Your hands will be raw after ten buckets.

  “Don’t care. Move.” I don’t even recognize my voice, it’s robotic, stiff, and rude. But I can’t muster up enough fucks to give. All I care about is training. Feelings are set aside, emotions are useless, because all I have is my talent and a promise. Three years.

  If I don’t make it in three years, I’ve failed him.

  Being the smart man that he is, Knox steps to the side, but near the bucket. I take a cut off the tee and when I reach for another ball, Knox puts it on the tee for me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “If you’re doing ten more buckets, then I’m going to help you.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  I bring my bat up to my shoulder, stare at the ball, and then swing.

  “But you need a friend,” Knox says quietly. “I’m not going to let you be alone. Don’t give a shit if you don’t want that. You’re my brother. Not going anywhere.”

  I’ve known Knox since we were freshmen in college, and if there’s one thing I know about him, it’s his loyalty. When he says he’s not going anywhere, he isn’t. So instead of fighting him over being here, I say, “Don’t fucking talk.”

  “Fine by me. Not like I wanted to talk to your sour ass anyway.”

  Normally, that would make me laugh, but I don’t feel anything, not even a hint of a smile. I am completely dead inside.

  * * *

  Milly: How’s Phoenix? I heard it’s gorgeous there. Well, I heard Sedona is nice, which is close, right?

  Milly: I saw the picture of you in your Studmuffin jersey. It looks good on you. But is it a requirement that you’re not allowed to smile in your pictures?

  Milly: I wish you were here right now—I’m in Baltimore watching Cory play—he has me in some executive suite today with some of his sponsors. They have the best hot dogs up here. Have you ever had sauerkraut? Uh, it’s a delight!

  Milly: How are you feeling? Want to talk on the phone tonight?

  * * *

  “Hey Carson, it’s Milly, but you probably know that from the caller ID. I was calling to see how everything was going, if you’re settling in to Phoenix. Let me guess, you’re rooming with Knox. I wish I knew you last year, because just seeing your antics on the field made me want to be friends with the both of you. Anyway, if you get a chance, call or text. I’m here for you.

  * * *

  JULY

  “Ooof.” My chest glides across the fresh-raked dirt. I pop up on my cleats and throw the runner out at first.

  “Nice, Stone,” Radar, our first baseman says, while pointing his glove at me and then tossing the ball in my direction. I throw the ball to Knox, who then tosses it to our third baseman and back to the pitcher.

  Two outs, one more to go, and then back in the cages for me for at least three more buckets of balls. That’s all I can take at this point. My body is aching, but my constant practice is starting to pay off. I’m leading the team in batting and slugging percentage, and teams are starting to intentionally walk me when runners are on. I hate being walked, but it’s also a backhanded compliment. They’re nervous about my bat.

  The next batter steps up to the plate and with the first pitch, number twenty hits the ball back to the pitcher, and the game is over. We line up on the field, give each other high-fives, and head to the dugout. Before I can collect my stuff, a reporter with a microphone pulls me aside.

  Fuck. I despise interviews.

  “Carson Stone, you went four for four today and drove in five runs. What kind of power do you have behind that bat lately?”

  Hands on my hips, looking down, I say, “Just been working hard in the cages.”

  “Thompson was throwing bullets out there, but it didn’t seem to affect you at all. Do you think you have him numbered?”

  “I was just seeing the ball well today.”

  “And how do you feel you’re adjusting to the team? Are you getting along with all the guys?”

  “Yup.” I nod, tip my hat, and take off, knowing fully well PR will be knocking on my locker tomorrow to talk to me about elaborating more, just like they did last time.

  * * *

  AUGUST

  Hey you,

  Thought an email would be easier than sending this all to you in a text. I had to share with you, because I’m so excited. I haven’t said anything to you yet, but I’m a partner with my brothers. They said yes. Can you believe it? And today we broke ground on the new facility. Well, we didn’t actually break ground, but we started renovations. I suggested we buy the space next to the building to expand, but after a walk-through, we’ll have plenty of space and if we want to expand one day, the option could still be there, or we could build our own facility.

  Seeing it all come to life though, speaking with an architect . . . it seems so surreal. I always envisioned it in my head but was never sure it would happen.

  I just wish you could see it, but don’t worry, I attached some pics of the empty space. As the project moves on, I’ll keep you updated.

  I’ve been watching your stats online, and you’re killing it. The coaches must be seriously impressed. I was reading that you haven’t had a strikeout for at least twenty-five games? That’s insane. You must be really seeing the ball right now. I always wondered when batters are seeing the ball that well if it seems like a beach ball floating into the strike zone to them. Is that what you see? A beach ball?

  Jerry is moving to California—sobs—as he got a job in Silicon Valley. He’s been walking around Chicago with his sunglasses on, telling everyone he’s too tech for Chicago now. So basically, he’s been douche-ing it up lately. That’s been fun.

  Shane is working with a start-up here and loving it so far. We’ve been to a few Bobbies games and we always talk about how cool it’s going to be to see you playing on the field one day, because we know it’s going to happen.

  Anyway, just wanted to check in. Feel free to write back. I miss you.

  Milly

  * * *

  Milly: Hey, I finally got to see some footage of you batting. Killer swing there, slugger. And have you been lifting more? Your forearms are super dreamy.

  Milly: Spent the last hour watching your swing and slowing it down. Everything is beautiful, just watch that lead front toe. Make sure it doesn’t turn out before you connect with the ball. It’s the difference between a fly out and a home run.

  Milly: How does it feel hitting with a wooden bat? Is it everything you dreamt of?

  Milly: I like that you chose a black bat. Derek Jeter always had a black bat, and I thought that was classy for some reason.

  Milly: Does anyone ever say, ‘Can I get your autograph, Studmuffin?’ I would totally do that.

  Milly: ^^^ That’s a lie, I would never have the guts to say that, but it’s fun to pretend.

  Milly: Miss you, Stone.

  * * *

  SEPTEMBER

  “Where are you going?” Knox asks, approaching me with his bagful of locker room crap. The season is over, we weren’t called up for the end of the regular season in the majors, so now we go home.

  But where’s home?

  “Staying here. Extending my rent. Training.”

  “Everyone’s leaving. You’ll be alone.”

  “So?” I shove three pairs of athletic shorts in my duffel bag.

  “You barely talk as it is. If you’re here alone, you’ll go crazy.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” I stand and toss a few rolls of tape into my bag as well.

  Sighing, Knox comes to the side of my locker and says, “Dude, I love you, you know that, right?”

  “Where’s this going? I need food, and I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

  “You don’t seem to have time for anything but baseball. There’s life outside of baseball.”

  “Not for me.”

  “What about Milly?”

  “What about her?” I ask, checking my locker for anything I might be missing.

  “Where are things with her? Have you answered any of the texts she’s sent you? I see them piling up on your phone.” He points to my screen where there are two text messages waiting for me.

  “She’ll get the point.” I’ve closed my mind to Milly. I don’t read her texts or her emails. She has to stay nonexistent in my mind, so I have no fucking idea why she keeps contacting me.

  Knox groans in frustration and says, “You’re coming home with me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I already told my mom you are. Are you really going to upset Mama G after everything she’s done for you? After all the games she sat in the stands and cheered for you, all the treats she made you? Are you going to stand her up?”

  For a brief moment of weakness, I let Knox’s word penetrate my emotional forcefield. Mama G has been the one and only person who shouted my name louder than anyone I knew while I was playing. She was a second mom to me during college and for the life of me, I can’t disappoint her.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?” Knox asks in surprise.

  “Yeah, but I’m not talking about my feelings and all that bullshit. I’m training and that’s it.”

  “We can make that happen.” Knox picks up my bag and his and throws his arm over my shoulder. “Texas, here we come.”

  * * *

  “Hey Carson, it’s me. I can’t believe the season is over. I was calling to congratulate you on an awesome start to your professional career. The Bobbies totally made a terrible decision not calling you and Knox up for the extension of their roster. They’ll regret it. Next year though, right? What are your off-season plans? Are you coming back to Chicago? Let me know if you’re in town. I’d love to see you.”

  * * *

  NOVEMBER

  “It’s been a dream having you boys here,” Mama G says, putting biscuits, gravy, and chicken in front of us. “My house has never looked better. Seriously the paint job on the fence makes me cry every time I look at it. It’s beautiful.”

  “What do you have for us to do tomorrow?” I ask, digging into my meal.

  Knox and I have been doing manual labor for the past two months, and it’s given me muscles I never knew existed. The gym can do a lot, but being outside, breathing in fresh air, tossing hay into a truck, it does something to a man, gives him a clearer head, more of a purpose.

  My days have been simple. Chores in the morning, practice in the afternoon, chores at night, eat, and then go to bed. Repeat. The first week, I was so exhausted, I could barely lift my body out of bed, but now, I wake up before the alarm clock and am out of bed ready to go before Knox even opens his eyes.

  We’ve been helping Mama G’s neighbor with his horses and cattle on some days and others we’ve been fixing up Mama G’s house. Knox has taken some days off, complaining that he can’t keep up with me, but I have the drive to get things done, to make sure I don’t have to stop to think. Constant motion, it’s what gets me from day to day without breaking down.

  “I was thinking we go into town, have an off day?”

  I shake my head. “I’m good, I have to train.”

  “Sweetie”—Mama G places her hand on my forearm—“you need a break.”

  I can’t snap at Mama G like I snap at Knox, so I hold back the quick retort and take a deep breath. “There’s no need for me to go into town. You two go ahead though.”

  “We want to treat you to lunch, show you some good barbeque. You’ve been working relentlessly.”

  “It’s how I prefer it.”

  “Carson, you need to—”

  “Mom,” Knox says. From the corner of my eye, I see him shake his head no and she quietly backs away, keeping her opinions to herself, making me feel like complete shit.

  The silence between us is usually comfortable, but right now, it’s painful, and I don’t know how to fix it other than setting my fork down and lifting to my feet.

  “I’m actually feeling unwell. I’m heading upstairs. Thanks for dinner, Mama G.”

  “Oh Carson, you don’t—”

  She doesn’t get to finish, because I’m already up the stairs headed to the bedroom I’ve been camping out in. I flop on the bed and stare at the ceiling as my phone buzzes in my pocket. A text, most likely from Milly.

  A knock on my door startles me and Knox’s voice comes from the other side. “Hey, I brought your food up here. It’s on the floor if you want it. Sorry about my mom being pushy. See you tomorrow, bud.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and listen to Knox make his way back downstairs before grabbing the food from the hallway that’s been replenished.

  I don’t deserve this kind of treatment and yet, I can’t get myself to leave either. There’s nowhere to go anyway.

  * * *

  JANUARY

  Hey Carson,

  Happy New Year.

  Finally heard through the grapevine that you’ve been staying with Knox in Texas. That sounds like fun. Does he live on a ranch? For some reason, I’m picturing you riding a horse and it’s hysterical in my head. Have you ridden a horse? Did you wear a cowboy hat while doing it? Please say yes.

  We’re opening the new facility in a week, just in time for “spring training” and I can’t wait to see everyone’s reactions. We have so many coaches lined up to train their athletes in the new cages and on the turf, we are already booked up. Don’t worry though. I saved a cage for myself.

  When I was looking around the new space, it reminded me of all the good times we had in the batting cages.

  I know you said we were over, that you were training and focusing on that, but it doesn’t take a long time to answer a text message. I just don’t get why you haven’t talked to me.

  I don’t mean to get girly on you, but is it something I did? I hope I didn’t hurt you in any way and not even realize it.

  Anyway, if you can, write me back, text me back, call me back. Any of those would work.

  I miss you, Carson.

  Milly.

  * * *

  APRIL

  Milly: Saw you hit your first cycle in the minors. That’s awesome. Congrats.

  Milly: Cory said you’ve moved up to Triple-A with Knox and there are rumors of you coming up to the majors this year. Is that true? If you do, let me know. I’ll drop everything to be at that game cheering for you.

  Milly: Miss you, Carson.

  * * *

  “This is fucking bullshit,” I say, slamming my suitcase on the floor and popping open a beer before flopping down on the couch I share with Knox. “I get called up, don’t play, and then sent back down to this hellhole? What the fuck?”

  “It’s how the game is played. Rivera is still viable at second on the Bobbies. They’re not about to get rid of him just yet.”

  “He sucks,” I spit out, my anger taking over. “He can barely fucking bunt. They need him gone.”