Chapter 31 Jed
THIRTY-ONE
JED
I lean against the wall outside the locker room, drawstring bag over my shoulder, while I wait for Nebs.
We both ended up staying late after today’s afternoon game.
Hughes, our reliever today, and Nebiolo have been struggling with their rhythm.
Hughes only just got called up to Triple-A, so they haven’t had much time to learn each other yet.
I’m still here because I got pulled in for the post-game interview. Since I’ve been on such a hot-streak it’s been happening a lot lately. Always fielding the same questions.
“Do you feel like you’re making a strong case for a call-up this year?” I sure fucking hope so.
“Take us through that at-bat when you went deep in the sixth? What did you see in that pitch—looked like you read it perfectly?” That one always kills me.
Every reporter wants the same story, like I can explain what my brain did in a fraction of a second.
Unless a pitcher gives a tell or a pattern, it’s all gut instinct.
That at-bat wasn’t any different from any other.
And, of course, the inevitable question about my arm. “Seems like the arm’s back to full strength; any lingering soreness or tightness?”
I offered to give Nebiolo a ride so Winters and Shane didn’t have to stick around, and I was planning on heading over there anyway.
It’s where I’ve been spending most of my time.
The last few days have been dizzying. We had a doubleheader two days ago to make up for a rain delay, then a night game that went into extra innings yesterday.
I’ve barely had a chance to breathe. But when I have…
I’ve been making sure each breath is as full of Shane Michaels as possible.
Nebs strolls out of the locker room and gives me a nod. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”
I push off the wall, and we head for the parking lot. “No problem. I don’t mind.”
“Think the coaches wanted to take advantage of having such an early game and keep me here just as late as usual,” he jokes.
First pitch was thrown just after noon today. A rare early game for us. Which means, even staying as late as we did today, it’s not even four yet. So. Much. Time. With Shane.
“Are you and Hughes feeling better?”
“Getting there. I’m reading him better. Still don’t have all his signs figured out. It’s harder with him being a closer. We just don’t get a ton of time together.”
I slide into the front seat of my car, and Nebiolo hops into the passenger side. “It’ll come soon. That adjustment period can be shaky. Just look at me and Michaels.”
I check my phone quickly before we leave, and there’s a new message from Shane.
Sunshine
Hey Storm Cloud. Can you let me know when you’re on your way? I’ve got some things in the works for Nebs and need to make sure everything’s set before he’s home.
Hmm. What is Shane Michaels up to? I’ve heard quite a few stories now, and I know to be suspicious. At least in this instance it’s Nebiolo who needs to be worried and not me.
Me
We’re leaving the complex now. Should I be nervous?
Sunshine
Nope. But keep it on the DL with Nebs.
Damn. Now I’m curious. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.
I glance at Nebs before I go to back out of my spot and freeze. He’s full-on Cheshire cat grinning at me. “The fuck is that for?”
“I know exactly how you and Michaels got adjusted to each other.” He bounces his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes as I drive out of the parking lot and hit the road. “I swear, the maturity level between the three of you is probably equivalent to a sixteen-year-old. And that’s me being generous.”
Nebiolo snorts. “Accurate. But also…I think it’s nice, goofing-off, ribbing each other, keeping things light. We can be serious—I don’t think you’ve witnessed that yet—but we are when it counts. There’s something to be said for being a kid at heart.”
He’s got me there. It’s one of my many favorite things about Shane. And I’m fully aware many favorite things doesn’t make sense. But I can’t pick one thing, so, you know what? Fuck it. They’re all my favorite.
Nebs clears his throat. “Speaking of being serious…”
That sounds ominous.
“What are your intentions with Shane?” he barks at me.
Some kind of strangled noise slips from me before I can stop it. “Excuse me? Wh-What?”
“I need to make sure you’re good enough for my boy. Make your case. You have two minutes. Go.”
“Um. Easy there, Nebs. Weren’t you and Winters the ones pushing me and Shane together? You literally kicked him into my lap the other night. And now you’re giving me the third degree?”
“One minute forty-five seconds.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I say under my breath.
I glance quickly at Nebs before looking back at the road—and damnit, the guy’s face is dead serious. My heart is racing—which is ridiculous—but his glare is burning into the side of my face.
And the thing is. If there is even a sliver of a chance that this could impact my chance with Shane, I refuse to blow it.
Nebiolo tsks. “The silence is telling, Pebs.”
“I’m not sure what we’re doing,” I burst out.
“But it’s not casual, okay?” I look at him quickly before moving back to the road.
“Not on my end. Some things have clicked for me since your and Winters’s extremely unsubtle meddling.
Like why I couldn’t get Shane out of my head even before we hooked up.
Like why I couldn’t resist him even though I knew it wasn’t the smart choice to mess around with a teammate. Because I’m not messing around.”
He hmphs at me. “Thirty more seconds.”
Jesus fucking Christ. I wipe my palm on my joggers.
“It’s been a long time since my life has been anything but the drag of routine, just a loop of practices, games, and sleep. Motion without meaning. I didn’t think emotions besides anger were even possible for me anymore.”
My fists tighten on the steering wheel, and I clear my throat.
Here we go. “Losing my dad…fucking broke my heart. Broke me. There was no repairing me, no salvaging the pieces into something that could feel again. I haven’t felt anything in so goddamned long—” My throat strangles my words, and I swallow hard. “Until Shane.”
We might not have discussed specifics, and we might not be ready to have that conversation any time soon, but there’s something here, something real between us.
“He’s the first time I’ve been excited about anything in seven years. I’m holding on to that.” That ray of light. Sunshine.
We drive in silence, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Nebiolo finally breaks the uncomfortable quiet. “Damn,” he whispers.
“You asked,” I grit out.
“No, Stone. Not a bad damn—an impressed damn. Maybe a heavy damn. I’m sorry. I know it’s paltry, but I am.”
I nod stiffly.
“After all that—” His hands wave in my periphery. “It’s clear you’re already aware of this, but Shane is really fucking special. He’ll do anything for the people he cares about, including sacrificing himself. He deserves to have someone who puts him first.”
I couldn’t agree more. “Yeah, he does.”
“Good. Then consider this the dad talk. You hurt him. I hurt you. Just so you know, I own a shotgun.”
“What?” My voice cracks.
“I’m just kidding—about the gun. Isn’t that what all dads say to their kids’ new boyfriends?”
“You guys are something else,” I mutter, and he laughs. Just like that, the tension is gone.
I pull into their driveway, and he claps me on the shoulder before opening the door. “Good talk.”
Yeah, good’s one word for it. But something in my chest swells. Shane deserves to have people in his corner.
We walk up to the front door, and the moment Nebs opens it, I’m smacked in the face with the delicious aroma of cumin and garlic. We step into the entry—and stop dead in our tracks.
Off-key humming mixes with the clank of dishes as Shane bops around the kitchen.
He’s a mix of wild butt-wiggles and enthusiastic hip thrusts as he puts the dishes he must have just washed away.
His hair is half-up in a topknot, earbuds in, and he’s wearing a loose beachy tank the color of sunset that has palm trees on it.
His gray sweats are bunched up below the knee where they meet his bright pink socks—socks that match the exact shade of pink on his sunset shirt. He looks ridiculous.
Ridiculously cute.
He hums louder and breaks into song. “These bros can’t suck like me.” Thrust. “These bros can’t suck like me.” Ass-wiggle. “These bros can’t suck like me.” Double-thrust. “Mmm-mmm. I’m the sucking queen.”
“What the literal fuck?” Nebiolo says.
Shane turns and catches sight of us. His face splits into a smile. “You’re here!”
I wince. His yell is so loud, it’s an assault on the ears.
He chuckles and taps his earbuds, then quickly pockets them. “Sorry. That song is my fucking jam. Kim Petras’s ‘Slut Pop Reprise’. I just discovered it, and I’m obsessed.”
“I have so many questions,” I murmur.
“Me too,” Nebs says to me from the corner of his mouth. “But I don’t know if I want to know the answers.” He turns a smile on Shane and heads into the kitchen. “Glad you’re vibing, man. It smells fucking delicious in here. Thanks for cooking. I can help put the rest of this away.”
“Don’t you want to drop your bag in your room first?” Shane says and gives Nebs an exaggerated wink.
Nebs freezes. “Shane…”
“There’s a surprise for you upstairs,” Shane sings.
Oh shit. I forgot about that. I wonder what—I blink. Because Nebs is already stampeding up the stairs, and I’m pretty sure if he moved any faster, he would have left dust clouds in his tracks.
“I swear to fucking God, Shane,” his voice carries downstairs. “If it’s not what you just made me think it is—Shelby!”
A door slams, cutting off the rest of Nebiolo’s exclamation. Shane grins at me. He puts his hands on his heart and lets out a wistful sigh. “Oh, to be young and in love.”
I bite my lip against a foolish grin. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
His blue eyes glimmer playfully at me. “I think you like it.”
Yeah, I really fucking do.
“So, Neb’s surprise…?”