20. JAXON
20
JAXON
By day three of practice, the temperature outside is slightly warmer, and Coach has us out on the practice field instead of inside. I prefer it to doing drills in the gym, though, so even if my nuts are halfway to frozen, I’ll deal with it in exchange for the fresh air and sense of home I get being out in the yard.
The relief pitchers are off doing drills with Assistant Coach Rexford while Coach Kimball has the starters under his watchful eye. Currently, three of us are lined up across from catchers while the remaining two take a short rest.
Alexander crouches opposite me, at the ready about sixty feet away. I’m capable of a wide variety of pitches, but today we’re focusing on two-seam fastballs, sinkers, and circle changeups. That’s all good with me. They’re easier on my arm. Alexander catches my fastball, pops up, and wings it back at me.
Travis and Owen are currently observing, hands in warmers to ward off the chill. Greyson is throwing beside me, and Logan is on his other side. I’m fucking watching my stepbrother like a hawk. The way he winds up, lifting his lead leg and bending the back one, the rotation of his hips, it all looks good. He really has great understanding of the transfer of energy that needs to happen to execute a good fucking pitch, but it’s not my job to pat him on the fucking back. As I continue observing, his leg straightens, extending through his ankle, knee, and hip. Twisting around, his momentum provides the power necessary to unleash the ball. Thwap. It lands in John’s glove, a senior catcher.
“Wicked circle changeup, man. It’s got good movement before it breaks down and away. I like it,” John hollers as he nabs another of Logan’s balls. He’s taken a liking to that prick already. Pisses me off, because he completely fucking ignored me when I was a freshman last year. Well, what the fuck ever. It’s not like I’m not used to everyone fawning over Logan. And I’m doing just fucking fine.
I work my jaw to the side. Figures Logan would be better now than he was as a junior. I should have known. And the hell of it is, Coach is paying attention, too.
“Jaxon, get your damn head in the game. Let’s see something outta you today,” he growls as he paces back and forth, watching the balls being released and the subsequent catches. His eyes flick to me. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?”
Fuck. “No, Coach. I’m on it.” I give myself a quick shake before bringing my glove up under my chin, fingers curling around the ball until I’ve got them positioned for a fastball, two fingers between the seams. I wind up and send it hurtling through the air.
“Impressive velocity. Keep doing that,” Coach grunts before he moves on to have a look at Greyson, who’s throwing beside me.
Logan eyes me for a second, then turns around to get back to work. He’s got decent concentration, I’ll give him that. We manage another couple pitches, then we rotate. It’s time for both Logan and me to have a break, so we head over to the bench. I pull my hoodie on and shove my hands in the front pocket where the warmer is. Letting the heat soak into my skin. I draw in a deep breath of the crisp air, and my eyes follow Logan as he joins me. He tucks his hands under his armpits.
I frown at the bandages on his hand, wondering what the fuck he did, but choose to ignore it in favor of focusing on the fact he’s going to freeze his fingers off. “Did you not at least bring gloves? ”
His head jerks in the negative. “Forgot my hand warmer pouch.”
Of course he has one of those pricey things. My own father probably fucking bought it for him. Rolling my eyes, I pull the cheap warmer out of my pocket—it’s just the kind that activates when exposed to air. They work well and last a long time. I chuck it at the back of his head.
It makes contact with a satisfying thud, like I knew it would, and he whirls toward me, a scowl on his face. “The fuck,” he grits out as his eyes dart from me to the packet at his feet.
“Calm down, pick that up, and keep your hands from freezing. I didn’t even throw it that hard.”
“Says the pitcher,” he growls with his jaw clenching as his eyes meet mine. I try my damnedest to remain impassive, to act like I wouldn’t rather throttle him here and now. His next exhalation comes out in a huff as he bends to snatch it up. Holding it between his hands, he stares at me long and hard with his lips pressed together before he finally mutters, “Thanks.”
“Sure. Doing my fucking best to separate you from the dickface who made Rya cry to my teammate who apparently isn’t smart enough to be prepared for the fucking cold out here.”
Logan’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there. He was unaware she was with me last night. And I’m guessing he doesn’t know the extent to which he upset her, either. Which means they probably haven’t spoken. A slow smile curves my lips. That’s all good news for me.
I pivot to the bench and dig through my bag for another hand warmer and tear the package open. As it hits the air, it begins to heat up, and when I’m satisfied with the temperature, I shove it and both hands into the pocket of my hoodie, then shift my gaze to watch Owen throw a bomb of a pitch. It hits the dirt a good six feet in front of Alexander, who scrambles as it bounces at him, biting out a curse. That grabs Coach’s attention, so he hollers at the pair of them, throwing his arms into the air. Not Alexander’s fault, but whatever.
I’m dutifully taking mental notes and thinking about my own pitching mechanics when I become aware of Logan’s piercing blue eyes on me like magnets drawn to iron. I don’t have a fucking clue whether he’s wondering about the small kindness I offered him or—more likely—what he doesn’t know concerning Rya’s current state of mind. Either way, I don’t particularly care.
He steps closer, his jaw locked and his chest rising and falling so fast, it’s curious how he hasn’t passed out or something. The fuck? Another step has him right beside me. Through gritted teeth, he spits, “Rya and I may be going through something right now, but the bottom line is she needs someone who is going to treat her right. That’s not you.”
My head rears back, then swivels to take him in. “Pretty sure you don’t have a fuckin’ clue what you’re talking about. If you treated her right, she wouldn’t have smacked you.” His mouth opens, then snaps shut, and I can’t help but smirk. “Didn’t think she’d tell me about that little exchange, did you?” I push my tongue out to wet my lips. “Well, guess what, motherfucker, there’s an awful lot about your girlfriend you don’t know. You really did a fucking number on her last night, though. Congrats. You fucked up. And I was there to pick up the pieces.”
Logan glances toward Coach and the other pitchers he’s monitoring, his entire body tense as he takes in the balls flying toward the catchers’ waiting gloves. Only a second later, his arm darts out, the heel of his hand slamming into the shoulder of my pitching arm.
It fucking hurts, but I grin at him all the same. A rough chuckle escapes me. “By the way when I said girlfriend , I actually meant those as two separate words. Girl. Friend. As in, a female friend, not someone you’re dating. Pretty interesting that you kept that to yourself and let me believe she was yours.” Flipping him my middle finger, I shake my head. “Gotta admit, it was fun thinking she was ditching you for me. But it works this way, too. ”
He turns, outright fury lacing his vision. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re up to, Jaxon.”
“Oh? And what’s that? Why don’t you go ahead and explain it to me,” I challenge with an arch of my brow.
“You’re purposely trying to drive a wedge between us just to spite me,” he bites out.
“You’re doing that all by yourself, asshole.”
His gaze narrows on me. “I’ll protect Rya with everything I have. Don’t mess around with her.” He shoves me again, but this time I anticipate his temper and brace myself against the outburst.
Stepping up to him so we’re close enough that I see the flecks of darker blue in his irises, I all-out snicker right in his face. One side of my mouth quirks into a menacing grin. “From what she told me, it sounded like she needed protecting from you last night. She sought me out after you were done acting like an ass.” His face goes ashen, and I don’t feel an ounce of remorse for implying I know more about their altercation than I really do… and also that she came looking for me afterward. The truth is, I was in the right place at the right time. Either way, in the end, she stayed with me because I made her feel safe. Period. There’s only room for one of us, dickweed.
Logan works his jaw to the side. “You don’t know fucking anything.”
I smirk. “Whatever you say. And just so you know, I was so busy making her feel better, it didn’t even bother me when I started getting weird fucking text messages from random chicks on our floor.” Wetting my lips, I shake my head. “Yeah. I figured you were behind that little stunt. Whatever. Didn’t matter much since I got to hold Rya all night long.”
A span of probably ten seconds goes by where we face off opposite each other, him fuming and me finding it very fucking funny. It doesn’t take much at all for me to goad him.
Unfortunately, one look at Coach Kimball’s face as he barrels toward us tells me I should have known better than to get into it right here. Fuck my life.
“Kent! Ledger! Guess the fuck what?” If we thought the two of us were ticked off at each other, that’s clearly child’s play compared to Coach’s wrath. He points a finger at us in turn. “The two of you? You’re stuck together like glue now. Training together. Riding together on the away bus. Going to the goddamn bathroom together like a couple of girls. You’re to be as close as each other’s shadow. If you can’t turn your head and feel the other one breathing down your neck, you’re doing it wrong! Get to fucking like each other, or you’re both off the team!” The mottled red color of his face and the way he’s blustering like his head is about to pop off both point to this not being the time to ask questions. He aims a look at the two of us as if he’s daring us to argue. “Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth, or do you need to piss me off more by making me waste my time on your sorry asses after practice?”
I’m quick to answer, as much as it pains me. “Yes, Coach Kimball. Will do.”
Logan’s head snaps toward mine, his face, pale. “Yes. Understood.”
“Good. Get off my field and take your bickering asses to the fucking locker room. You’ll be back at practice tomorrow, and when you show up, you’d better not let me catch a whiff of discord between you. Got it?” He holds up a hand before either of us can answer. “Go. Now.”
Mother. Fucker. Sweat pops out on my back despite the cold weather. I spin on my heel, snatch up my bag, and hoof it toward the building. Somewhere off to my left, Logan’s footsteps sound as he treks along a few paces behind.
We traverse the distance in silence, which is a good thing, because if he were to speak, I’d punch him in his fucking mouth. I crank the side door closest to the locker room open, not bothering to hold it for him, though he’s close enough to catch it.
I round the corner into the locker room, all up in my head. This is the first time I’ve ever been thrown out of practice. Coach and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I was finally getting somewhere. I’m one of the starters. And now he’s for sure second-guessing that decision. I chuck my duffel onto the bench near my locker, toe off my cleats, then divest myself of my practice gear with quick jerking motions. I launch each article of clothing into the locker until I’m naked. Irritated doesn’t begin to describe how I’m feeling.
While I’ve been stripping, Logan has come to a halt in front of his locker several down from mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he sits heavily on the bench, lowering his head to his hands. On a deep inhale, he peers at me, shaking his head before tearing his eyes away. He quickly unwraps his hand, and it’s then I get a good look at his knuckles. They’re swollen and probably painful. There’s even a butterfly bandage holding together some split skin. Shouldn’t have been practicing today, but that’s not my damn business. I’m surprised Coach didn’t say something or have a look at least. Rya didn’t mention his injury to me, but I’m betting she knows how it happened. Idiot probably punched a wall when he didn’t get his way. Honestly, I don’t give a shit how he fucking hurt himself, so long as he didn’t put his hands on Rya. Bad enough that he made her cry.
Asshole’s been burning down the world around him these last two days. I step forward to fetch my phone from the top shelf of my locker and open the thread of texts I started with him the other day. My lips twist, not feeling a twinge of remorse when I add the photo that I took last night and hit send. A second later, the muted sound of a vibrating phone sounds in Logan’s locker.
“You could at least say something. Since you’ve fucked us both over.” I work my jaw to one side as I stare daggers at him.
Not bothering to look over my way, he tugs his thermal shirt off over his head, then flings it in the direction of his locker. “Don’t have anything to say.”
“You know what? I have zero doubt you’re shitting yourself over what an idiot move that was.” I narrow my eyes. “You might have just cost both of us prime spots in the starting rotation this week.” I gesture to the locker where his phone waits with a notification of a text from me. “Consider that a tiny bit of fuckin’ payback then, dickweed. Proof I wasn’t lying.” I shake my head before digging my slides out of the bottom of my locker, slipping them on, then walking over to the shelf of fresh towels and grabbing one that I throw over my shoulder.
When I glance back in his direction, I fully expect to see him losing it when he gets a load of the photo of Rya asleep on my chest that I’d snapped last night.
But he’s not. He’s not even looking at the phone anymore. His eyes are pinned on me, roving all along my body, like he’s drinking me in. The lustful stare is like a bomb going off in my head. What the fuck is this?
I recall Rya’s words from last night. He couldn’t like… me … not like that.
Logan did something last night that upset her, and I assumed her confusion over it had something to do with them being friends. But now, as his gaze scorches my skin everywhere it lands, I don’t think that’s what she meant at all.