1. Nico
one
Nico
Present Day
The thwack of balls hitting bats and gloves is sweet, sweet music to my ears.
I love the lull between seasons, when we get back to fundamentals and it’s nothing but baseball. Hitting, throwing, catching, sliding, running. The adrenaline of it all is my drug.
This is my second season with the Evaders, and I’m finally getting a feel for all the guys. They’re good dudes. Most of them have been on the team for a while and have already built strong relationships with each other. That doesn’t stop them from including me in their shenanigans.
I glance over at Cameron Miller—or Cam, as we all call him—our number one pitcher, in the cage beside me.
I shake my head in disbelief. It’s still hard to believe my sister, Talia, fell for that pretty boy and is going to marry him next month.
It’s just my luck that she fell for the one guy I used to hate, for most of my career.
“Sup, Romero?” Cam greets me with a chin nod as he warms up his arm with our number two catcher, Lucas Snell, squatting for him.
I’m thankful for the break. My thirties are finally catching up with me. The cracks and pops in my knees and hips get louder with each passing season. I’ve even started slipping yoga into my workout routine to help with my mobility and ease the aches. Gotta admit it’s working.
“Nothing. Just thankful I’m out of rotation today. I hate catching for your slow ass,” I tease.
Snell chuckles behind his mask as Cam barks a laugh. “You only hate catching for me because your hand can’t handle my heat.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, pretty boy.” I roll my eyes at him.
Cam flips me off. “Don’t make me rat you out to your sister.”
“Big baby,” I mumble. Talia would be up my ass if she knew how much I still love to give her fiancé shit. It’s just too easy, and old habits die hard.
Before he went behind my back and fell in love with my sister, I had vowed to hate him for all eternity. While it’s not always easy between us, we’re getting there. The fucker has grown on me like a fungus. I don’t hate him. Anymore.
Cam’s just too damn nice to hate. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a cocky dick sometimes, but the way he looks at Talia—like she’s an angel sent from heaven—has earned my respect.
I like that we’ve gotten to a place where our good-natured ribbing is just that—fun. Just because he’s going to be my brother-in-law doesn’t mean he gets a free pass to be my buddy.
Cam might think my sister shits rainbows, and has her name tattooed on his chest to prove his commitment, but he’s not out of the woods yet. Have to keep him on his toes, you know?
I do a couple more spinal rotations as I watch our first baseman, Lance Taylor, hit a few more balls from the tee. His stance is solid. Full weight on his back leg as he steps through. His swing is perfect.
“Looking good, Cap.”
Lance groans. “Not you too, Romero.”
“Don’t act like you don’t like it. You’re our capitán,” Cam says beside me in a Spanish accent. We chuckle at Lance’s frowning face.
“Whatever, dickhead. Concentrate on where you’re throwing that ball, or I’ll make your ass run laps.” Lance’s threat falls on deaf ears.
“Happy to.” Cam blows a kiss and wiggles his eyebrows at Lance, making me laugh. Everyone on the team knows Cam’s the Energizer bunny. That guy can run for days without breaking a sweat.
I move onto dry swings as Lance grabs his bat and gear, clearing the space for me to step in.
I’m the number four hitter in the rotation, which means my job is to clean the bases.
I take my job seriously. My record proves it.
Last season I led the league with fifty-six home runs, and this year my goal is sixty.
Blake Jensen, who plays third base, steps up to the netting behind me and hooks his fingers through the holes. “Yo, Nico. Reed tells me you’re coming to Cam’s bachelor party. Is that wise?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I exhale and smack the ball off the tee a little more aggressively than I should.
I don’t want to go, but my sister is making me. She thinks it will be good for me to hang out with Cam and his friends. They are a decent group of guys. Even Cam. Just don’t tell my sister I said that.
“Maybe because he’s planning it, and that means strippers.” The duh implied in Blake’s tone makes me want to use his ass as my next ball.
Everyone knows that Reed McKay, our shortstop—and Cam’s closest friend—is the biggest manwhore on the planet.
Not that I’m judging. I’m no fucking saint.
But I’m damaged as fuck. It’s par for the course when your father pulls a Houdini in the middle of the night.
I don’t know what McKay’s deal is, but I’m not the prying type. I mind my own fucking business.
“And Talia will have strippers too,” Cam interjects, shocking me.
“The fuck?” I drop the bat, and it clatters to the floor as I grill Cam with my stare. Lance and Blake burst out laughing. I point at Cam and glare. “Talk.”
“Not my fault Talia didn’t tell you about it, Dad.” His dig rings true. I practically raised my little sister.
Which is why I glower. “Strippers? What the fuck, Miller?”
“Chill, Nico. I want her to have the full experience. She has spent most of her life at school or at the hospital. She needs to let loose. Go a little crazy for one night. I trust her to have fun and come home to me.”
See? That’s what I’m talking about. It makes me respect the fuck out of him.
Fucking bastard.
“I still don’t like it,” I grump.
That’s my baby sister, and the idea of her—and most likely my cousins—getting sweaty dicks pressed into their faces makes me want to punch said dicks.
“Hey, you bunch of hens. Quit clucking and get back to work,” Coach Anson shouts as he claps his hands. He glares at us from across the room. If looks could kill, we’d be dead.
Anson is an amazing manager. As a retired Hall of Fame baseball player, he knows about the hard work that goes into making it to the end, and he pushes us to be our best every time we step into the locker room.
“Well? What the fuck are you waiting for? Get your asses moving.”
I see past our Tom Selleck-looking manager’s scowl when his bushy-ass mustache twitches. He looks all too happy that I’m getting along with everyone on the team. To say I had a rough start with the Evaders last season is an understatement.
“Sorry, Skip.” The five of us respond in unison, and for the next two hours, we go back to our training.
I push all thoughts of strippers aside and focus on baseball.
We look fucking good.
All my teammates are putting in the work.
I see back-to-back World Series in our future.
I want to win at least one more trophy. My days behind the plate are getting shorter, and I want at least one more before I’m done.
No matter how hard I train, injuries can happen.
I’m in my mid-thirties, and still playing professionally at this age is a blessing.
A blessing I look forward to every year.
I’m buzzing for the new season to start. It won’t be long.
Only a couple more weeks until we’re in Arizona for spring training, and this year, instead of staying with Cam at his condo, I’ll be sharing a house with Reed, Lance, and Blake.
It should be a good time.
As I finish my weight training session, I look around for my friend Pedro Serrano. Pedro was the rookie pitcher last season and, to my ire, he’s not around. Again.
The kid had a great run until he pulled something in his elbow. He’s been rehabbing it, but as a pitcher, an injury like that is hard to come back from. It’s a good thing he has age on his side. He’s only twenty-five, and the Evaders take care of their own.
I wipe the sweat off my face as I take a seat in front of my locker. I thank the trainer, who hands me a protein shake, and slug it back. Thank fuck it’s chocolate today. I fucking hate the vanilla flavor.
Reed walks over with a grin on his face. “Bachelor party is all booked, gents. I hope you’re ready to have some fun.”
“Naked chick fun.” I let out a beastly growl at Blake’s joke. He’s a good guy, but he’s always putting his foot in his mouth. To be expected, since he’s the youngest and the loudest out of our little group.
Our group?
When the hell did that happen?
Heath Erikson, our second baseman, and the only one of us that’s married, smacks Blake upside his head. “Dude, watch it. Or one day Romero’s going to kick your ass.”
“Or punch you in the face.” Reed mockingly punches his chin, referring to the time I punched Cam for dating my sister behind my back.
I flip him off, and the room erupts in laughter. Even Cam is laughing.
“Fuck you guys. That was one time. And in my defense, Cam deserved it.”
“True. And I’m still not sorry.” Cam blows me a kiss.
Reed and Blake return to chatting about their plans as Heath and Lance change.
Cam turns to me. “Are you still good to pick up Talia from work for family dinner tonight?”
“Yep.”
“Thanks, bro. I’ll meet the two of you there.” His phone rings, and a goofy, love-sick smile spreads across his face as he answers his phone and purrs, “Hey, itty bitty.”
Barf. I do not need to hear whatever gooey bullshit Cam’s about to spew at my sister.
I turn my back on him and grab my toiletries bag to shower. It’s the Romero family dinner night, and the only thing I’m looking forward to is Zia Rose’s spicy manicotti. No wedding talk.
My phone buzzes with a text from my best friend and agent, Damien Barnes.
We’ve been thick as thieves since we were on the same travel baseball team in middle school. We even went to the same college, and afterwards I invested in his sports management agency.
I know most people think he’s arrogant and materialistic, but he was there for me when we were teens.
And while I know Damien is an acquired taste, I understand where he’s coming from.
Like me, Damien was raised by a single mother and had to deal with having a dead-beat dad like I did growing up. Sharing that experience bonded us.
Swiping open the notification, I read his text.
Damien: Have to cancel meeting the with the athletic wear company. Will reschedule soon. Check ya later.
I repress the anger bubbling in my chest. This is the third time he’s rescheduled an important meeting. What the fuck is D up to?
Things have been a little rocky between me and Damien since Talia started dating Cam. Not sure why, but Damien has always had my back, so why stop trusting him now? I text him back one word—fine—and make a note to get in touch with him soon.
My phone buzzes again in my hand with a new text. Already annoyed at my interaction with my best friend, I can’t help rolling my eyes as I read who the latest message is from.
Alessia: Hey sexy. Come by tonight for some action. I miss you.
My skin crawls at the thought of seeing her.
I need to cut the girl loose. She’s caught feelings.
Feelings I do not reciprocate. This is exactly why I don’t kiss the women I fuck.
They get the wrong idea. In a moment of drunken weakness, I didn’t pull away from Alessia when she kissed me the last time we were at the club hanging out.
I know it’s a dick move, but my fingers fly across the screen and hit send before I think better of it. Better just to rip off the Band-Aid.
Sorry, A. Won’t be coming through anymore. I’m not interested in more. Hope you find what you’re looking for.
I then block her number and ignore the pang of guilt sitting like a weight in my stomach. I’m such a dick. At least I didn’t ghost her like the last chick who caught feelings.
That’s an improvement.