Chapter 11
Amir
Remi’s eyes were getting darker by the day.
When we were at the apartment, he locked himself away, but I didn’t believe that he slept at all.
Somehow, he kept up appearances when we were at practices, and during the first game, he stood at his seat and cheered for me every time I was at bat.
He didn’t have a clue how baseball worked, but he did his best.
I knocked on his door and rocked back on my heels. He opened it after a few seconds with hair that needed to be brushed.
“Hey,” I said a little awkwardly.
“I’m a busy guy, Amir. What do you want?”
I removed a knife from my pocket and balanced it in my palm. The handle was sleek black, but the blade had an iridescent finish.
A smile curled his lips. “A duel?”
“No,” I scoffed. “I thought maybe it’d help.”
He flipped open the butterfly knife so smoothly that I figured he must’ve done it before. When he twirled it around, dancing it over his fingers, I decided to take a step back.
“Help with what?” he ventured, more subdued than usual.
I gestured at my eyes. He touched beneath his with a frown.
“And maybe consider it a peace offering,” I added. “For what I said the other day.”
“It didn’t bother me.”
“Sure, but it bothered me. I’m not a negative person, you know. You just . . .”
“Get on your nerves?”
I smiled. “I’ve been sort of defensive lately. Remember, I found you harboring a conniving journalist who wants to ruin my career.”
“Why does she hate you so much?”
I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my ankles. “I don’t know that she hates me. She’s always chased the worst stories. Maybe she hates her own life.”
“Or she hates gay people.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Sounds like a holy mission. Get ‘em all out of sports, because obviously, you don’t belong in such a manly profession.” He formed a cross with his fingers and made a show of stepping away from me. “Get back, demon. I don’t want to get infected the way Trav got you.”
A laugh escaped me, and it brought a softer smile to his face.
He held the closed knife against his chest. “Thank you.”
“Will it help?”
“I’m sleeping just fine.”
“Then give it back.” I held my hand out and lifted a taunting brow.
He flipped it open again and tapped the flat of the blade against his lip. “I don’t think so, baseball man. Stick to the bases and bullpens that you’re used to.”
“Are you saying I don’t know how to use it?”
“You held it like it was going to bite you.”
“A bat works just as well for home intruders.”
“Maybe, but I like it quick and dirty, not loud and crunchy.”
My nose scrunched up. “Thanks for that visual.”
“We all saw what happened to Glenn.”
“Never watched it, but I imagine you were on Negan’s side.”
“I don’t vote for the villains, and I don’t forgive them.” His head cocked. “Well, I have a few exceptions. Eren Yeager. Zuko. Frankenstein’s monster.”
“What about Vader?”
“Hell no. You know how many kids he killed? Although, we can argue that it was the systems of power, including the Jedi Order, that were the catalysts for the birth of most of the villains in their universe.”
“Interesting perspective. So, you’re not a redemption arc kind of guy.”
“Redemption arcs?” He gave a humorless laugh. “They read nice in fiction, but out here? I believe in realism. Some people are capable of change, but there’s such a thing as absolute evil. It’s up to each of us to determine where we draw the line by which forgiveness is no longer an option.”
When I pulled my lips to the side, he lifted a brow.
“Don’t agree?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Then you’ve never seen it in someone’s eyes.”
“Seen what?”
Something changed in his expression. From one moment to the next, he seemed to age years. “Evil, of course. A glimpse will freeze you to stone, and you’ll never forget what it felt like to view the wickedness that lives in a human soul.”
“Jesus. That’s . . . bleak.”
“You can plant flowers on a grave, but it won’t raise the dead. And me? I’ve never been much of a gardener.”
“After this conversation, maybe it’s not ludicrous to think I can forgive you for trying to bury me in the mud.”
“If you do that, I’ll have to find another way to wrong you.”
I offered a mock laugh as I took a few steps back. “You’re sort of impossible.”
“Oli thinks you’ll stash my lifeless body in a swamp.”
“We’ll see how the next few weeks go.” Taking a page out of his book, I winked at him before I turned around. “I’ve got practice in a few hours, but I think you should stay here and sleep.”
“And give you a chance to sneak around behind my back?” He snorted. “Not a chance.”
“Then take a nap. You look like shit.”
“Thanks, baby.”
I smiled as I opened the fridge to find myself something to eat.
I hadn’t seen him put much in his mouth recently, so I decided to cook something real.
If he did manage to fall asleep, I’d make him bring it with us.
Eating in the car was a crime, but I could probably make an exception, only because he’d likely be easier to deal with if he was fed and rested.
*****
Mal: I asked Mom if I can come see you.
Me: Oh yeah? What’d she say?
Mal: To ask you.
Adjusting in my seat, I considered how to answer.
There was never a time I didn’t want her to come to a game, or even my practices.
Anywhere I was, I wanted her around. But I’d set certain boundaries for this specific trip.
At the same time, it wasn’t fair to either me or Mal to go over a month without seeing each other.
Since I didn’t get enough time off during spring training to make a trip home, I’d have to adjust something.
Me: What game do you want to come to?
Mal: All.
Me: That sounds amazing, but Mom has work.
Mal: I’m never in the way.
Me: I know. I’m just too busy during training. Pick one for now, okay?
She sent a thumbs up. Knowing it was normal for her, I tried not to read into it.
Hands came down on my shoulders from behind, making me flinch. When I felt breath on my ear, I had the urge to shake him off, but at the same time, I was completely rooted to the spot.
“You look like you want to back out,” Remi said softly.
Like an idiot, I let my head tip back enough to look at him. It put our faces so close that our noses brushed.
“I don’t,” I replied.
Movement drew my gaze away from him. Renshu had his phone up as he took a picture. With an appreciative sound, he came up to me and flipped it around. The image was almost too good, the perfect mix of intimate and casual.
Remi’s fingers massaged my shoulder. “We look damn good together. Don’t we, Renshu?”
“You play the part well,” he agreed. “Let me get a couple more.”
“For what?” I asked.
“Your Instagram.”
“Do we have to do that?”
“Combined with this interview, it’ll completely shift the narrative. Nobody will be able to look at these and think you prowl bars at night.”
With a scoff, I leaned back. Remi looped his arms around my neck and perched his chin on my head. Renshu snapped more photos, then motioned for us to do something else. I gasped when Remi grabbed my hair and bit down playfully on my neck with a ridiculous growl.
“Amir,” Renshu said. “Look like you’re enjoying it.”
I tried to fake a laugh. Judging by the sound he made, it wasn’t believable.
“I’ll lick you if you don’t get it together,” Remi warned.
“You’d better not.”
His tongue swiped my cheek all the way across.
The shock faded to exasperation, but before I could decide how to react, he clutched the back of my neck and slammed his mouth against mine.
My hand hovered in the air for a moment, torn between pushing him away or pulling him closer.
I put it on his chest, then my fingers grasped the front of his shirt.
My lips parted, as if inviting him closer on instinct.
“That’s perfect,” Renshu said.
I pulled back abruptly, only to find Remi smirking. He gave me a wink, then sauntered over to Renshu. While he looked at the pictures, he spoke to him softly.
“I thought you’d be some old guy,” Remi admitted. “Not . . .” His eyes drank him in. Renshu noticeably flushed, and when he saw me watching, he excused himself.
I tucked my fingers under my thighs. “People could see you doing that.”
Remi looked at me innocently. “Doing what?”
“Flirting.”
“I was conferring with the PR man. It’s a major reach to assume anything else.”
“Mm. Maybe save the flirting for private.”
“Will do, baseball man.”
His answer didn’t satisfy me the way it should have. Thankfully, one of Clara’s worker bees slipped into the room and gestured for us to follow her.
Remi held his hand out. “United front?”
Though I had my doubts, I took it. His hand was larger than mine, and when he threaded our fingers, I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to feel comforted.
Once we were settled on a couch, I squinted at the way the lights hit me.
We were in one of the rooms at Fenway South where we spent our time training, so it didn’t feel as stuffy as going to a studio, but it wasn’t ideal either.
If it wasn’t raining outside, I would’ve pushed to throw the ball around while we did this, just to be more comfortable.
Clara, seated in a plush chair but sitting ramrod straight, crossed her legs. Her black heels looked ridiculous in this place, and I wondered if she knew how much of her thigh she had on display in her skirt.
“We’re going to be recording this,” she said, gesturing at the camera crew behind her. “We’ll cut it as needed, so if you say anything you don’t want included in the publication, let me know.”
I shared a look with Remi to confirm that neither of us believed in her honor.
“How’s Florida treating you?” Remi asked as he uncapped his water bottle. “Beats Boston in March, right?”
She smiled and faked a warm laugh. “Yes, I do love spring training.”
“You don’t live there, though, if I remember correctly. You travel north searching for stories.”
“I travel all over, Mr. Keane. That’s the nature of my job.”
“Where do you call home, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Dropping my voice low, I squeezed his fingers. “Let’s not drag this out.”