Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brayden
Sunday evening, we load onto the team plane: me, Savannah, Adler.
I’ve been playing baseball for most of my life.
This isn’t anywhere near my first road trip.
But everything feels new as we ascend the plane stairs with our carry-ons.
I turn back to Sav. She’s dressed for travel: a cropped sweatsuit that hugs the soft outline of her hips.
Her hair is in a loose braid. I spent the entire drive over wanting to untangle it to run my fingers through its strands.
You’re not really married. Something I remind myself of every day that we’re together: every time she’s hanging around the house in little shorts or bent over her desk, studying intently, or sipping a clear cocktail, or…
The list is a problem, not because of anything on it, but because there’s a list at all.
My hotel room felt empty on our last road trip.
I thought about going out, but going out would mean, inevitably, landing at a bar.
TV was boring. Video games were mostly fine, but Blake’s never around to play anymore.
My room had shared a wall with Adler’s, and I swear I could hear his every breath.
Just like I can feel him coming up the plane stairs right after me and Sav.
“Any seating preference?” she asks when we get on the plane.
“Wherever you want.” But when we get in, most rows—there are two lines of seats on each side of the aisle—are taken. Only a cluster near the front is open, two seats facing the cockpit and two facing backwards, an arrangement where players usually gather to play cards.
Savannah stops at a group of four seats, then reaches to grab her carryon.
I intercept her, grabbing her duffle bag and hefting it into the overhead bin. After I finish, she gives me a look. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” But she’s smiling.
That smile doesn’t last. We’re not the last people to board.
Adler is. He’s dressed like he always is for travel—not that I’ve noticed—a hoodie and low-slung joggers that must be made from some kind of weird fabric, because they cling.
Today’s hoodie is navy—so dark it looks black, except in direct light—and that weirdly makes his eyes look different. Worse, I correct myself.
His eyes aren’t the problem. Mine are, if I’m looking at him. I point my gaze up the aisle to where everyone is either already doubled up or defending their right to an extra seat. The only free row is the one directly across from Sav and me. Of course.
Adler doesn’t ask if he can sit with us, just puts his bag up in the bin next to Savannah’s—without asking—then drops himself into the seat opposed to ours. Now we’re going to spend the rest of the flight looking at each other. Fantastic.
“Hey, Asher,” Savannah says. Asher. I hate that she calls him that. I hate that she calls him anything.
“Hey, p—” Adler cuts himself off, then gets that fucking smirk. “Hey, Savannah.”
“Great, everyone’s here.” I sit. A second later, they both follow suit.
“First team road trip?” Adler asks Savannah once we’re seated.
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Yes.”
“Lots of dead time on these things.”
Savannah holds up a packet of what look like articles written in dense text, composed of words I don’t understand. “I came prepared.”
“Hope that’s not all you brought,” Adler says, and I don’t have a chance to ask him what the fuck he’s getting at, when he adds, “Wouldn’t want you to get bored.”
Savannah doesn’t respond, just pores over her articles—good. Her cheeks are flushed—less good. Maybe I should tell the flight crew to turn on the air.
A few minutes later, Adler’s phone buzzes. He pulls it from his hoodie pocket, studies the screen, shoulders expanding as if he’s breathing deeply on purpose. I watch him for two more cycles of breath.
He glances up too fast for me to pretend I wasn’t looking. “Meditation app,” he says.
“Oh.” I wouldn’t have expected that. I think about the late-night run I took last week. If I kept putting one foot in front of the other, I wouldn’t need—want—a drink. “Does that…work?”
Adler shrugs. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he looked embarrassed. “Depends on what you’re using it for.”
“What’s it called—the app, I mean?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I could ask someone else on the team, or Google it, I guess.
For a moment, Adler’s eyebrows pinch like he thinks I’m making fun of him. But he tells me the name of the app.
I download it as the plane takes off, set up an account. A screen pops up. What’s on your mind? Options: Wanting to manage stress. Wanting to sleep better. Wanting to feel more in control.
Next to me, Savannah is still reading, pen scribbling in the margins. Every so often, the ends of her hair brush my arm. Even that little bit of contact feels overwhelming. She pauses in her reading and looks up at me, green eyes wide, lips parted in question.
“Am I putting too much weight on you?” she asks.
Not enough. I can’t say that, so I tighten my arm around her instead. “How’s the reading?”
“Hard.”
“You got it, though.”
She laughs a little ruefully. “I might have it.” She nestles her head against my arm and goes back to studying.
Across from us, Adler has abandoned his meditation app in favor of looking at us.
For a second, he just holds my gaze and then he nods, as if he approves of whatever he sees.
Normally, I’d tell him to mind his own fucking business, but with Savannah leaning against me, close enough I can smell the faint rose scent of her perfume, things feel… different.
I go back to the meditation app and select my option from the list.
Trying something new.