11. Chapter 11
“Austin, I couldn’t help but notice you look up to the crowd and pump your fist into the air after your game-winning RBI. Was there anyone in particular you were sharing that moment with?”
My hands are shaking beneath the table before the words are out of the reporter’s mouth.
I shouldn’t have done that.
It was a knee-jerk reaction. A moment I wanted to celebrate with my best friend.
With the girl I haven’t been able to get out of my head all game.
But if I had been thinking, I would’ve realized there would be a bunch of cameras focused on me.
That the press would do their job and ask questions.
Questions I can’t answer. At least, not truthfully.
I lean closer to the mic. “I was celebrating an exciting win with the fans.”
“So, there’s no special lady in attendance?”
I run my palms along my baseball pants, ready for the next question.
I’d rather answer about being the reason for a lost game than this.
“Every fan who came out to support us tonight was special—a part of this win. The energy in the stadium was tangible. The Fireflies are a tough team, but Fletch held the game close and gave us the opportunity to squeak out a win in the final inning.” I know everyone probably sees right through me.
I’m avoiding the question like I’m caught between two bases in a pickle and dodging every attempted tag.
Thankfully, the reporter takes my change in topic in stride. “Fletch threw well tonight, but you were on fire. Six hits in seven at bats for two RBIs and a run. What was the secret to your success tonight?”
Or we’re right back to square one. She’s obviously trying to get me to crack, to get a big story.
But I’m not one to share any information about my personal life.
I need to figure out what these big feelings I’m having for Alyssa are before I consider talking to her about them, let alone before the whole world discovers.
Besides, she’s interested in Rhett, and I’m not the kind of man to step in on another guy’s relationship.
“I was hitting well in practice this afternoon, too. Guess it was just my lucky day.”
The reporter finally moves on to questioning the rest of my teammates when she realizes I’m not going to give her a hit story. I feel like I can breathe again. That was close. Too close. I need to get my feelings in check. No more slipups.
I’m able to mostly sit back for the rest of our press time, then head for the locker room with the rest of my team.
“You need a long shower, Bradford.” Hayden pinches his nose and waves his other hand back and forth like he smelled something disgusting. “You were straight up nasty today.” He says the word nasty with a weird tone.
“Yeah, he was.” Dawson smacks my butt.
Cooper comes up beside me, carrying his catcher’s gear. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” I shake my head. Most of my teammates aren’t much younger than me, but I still have no idea what they’re saying. Maybe nasty means impressive in their new generational slang? Or I could just stink.
The rest of the team pinches their noses as I walk past and waves their hands in front of them. A few of the guys are shaking their butts as they do it. I grab my sweat towel hanging over my shoulder and throw it at Dawson as I pass him.
“Gross.” He lets it fall to the floor with a grimace.
“You’re the one who said I was nasty.”
Dawson shakes his head. “Hayden did. I just agreed.”
“Semantics.” We step into our state-of-the-art locker room that was refinished right before I got here.
It’s definitely a step up from what I had in the minors.
We each have our own locker space—it’s really more of a mini-closet—crafted out of wood with a metal rod for hanging our uniforms and cubbies for storing our personal effects during the game.
Our names and jersey numbers hang on metal plaques above each one.
Austin Bradford #13
I smile, remembering how excited Alyssa was when I told her my number was the same as Taylor Swift’s favorite number. It’s always been my lucky number ever since I wore it on my jersey in T-ball, but I appreciate it even more now that it makes Alyssa happy.
I throw my dirty uniform in the hamper that reeks more than a middle school boy’s locker room after gym class—and they called me nasty—before grabbing a quick shower.
I’m not sure what shampoo and conditioner they stock for us, but it leaves my hair softer than any brand I’ve ever bought for myself.
I guess that’s what you get in the majors—large lockers and fancy hair products.
I throw on a clean pair of underwear, black shorts, and a light-gray muscle tee before returning to my locker.
I add a few swipes of deodorant and a spritz of cologne, sit in the leather chair the team provides for each player, and pull on a pair of socks and my tennis shoes before throwing everything I need to take home in my duffel.
I grab my phone and call out to the guys, “See you guys tomorrow.”
“Have fun out there.” Hayden wiggles his brows.
I step into the tunnel, where loved ones wait to see us after each game, right as Fletch starts to mime something not worth repeating. I roll my eyes and pull the door shut behind me.
I smile when I find Alyssa in her usual spot. I love how she always shows up to games in her usual style, but she never fails to wear something white with a maroon silk scarf in her hair to match the Mustangs colors.
When I reach her, she wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes. “You were amazing out there.”
I hug her to me, loving the feel of her in my arms. “Thanks, I had a lucky game.”
She pulls back to look up at me, her blue eyes sparkling. “No, it’s talent.”
“Lots of practice,” I counter.
She playfully swats my arm. “We could do this all day.”
I smile at her. “Bring it on.”
She looks away for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough for me to notice the playfulness fade from her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I rub a hand along her arm.
Alyssa looks at everyone around us celebrating as their player comes out of the locker room and shakes her head. Her long blonde waves flow with the movement. “It’s nothing.”
I place my hand on her lower back, feeling protective as I lead her down the tunnel toward the parking lot.
The more I’ve thought about things since my chat with the guys, the more I’ve realized how big of an idiot I was.
How blinded I was by my career ambition that I didn’t see the perfect thing right in front of me. Her.
It’s warm when we step outside, but at least the humidity has calmed down since the sun has set. We reach my Ford Escape in my assigned parking spot, and I lean against it and look at Alyssa. She won’t meet my gaze. “Come on, Lyssa. Talk to me.”
“I don’t want to ruin your night.” She kicks a rock by her shoe and stares at the pavement.
I gently grab her chin and tilt her head until our eyes meet. “It will only be ruined if I’m up all night worrying about you.” I sigh dramatically and drop my hand. “My brain is going to come up with the worst-case scenarios.”
Alyssa shoots me a look. “We should be talking about your game-winning hit.”
I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out to her. “I don’t care about that right now.” I just care about you. “Just talk to me about whatever it is like it’s one of your terrible date stories.”
“You’re not far off,” she mutters.
“Trouble in paradise with Rhett?” I try to keep my voice even.
An emotion I can’t name flickers across her features. “No. No, he’s great. But I ran into someone right outside of the box suite.”
I press my lips into a firm line. “Who?” The word comes out in a growl. If reporters somehow got up there and interviewed her, I’m going to have some very strong words for security.
She sighs. “Bianca, Bradley, and his parents.”
I run a hand over my stubble. “What did they say to you?”
“They basically implied how crazy it is that I have a plus-one to the wedding.”
I grit my teeth. I hate that she ever dated that man. I hate that they speak to her that way. I hate that her cousin is so horrible. But, most of all, I hate that I wasn’t right there with her to hold her hand and stand up for her like I did the night I met Bianca and Bradley.
The night I first met the woman who has only made my life better every day since.
“You know they’re just jealous, right?”
Her eyes flash to me. “Jealous?” She laughs. “What do they have to be jealous of? They have enough money to—”
“They might have money, but they’re not rich in the same way you are.”
Alyssa quirks an eyebrow. “And what way is that?”
“You have people who love you.” I shrug. “People might like them for their checkbook or extravagant parties. But you can’t tell me people are actually friends with them because they like them.”
A small smile pulls at her lips. “Okay, that’s fair.” She steps closer and pulls me in for a hug. “I’d rather be love-rich any day.”
“Me too,” I agree.
Alyssa’s shoulders shake against me in silent laughter. “Says the man who has a multimillion-dollar contract.”
“Hey, I said I’d rather be love-rich.”
“And you just happen to be love-rich and rich-rich?”
“Hey, you said it.” I pull back and squeeze her shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to deal with them alone.”
“It’s okay.”
It’s not, but I don’t think I’m supposed to be the one to tell her that. I shove my hands in my pockets and lean back against the car. “You want to get out of here? Grab some food?”
“I could always eat,” she says. “But I drove here tonight.”
“I can drop you off at your car after.”
“Hm.” Alyssa taps a finger to her lips. “Get food with my best friend or go home and eat whatever leftovers I can find in the fridge?” She raises and lowers both hands like she’s weighing the options. “I think I’ll go with A.”
I smile. “A for ‘Awesome Austin.’”
She shakes her head with a laugh. “It better be good food.”
I round the car and open the passenger door for her. “I can guarantee it will be better than whatever’s in your fridge.”
“That, my friend, is a low bar.” She slides into the seat.
I lean my forearm against the frame of the open door. “Then I guess you’re just going to have to trust me.”
With the way she beams up at me, I think it’s safe to say she does.