Chapter 19
Tenny
When I stumble into the living room and find Zona on the couch the next morning, a wolfish grin overtakes my face. After leaning down to snatch the last bite of omelet from her plate, I vault myself over the back of the couch, landing beside her.
“Ugh. Why?” My sister sets her empty plate on the end table with an annoyed cluck. “Can’t you let me watch TV in peace?”
“Good morning to you too,” I say, popping the stolen bite in my mouth.
An involuntary groan escapes me as sharp cheddar cheese blends perfectly with the gentle earthiness of sauteed mushrooms and caramelized shallots before finishing with a crisp, chivy finish.
“When are you going to give up this whole social media ruse and finally go to culinary school?”
Zona crosses her arms over her oversized sweatshirt. “I’ve told you. Cooking is for fun. I don’t want to ruin it by making it my job.”
“I don’t know,” I say, reaching past her to steal a sip of her coffee. “Having your passion as your job works out for some people. Just look at me.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Zona snatches her mug back before shoving me toward my side of the couch. “You got lucky.”
“Thousands of hours of hard work and dedication would call you a liar,” I tease, even though I do feel incredibly lucky.
There isn’t a day I don’t wake up bursting with gratitude that I was able to make my favorite sport my career.
My sister rolls her eyes. “My latest video is trending.”
“That’s good. Was it the line dancing one we filmed the other day?”
For as much as I love being social with people in real life, I hate using social media.
I don’t even manage my own account; Friedrich does.
I have no idea what the password is, though I’m sure it’s in an efficiently organized spreadsheet somewhere.
For as curt as he is in person, it’s eerie how accurately he captures my tone in posts.
Even though it isn’t for me, I’m always game to help Zona build her following, since she genuinely enjoys it. She keeps pestering me about also managing my account, but each time, I gently remind her to focus on her studies. We can discuss the matter after she graduates.
Zona scrolls through her phone before holding it out to me. I watch her fainting in two different rooms due to the shocking cleanliness of the house before powering it down mid-video.
“Hardy har har. Very funny.” I toss the phone in her lap.
“What?” My sister is all giddy delight. She’s even steepled her fingers like the mini villainess she is. “I’m genuinely enthralled by this new development. When do I get to meet Rory?”
It was a stroke of genius that I used Rory—the name I’d used for Alex in college—instead of her real name when Momma and I chatted a few weeks ago.
I knew spilling about the amazing date would trickle down to Zona, and then she’d plaster it all over the internet without asking me.
Now the thousands of people following Zona’s account won’t put two and two together and get Alex fired.
Logistically, I’m going to have to figure out how to date the woman who reports on my team without damaging her career, but that’s after Alex decides if she wants to move beyond our sizzling banter.
“Never,” I tell Zona, picking up the remote and changing the channel from her cooking competition show to the MLB network. “It’ll be easy to remember because it’s the same timeline for when you can start dating.”
“Hey! I was watching that.” She yanks the remote back, switching the channel. “And you need to calm down about me never dating. I’m almost twenty-one.”
“You’re my tiny baby sister and always will be,” I say, poking her in the cheek.
She bats my hand away, repulsed. “I’m a grown woman who can make my own decisions. If you don’t stop scaring away the guys I date, I’ll be forced to hide them from you. Is that what you want? We all know you hate being the last to know anything.”
I huff, slouching in the cushions until I kick her bare foot with mine.
“Ten-ny, knock it off.”
It’s work to suppress my smile. There’s nothing I love more than messing around with Zona, especially when she elongates my name into two distinct syllables.
Georgia and I had to be mature beyond our young ages growing up—to the point where we never had a chance for a playful sibling relationship.
When our lives relaxed after the divorce, I got to be the annoying older brother for Zona.
I love both my sisters fiercely, and the bond I share with Georgia is unbreakable, but it’s fun to be a goofball with Zona.
I also love that none of the women in my life have to worry about money ever again. The first thing I did after signing my contract was pay off Momma’s house, buy Georgia the quaint garden cottage she’d been eyeing for years, pay Zona’s tuition in full, and set aside trusts for all three of them.
A happy sigh escapes me.
There’s something deeply satisfying about taking care of those I love.
Then my mind skips down a path it absolutely shouldn’t be on, filled with vibrant images of Alex never having to be uncomfortable at home games, thanks to the new chairs I purchased for the Waves press box.
When Alex asked about it, I balked, saying they must have changed them at all the MLB stadiums. Though realistically, that’s out of my scope.
The corner of my mouth tips up, thinking about things I could change.
I’d replace the busted-up Honda I saw her driving to the stadium the other day, get her those sparkle shoes she likes in Waves blue…
“What’s that smile for?”
I flatten my lips, shoving my hands into my sweats pockets. “What smile?”
“The gone-for smile I just filmed.” Zona waves her phone with a wicked grin.
A moment of panic lurches before I realize it doesn’t matter that she filmed me. Zona films me all the time without me knowing.
“I was thinking about all the delicious foods I’ll get to eat when you’re the head chef of some fancy restaurant.”
Zona lets her phone flop onto the couch. “Okay, smitten kitten, keep pretending you’re not thinking about her.”
“I was thinking about baseball.”
My sister laughs, shaking her head before picking up her phone again.
“Was this you?” She pushes the screen under my nose, open to a news article about an unknown bearded man donating hundreds of dollars on grocery store gift cards.
“Why would that be me?”
Zona scoffs as I stare at the chilly beach beyond the windows that wrap this room. We had pleasant weather for last night’s game, but it’s still early spring in Virginia. Mother Nature can bask you in a sunny, flower-filled day one moment and then throw a frosty rainstorm at you the next.
“If you keep doing this Robin Hood routine, you’re going to get caught. Why don’t you donate to charities like a normal celebrity?”
“You already know I do that.”
Zona shakes her head. “Friedrich and I are concerned. He told me you had him drop off a cashier’s check for fifty thousand dollars to some cashier before you left camp. Fifty thousand dollars, Tenny!”
A grin blooms over my face, thinking of how that money will help Beckett’s family. Maybe he’ll even be able to quit his job and get the chance to just be a kid.
“I get that gift-giving is your love language, but”—Zona pauses like what she’s about to say is painful—“I don’t want you to get taken advantage of.”
I cross my arms, turning my gaze back to the ocean. It’s windy outside, making whitecaps dot the expansive ocean. Frothy sea foam tumbles up the beach with each crashing wave.
“That won’t happen.”
“If people find out, you’ll be hounded, and your softie heart will want to help everyone.”
I shift my shoulders, uncomfortable with Zona’s praise. I’m used to her calling me gross, or annoying, or my preferred moniker: The Worst Brother in Existence.
“Since when do you and Friedrich talk?”
Zona bats her eyes. “Freddie and I gossip about you while you’re playing baseball all day every day.”
Unease sprints down my back. “But you just talk, right? You don’t”—I swallow hard—“kiss or anything?”
My sister throws a pillow at my head. “Ew! No! He’s, like, forty.”
“He’s forty-five,” I say, swatting it away. “And I don’t know what freaky stuff you’re into.”
Zona beans me with the last of her fluffy ammunition. “You really need to focus on your love life and stay out of mine.”
“You mean your non-existent love life because you’re not allowed to date until you’re Friedrich’s age.”
“You’re impossible.” She stands, holding out the remote. “Here. I know you want to watch yourself on TV, you attention hog. I’m going to get ready to meet up with friends.”
“Female friends only,” I call as she stalks into the kitchen.
A little snicker leaves my lips when Zona growls, stomping out of the room.
I change the channel, watching the intro to Diamond Breakdown before listening to the recaps from other teams. When the coverage shifts to the Waves stadium, I grin.
This has become a secret indulgence of mine.
I’m not spending nearly as much time with Alex as I’d like, and getting to watch her interviews—be they with me or anyone else—has become the highlight of my day.
Nestling deeper into the plush couch, I set the remote on my chest.
When the video shifts to a small spring training office instead of the Waves clubhouse, my brows pinch.
Then I sit forward, my elbows on my knees, as I watch the interview Alex swore she deleted.
My phone rings from its wireless charger in the kitchen, but I’m frozen, watching the trainwreck unfold as a yawning pit opens in my stomach.
How could she?
Hadn’t I explained my not-so-flattering relationship history on our date? I’d even told Alex the embarrassing truth about how I’ve been listening to romance audiobooks to figure out what’s wrong with me.
I turn off the TV, pacing a tight circle with my hands on my head. I should probably check who called, though I know it’s my agent, Brad. I wonder if he’s already called Alex to chew her out with passive-aggressive professionalism.
Alex.
A thought sparks like a tiny beacon.
Maybe this is a mishap. Maybe Alex didn’t know about our interview being released. She’s complained a few times about her boss preferring sensationalist journalism over solid reporting. Maybe all of this was out of her hands?
I bolt to the kitchen, snatching my phone off the counter. My call rings once before a computerized voice states, “The number you have dialed is unavailable.”
I pull the phone away from my ear, blinking. “She blocked me? What in the—”
Another call pops onto the screen, and I answer it.
“Hey, man,” Rhett says, voice cautious. “How are things?”
“You saw.”
“I saw.” He lets a beat settle between us before asking, “Want to talk about it?”
My head shakes as I try to process what just happened. Alex completely betrayed me. A part of me wants to hang up and rewatch the clip just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Or maybe I’m still dreaming? I pinch my thigh, but nope. I’m awake.
“Tenny?”
“Yeah?” My throat feels like it’s coated in sand.
“I’m sorry. I know how much you liked her.”
In an attempt to protect Alex, I didn’t tell anyone about us.
Mallory, Kenzie, and the rest of the WAGs thought I was just playing the part of fake boyfriend in front of Mags.
Kenzie had been the most disappointed when I told her there was nothing real between Alex and me, but I figured it was because she genuinely wants to help me with my relationship troubles.
I only told Rhett the truth.
He’s been my best friend since I signed with the Waves. We’re both the same age, in the middle of our contracts, and there’s something about our personalities that just…meshes. Except that Rhett is way more practical than I am.
As the team’s shortstop, he and I work closely together. Roughly forty percent of infield throws are from shortstop to first. Rhett gets the ball to me so often that I’ve learned his throwing style and know when to adjust my positioning based on how it comes off his fingers.
“Why don’t we grab lunch together? Do you want to go to that soup place that always seats us in the back corner?”
I’d planned on wallowing in self-pity for the rest of the day, but I can’t pass on the French onion soup at The Salty Spoon.
“Would you”—Rhett coughs—“want your sister to come along?”
I grimace. “I’d rather take a foul ball to the forehead.”
The last thing I need is for Zona to know about this.
For as petite as my sister is, she gets scary feral when protecting Georgia and me.
I could just see her tracking Alex down and doing something reckless.
I don’t want to have to deal with contacting lawyers and bailing her out of jail when there’s already a fist-sized hole in my chest.
“Meet you in an hour?”
“Sure,” I say before hanging up.
Setting my hands on my hips, I stare at the floor.
My fingertips are completely numb, and I’m not even sure I’m breathing.
I’ve been dumped before—tons of times, unfortunately—but it’s never hurt like this.
My ribs squeeze inward as my mind replays every conversation, every flirty smile.
Was I really so blind to not realize that she’d been playing me all along?
A painful breath shakes free of my tight lungs as my phone pings with several rapid-fire texts.
Rhett
This sucks, but you can get over her.
Rhett
You just need to dust off your spikes and face another inning.
Rhett
And go shower. I’m sure you stink, and I don’t want to smell you over my minestrone.
The wry chuckle leaving my mouth takes a small amount of tension with it. Leave it to Rhett to pull me back from the edge with baseball metaphors and insults. Getting over Alex won’t be that easy, but he’s right about one thing…I do need to take a shower.