Chapter Nine
Todd
“You want a beer?” Chase asks after Taylor leaves.
I follow him into the kitchen. “You know you brought that on yourself, right?”
“What’d I say that was so wrong?”
“You embarrassed her in front of what’s-his-face with the abs,” I say, referring to Justin, the substitute player who’s throwing me off my game.
From the moment Taylor set eyes on him, I thought my chest would explode.
She’s never looked at me the way she looked at Justin—as far as I know, she’s never looked at anyone that way.
He pops the cap off a bottle and hands it to me. “Oh, Justin’s been curious about her since I said she was visiting, so I just said that to shut him up.”
“You made her feel insecure. She was probably looking to impress him with her baseball skills and instead you both laughed in her face.”
“Oh yeah? And how do you feel about her wanting to impress another guy?” he asks, taking a swig.
“Like crap, but you don’t see me questioning her femininity.”
He sighs. “She’s changed, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“A couple years ago that comment wouldn’t have fazed her—she probably would’ve laughed right along with us. Today, though? She acts like I betrayed her.”
I take a few gulps of beer, words escaping me.
I don’t believe Taylor has changed, but then again, I’m with her all the time—he’s seeing her for the first time since summer.
“I think our mother’s to blame. Taylor used to have such confidence . . .” He drags a hand down his face. “God, I feel so stupid.”
“Just wait till you have to deal with the consequences later.”
He narrows his eyes. “Thanks for the support.”
I raise my beer in response.
We fall silent, both just drinking, and it dawns on me that I’ve never hung out one-on-one with Chase before. My eyes shift, thinking things are about to get awkward when Chase asks, “So what about you—are you ready to go pro?”
I blink a few times. “Oh . . . you mean the draft. Yeah, I mean I told my agent to make the arrangements, and it’s been my dream since forever.”
His face breaks out into a knowing smile. “You’re so full of bullshit.”
I exhale, releasing all the air from my lungs. “Fine. You’re right.”
“So what’s wrong? You realize you’re living out a fantasy ninety-nine percent of guys would kill for.”
“I know I should be more excited . . . I used to have this dream of getting called up, you know? But recently I’ve been thinking more about what happens after the draft . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“When I move to whatever city drafts me, and Taylor . . .” I avert my gaze. “. . . doesn’t. Which I know is stupid because we’re not even in a relationship, but I can’t stop myself from thinking about it.”
He leans against the fridge, arms crossed, and I can tell he’s trying to read me—not as an adversary, but as a prospective brother-in-law, which is almost worse. “You guys are in a relationship—a friendship is a relationship, so it’s not stupid.”
I press my lips together. “Yeah, but I didn’t feel this way when Christian moved to Pennsylvania.”
His mouth twitches. “All right, so it’s not a perfect comparison.”
“It’s why I planned this weekend—I need to get whatever this is out in the open before then.”
“I get it.”
We both contemplate that, the lazy ceiling fan buzzing above the kitchen like a stalled thought.
I’m not used to talking about feelings with dudes, let alone Taylor’s older brother, but there’s something sturdy about the way Chase listens—it’s like he’s always playing from the center of the court—never off-balance.
He cracks open another beer and slides it across the counter. “She ever talk about what she wants to do after graduation?”
“She talks about going into sports journalism,” I reply, scratching behind my ear. “But mostly she talks about not wanting to leave Emma.”
“I felt the same way when I was deciding where to go for law school.” He turns his bottle in his hands. “I’m hoping to convince her she doesn’t need to worry about Emma—or our mother for that matter—but she really hasn’t confided in me about her plans.”
“That’s because I don’t think she knows herself.
” I lean against the counter. “Sports journalism is the backup to her backup plan—the only job in sports she thinks she truly has a chance at. She’d love to do something within a baseball organization—scouting or player development—but ultimately I think she really wants to be a manager if a team would ever give her the chance. ”
“It’s frustrating that society still doesn’t support someone with her talent becoming a manager just because she’s a girl.”
“Yeah . . .” I stare at the condensation dripping from my bottle. “It really is.”