Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lucas
This is fun.
No, really.
Sun overhead, kids knowing my name—cheering for me, even. I go live on ReelTime with Coop and Logan, get pulled for an interview that Scottie’s boss approves, joke more, sign more, smile more.
My whole life, I’ve dreamed about showing up to Spring Training, playing with big leaguers with my brother by my side, and here I am.
What’s not fun about this?
So what if my secret girlfriend is with her fake-but-public boyfriend? Who cares if that dude gets to touch her in public and I don’t?
I’m fine.
It’s fine.
Everything is freaking fine.
“You look like the clown from It,” Logan says.
“What are you talking about?” I ask as we hand our Sharpies back to the clubhouse assistant and duck under the rope line. “And his name’s Pennywise.”
“That’s good of you to remember the name of the guy whose smile you stole.”
I elbow him in the ribs. Hard.
“Told you.”
“Setup Man!” a girl of around eight or nine in a Flaps jersey yells.
She has big brown curls and is tugging on the hand of a pretty twenty-something woman with blonde hair that goes almost to her waist. The pair stops on the other side of the rope line.
Up close, I see that the girl’s jersey isn’t one of ours; it’s a limited-edition branded Kayla Carville-O’Shannan jersey with shimmery powder-blue fabric that probably set her parents back three hundred bucks.
“Which one are you?” the girl asks Logan.
He crouches down. “I’m the handsome one.”
She gives him a stressed laugh, her eyes bouncing between us. The woman behind her—her babysitter? Older sister?—stands behind her with a soft, indulgent smile. “What do you mean? You’re the exact same!”
“Not quite.” Logan stands, grinning at the girl. “He’s the Setup Man.”
“Good.” She tries to hand Logan a hot pink Sharpie. “Could you sign my jersey?”
Logan tilts his head and points his thumb at me. “No, silly, he’s the Setup Man. The guy on social media.”
“I know,” she says, holding the Sharpie out to him. “I like you.”
“Me?”
“You’re Logan Fischer, aren’t you?” she asks. She has a Southern accent similar to the ones in Mullet Ridge, but milder. “You’re my favorite!”
Logan is still processing this when the little girl turns around for him to sign her back. He looks up at the blonde woman she dragged over here. “Is she sure about this?”
The woman smiles, and a dimple pops out as she looks at my brother. She’s holding a book, has artsy patches safety pinned to her beat up Chuck Taylors, and looks sweet as sugar.
Logan’s gotta be half gone for her already.
“You’re her favorite player,” she says, reddening in a way that makes me think the little girl’s not the only one.
“He’s yours, too, Aunt Georgie,” the younger girl says as Logan starts signing his name on the back of the jersey.
Called it!
“Okay, Lulabelle,” she says, reaching out a hand like she wants to cover the girl’s mouth.
“So it’s Lulabelle and … Georgie?” he asks the woman—something he never does with fans. I look at my brother closer and see his neck is red.
If I were in a better headspace, I’d play wingman.
But the second I hear someone yell Jake’s name, I’m searching the crowd for Scottie again.
“I’m Georgiana,” the woman is saying, “but yeah, Lulabelle calls me Georgie.”
“Or George. Or Gigi. Or Georgia,” the girl says.
“Not Georgia,” Georgiana says, though she sounds too sweet to be taken seriously.
With no Scottie in sight, I return to the conversation. Georgiana’s face is as pink as Lulabelle’s sneakers, and she’s clutching a book to her chest.
Man, if she wanted to get my brother’s attention, there’s no better way.
“What are you reading?” he asks, and as riveting as her answer no doubt is, I’ve lost the will to stay here any longer.
I spot Coop at the Gatorade coolers near the dugout and lean toward Logan. “I’m going to the dugout.”
Logan side-eyes me, but I don’t wait to see if he’s begging me to stay or leave.
“Nice meeting you both,” I say as I walk away.
Coop nods when he sees me, staring at Logan curiously. “Logan’s found a fan, huh?”
“Apparently.”
“Apparently nothing,” Coop says. “I can see them both blushing from here.”
I shrug, scanning the concourse for someone I’m still not sure I want to see.
“Dude, you gotta be more subtle,” Coop mutters.
“About what?”
Coop puts his arm around my shoulders and walks me away from the dugout toward where a couple of event staffers are collapsing folding tables and rolling up extension cords.
The music is still loud enough that we can talk without anyone eavesdropping.
His shaggy brown hair is tucked under his cap, same as my shaggy blond hair.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Huh?” My pulse hammers in my neck, making it hard to swallow. “And yes, you are.”
Coop gives a big sigh. He’s a few years older than us, and what with him dating our triplet sister—who has huge older-sister energy, by the way—he’s been playing big brother for a year. Dang it if he’s not getting good at it.
“Lukie, Lukie, Lukie. I see the way you two look at each other like you’re pretending not to look at each other. You’re playing with fire. Or, more accurately, Jake’s fake girlfriend.”
“It’s not like—” I stop. “What did you say?” I hiss. “How do you know?”
Coop holds his hands out. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Your sister and I weren’t ‘allowed’ to date. I know the signs. And I know when someone’s pretending.”
“Really?” I ask in a whisper.
His shoulders shake in a quiet laugh. “No. I went over to the tent to say hi to Jake after he showed up and overheard him and Scottie talking. They couldn’t be less interested in each other.
” He shakes his head. “But I could tell something was going on between you two immediately. I assumed she was planning to break up with Jake for you. I like the guy, but I get why no one else does.”
My stomach cramps with worry. “Does Logan know?”
“No. He knows you have a thing for Scottie, but he’s worried you’re going to make a move and cause a scandal.”
“Wow. Gotta love the support.” I sigh, take off my cap, and scratch my head. All this sunshine is starting to give me a headache. “What am I gonna do, Coop?”
“I don’t know. How long are they supposed to date?”
“Till the end of the month. Only a couple more weeks.”
“Not quite,” Coop says. “You can’t start dating openly or everyone will think you cheated.”
Crap.
I scratch my head some more, wanting to scream. “You’re not helping.”
“Not trying to. Just clarifying the stakes.”
I huff. “Thanks a lot.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “Logan said you’ve liked her for a year, right?
You can wait. Say they ‘break up’ at the end of the month; you guys date in secret through March and into April.
Then in May, you, Jake, and Scottie can plant a story that you ‘asked’ Jake if he’d be okay with you asking her out, he gives you his blessing because he’s ‘grown’ so much, and bam.
Great optics for all of you, and no clubhouse drama.
Not even Doug could mind a story like that. ”
“Yeah,” I say nodding slowly. “Yeah, that actually works.”
Two months. I can do two months.
A sharp whistle sounds across the field, and Coop slaps my back. “That’s Doug’s whistle. Come on,” he says, walking a half step ahead of me to where Doug is waving us over for what looks like one last photo before the sponsor clears out.
Scottie’s standing just beyond the sponsor backdrop with Jake still next to her. Does anyone else notice how she’s holding her iPad like a shield?
Does it even matter?
When she sees me coming, her professional smile slips. Just for a second. But I see it.
Jake sees it too.
The hand he was resting on the small of her back tightens—not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that his fingers press in through the fabric of her blouse.
“Fischer,” he says when I step into range.
“Rodgers.”
We clasp hands.
He grips my hand firmly, but he doesn’t try to squeeze the life out of it this time. Is he growing, or am I not a threat to him anymore?
I have to wonder what he knows, though, because he holds our handshake a second longer than necessary, like he’s trying to get my attention.
I meet his eyes.
There’s no heat there—no outright challenge—but there’s an awareness I can’t ignore.
He looks at me the way a dog looks at another dog near its food bowl.
Wary.
Ready.
Scottie shifts slightly, her shoulder brushing my arm as she steps between us, iPad raised like a referee’s flag.
“Okay, guys,” she says brightly. “Quick photo and then we’re clear.”
Her voice doesn’t waver, but her fingers do.
They tighten on the edge of the iPad for just a second before smoothing out.
Scottie and Gabriela line us up shoulder to shoulder.
Jake’s arm slides back around her waist automatically, but she slaps his chest and laughs.
“Not on the team, not in the picture,” she teases, stepping out of the shot.
The photographer waves us in closer. “All right, big smiles! One, two—”
For a split second, before the flash goes off, my eyes flick toward Scottie’s to see her looking at me. Her smile is tight enough that I can read the apology underneath.
Then the cameras pop. Flashes of white light bright enough to stay in my vision even in the setting sun.
The moment the photographer waves us off, Jake’s back by Scottie’s side, whispering something against her hair. She grins, and it’s a wonder no one else can see how fake it is.
Fake or not, my stomach bubbles with jealousy so thick, I could choke on it.
I start toward the clubhouse doors, ready to grab my bag and call it a day. I need to get out of here before Jake’s hand finds her back again and I have to watch her not move it.
“Lucas.”
Her voice isn’t loud, but it doesn’t have to be.
I stop.
Jake’s closer than I’d like, but Scottie’s already stepping forward, iPad back in place.
“Tomorrow,” she says briskly, like she’s addressing the room instead of just me. “You’ve got the youth clinic. Be downstairs at eight a.m. sharp. And you’re staying after for the Q&A.”
I blink at her, confused. “I am?”
“You volunteered,” she says, though I don’t think I did.
Jake snorts. “Of course he did. All the young chumps love signing up for youth clinics.”
She gives him an elbow, but her eyes are on mine, almost pleading.
“Right,” I say slowly. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good,” she says. “Because I need you there.”
Need.
With Jake standing just behind her, she’s able to quirk her lips to the side in a smile that doesn’t reach me like I wish it would.
“I’ll be there,” I say.
She nods, and I turn before I can watch Jake’s arm snake back around her waist.
I walk back toward the clubhouse at a pace that says nothing happened here and try to believe it myself.
But I’ve been watching Scottie hold it together for weeks, and I know what it looks like when the seams are starting to show. The way her fingers tightened on that iPad wasn’t professionalism. The smile she gave Jake wasn’t performing.
It was surviving.
And the thing about Scottie is she’s so good at surviving that no one notices until she’s already gone.
Yeah, well I notice.
I’ve been noticing for a year.
Which means I also know that we’re not going to make it two more months. Not like this. Not with Jake’s agent pushing them, not with Jake showing up unannounced and her family thread going off every time he breathes wrong.
Something is going to break.
I just don’t know yet if it’ll be the plan or us.
***
How many times can a guy type and delete a single curfew-check text?
About twenty.
I’m staring at my screen, honestly debating if I should write the word curfew with a check mark or just use a clock emoji.
No, a clock emoji is stupid.
GAAAAH.
“Gah?” Logan asks, looking up at me from the round table by the window, his book balanced on his knee.
“It’s nothing. I’m writing a post and accidentally deleted it all because I’m an idiot.”
Logan’s eyebrows furrow. “So Jake being here clearly has you in a good mood.”
I groan. “Logan, enough with the Scottie stuff, okay? I’m not going there. Not while Jake’s in the picture.”
Which is technically true but also a big, fat lie.
Should I be impressed or worried at how easy it’s becoming to lie to my own twin?
When I look at Logan, I usually don’t see myself reflected in him, even though we’re mirror twins. But then, usually I’m not lying to his face.
“I’m not judging you,” Logan says.
“Right. It just feels that way,” I say before wincing. “Sorry.” I set my phone down on the top sheet of the bed, where I’m sitting.
“It’s fine,” Logan says, going back to his book. He flips a page.
The room goes quiet except for the hum of the AC and the distant sound of traffic outside. I reach for my phone again.
9:59.
I slam my eyes closed, my jaw tight, my stomach churning. This is stupid. It’s a routine. We’ve done this every night. It shouldn’t feel like I’m a puppy whining for scraps.
I type:
Lucas
Curfew
I stare at the text then notice the time at the top of the screen.
Ten o’clock.
I hit send, and the message whooshes away.
I glance up to see it’s—
10:01 p.m.
My stomach lurches.
One minute.
One stupid minute.
I swear under my breath. Now she’s going to wonder why I hesitated.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
My heart pinches.
Scottie
Are you sure you made curfew? Looks like you were a minute late.
I exhale and start typing: Sorry. Meant to send that at ten.
My thumbs hit the delete button.
I can’t say that. It’s too revealing. She’ll know I was agonizing over a stupid emoji.
I try again.
Lucas
Nah, just a long day.
Scottie
I hear you.
I stare at her text and then hit my head with my phone a few times, trying to breathe.
Lucas
I know. I’m sorry.
Scottie
Me too.
Night Lucas.
Lucas
Night Quinn.