3. Killian
KILLIAN
Harper’s text stares back at me like a warning shot.
Harper
You need to loosen up, Killian. The front office is noticing your tension on the mound. They’re worried you’re burning out.
I toss my phone onto my brother’s guest bed and run my hands through my hair.
I came in here when my agent started texting me in case she needed to call me.
The team’s heading to Chicago tomorrow for a three-game series against the Wildcats, and the last thing I need is her telling me to “loosen up” when I’m trying to focus on the next start.
I pick up the phone again, thumbs hovering over the screen for a beat too long. She’s not wrong, but I’m not about to admit that to her. I don’t need my agent to be giving me tips on squelching my anxiety on the mound.
Me
I don’t have time for hobbies. I have a season to finish. I have to stay focused.
Harper
That’s exactly the problem, Killian. You’re wound so tight these days you’re going to snap, and when you do, it won’t be pretty. I don’t want a phone call in the middle of the night that I have a mess to clean up because of your behavior off the field.
Me
Then put your phone on silent.
I roll my shoulders, feeling that familiar tension creeping up my neck. Harper’s been my agent since I was drafted, and she knows me better than most people. Too well, sometimes.
Harper
This isn’t the time for jokes, Haynes. Teams want players who can handle the pressure not ones who look like they’re about to have a panic attack on the mound, so let me spell this out for you.
The reality of the situation is the front office would like to see you a little more mellow and team-centered instead of isolated and asshole-ish.
And if you want to keep your contract and stay in Portland with your brothers, I suggest you find a way to recenter yourself.
I read the message twice. I know she’s right. The front office has been watching me closely this season. I’ve felt their eyes on me during every shaky inning, every walk, every time I’ve lost control of my pitches.
Me
I’ll figure it out.
Harper
Good. Because I can’t keep making excuses for you. Find something that isn’t baseball. A girl, a hobby, meditation, I don’t care. Just something.
I toss my phone back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. Harper doesn’t understand. Baseball isn’t just my job. It’s my entire life. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me. The thought of losing it, of being traded away from my brothers, from Portland...
Bishop, Shepherd, Sebastian. The three of them are the only reason I haven’t already packed my bags and driven somewhere no one could find me. They’re my anchors. Without them, I’d be completely adrift.
A knock at the door pulls me back.
“Kill? You alive in there?” Bishop’s voice filters through the wood.
“Yeah,” I call back, not moving from the bed.
The door opens anyway. Bishop stands in the doorway, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve been in here for almost an hour. We’re ordering pizza.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Tough shit.” He walks in and sits on the edge of the bed with me. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He’s wearing that look that says he’s not buying what I’m selling.
“Harper’s on my case again,” I admit, picking up my phone and showing him the text. “Front office thinks I’m too tense on the mound.”
Bishop takes the phone and scans the messages, his expression darkening. “She’s not wrong.”
“Not you too,” I groan, falling back against the pillows.
“Listen, I’m not saying you need to turn into Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky overnight,” Bishop says, handing me back my phone. “But you’ve been wound tight all season. Even more than usual.”
I stare at the ceiling, unwilling to admit how right he is. The pressure has been building for months now. The expectations, the contract negotiations, the fear of letting everyone down.
“Look, I get it,” Bishop continues. “You feel like you have to be perfect all the time. But nobody’s expecting that.”
“Everyone’s expecting that,” I correct him. “That’s the problem. It’s getting harder and harder for me to turn off the pressure and focus on what I’m doing out there. Every fucking pitch feels like it’s carrying the weight of the entire season.”
“That’s because it is,” Shepherd says, appearing in the doorway. He may only be older than me by about three minutes but I’ve always looked at him as my older, wiser brother…even if he chose football for his sport of choice.
Maybe he’s not as wise as I used to give him credit for.
“You’re the team’s ace pitcher,” he says. “That’s a lot to carry.”
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder,” I mutter, picking at the hole in my jeans.
“But you’re not carrying it alone, bro,” Hop adds in. “We’re a team. Let us help you.”
“By doing what? Catching my pitches?” I finish for him, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “That’s literally your job.”
“By being your brother first and your catcher second,” Bishop says, his voice softening. “We’ve always had each other’s backs. You don’t have to do this alone.”
I sit up, frustration bubbling under my skin. “I’m not alone. I have you guys. I have Harper. I have the whole damn team. But at the end of the day, when I’m on that mound, it’s just me and the batter. Nobody else can throw that pitch for me.”
Shepherd steps into the room fully now, leaning against the wall. “Maybe that’s your problem. You’re putting too much weight on each pitch instead of seeing the bigger picture.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You’re not the one whose entire career hangs on whether you can—”
“Throw a ball exactly where I want it to go, so it lands in the right person’s hands every single time?” he finishes my sentence for me. “Trust me, man. If there’s any one of us here that gets it, I think it’s me.”
He’s right. Shep is the starting quarterback for the Portland Rush. If anyone knows a thing or two about leadership on the field and what to do with the ball, it’s him.
“You’re right,” I admit. “Sorry man.”
“I’m just saying everyone carries a different pressure when you’re on the field.
Batters worry about striking out, and look how many do all the fucking time.
The guys behind you have to worry about catching balls too.
They have to catch like Bishop and throw like you.
Anything else is failure for them. They’re just not as front and center as you are. ”
Sebastian appears from the hallway, his face concerned. “Everything okay?”
“Just Killian’s existential crisis about pitching,” Bishop explains.
He nods, his sympathetic eyes finding mine.
“Well, I don’t have any skin in this game because I’m not the one on the field like you guys are but it’s no secret that your anxiety is getting worse the farther into the season you go.
Maybe you need to find something to help turn off your brain.
You’re overthinking everything out there. ”
“Like Shep and his woodshop,” Hop says.
“So, what, you think I should learn how to knit or something in all my spare time?”
My brothers look at each other and nod before Seb rubs his arms and says, “I mean I could use a new afghan or two so…”
That gets me to smile but I flip him off for good measure. “Fuck off, Bro.”
“You could get rip-roaring drunk and spend a night in front of a karaoke machine,” Shep suggests. “God knows how much you love your karaoke.”
I smirk because it’s true. I do love me some karaoke when the moment strikes. I always go for the ridiculous songs that I know I’ll sound terrible singing. If nothing else, I’m good for a laugh. Everyone knows that.
“I can’t get that drunk with our schedule. That’s for the off-season.”
“How about getting laid then?” A female voice comes from the doorway and I turn to see Sutton standing next to Sebastian.
There’s no denying that since she appeared in Shepherd’s life, he’s become a better man.
Not that he’s ever been a bad guy but he seems more at peace with the world around him when she’s nearby.
“You offering?” I raise my brow toward my future sister-in-law.
“You can fuck the hell off with a question like that, asshole,” Shepherd says with a laugh.
“Sorry, Kill,” Sutton says with a quick shrug. “Piercings aren’t my thing.”
My jaw flies open and I stare at her in disbelief. “Wait. How did you—”
She grins. “People talk, Kill.”
“Like who?”
“How about you?” She laughs. “There are no secrets around the poker table and you definitely have no filter when you’re drinking.” She winks at me and for the first time I actually feel a tinge of embarrassment. My cheeks flush and I bring my hand up to rub the back of my neck.
“Yeah, sorry about that, Sutton.”
“Doesn’t bother me and there’s no judgement here. I used to hear a lot worse at the bar.”
Shepherd met the love of his life when we walked into the Alley Tap, one of our favorite dive bars, and overheard Sutton ranting about pro athletes and how they basically get paid millions to wear expensive pants and throw balls.
She’s right on all accounts. We’re lucky assholes and we don’t deny it.
“I’m just saying I haven’t seen you with a woman since I met Shep.” She lifts her shoulder. “Maybe you should consider finding a girl to hook up with. Someone to get your mind off baseball…even if it’s just for some casual sex."
“That might be nice, but it’s not like I have that kind of time. We’re on the road more often than not.”
“Too busy for sex?” Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with our brother? If I recall, you got those piercings for a reason, and it wasn’t just to have something to look at.”
“Though they are admirable,” Bishop adds, patting me on the back. “An impressive variety of shapes, sizes, and colors “
“Look, I don’t need a relationship,” I say, standing up and stretching.
And I don’t need advice from my family about my love life…or huge lack thereof.
“Nobody said anything about a relationship,” Bishop points out. “Just someone to help you relax.”