Chapter 2
I blow out a gruff exhale and fall onto my back, releasing the tension in my core.
Sweat clings to my skin as I lick my salty upper lip and grin at where my teammate Kellan Pike is curling a forty-pound dumbbell a few feet away from me.
I’m pretty sure the right fielder gets off on being slightly bigger than me, making him the biggest guy on the team.
We both know that if I tried hard enough, I could take him.
Most likely.
Can’t say I’d want to test that, though. Especially not when he’s got that Hulk look in his eyes and swollen biceps the size of Wes’ thighs.
Speaking of the catcher, he isn’t in the gym.
He was here earlier, tucked away in the batting cages, working on the swing that’s earned the team several homers so far this season.
We’re only three months into it now, but he’s threatening to take the lead from Kellan. I’m counting on him to do exactly that.
Now, he’s off doing some family thing that had him all tense and snappy yesterday.
“Careful you don’t blow a blood vessel with all that weight, big boy. It would be a shame to see you trapped in the dugout tonight so you couldn’t use Wes’ absence to sneak in a few extra home runs,” I poke.
Without waiting for an answer, I link my fingers behind my head and curl my body toward my bent knees again, starting another set of crunches. The burn is instant as my muscles contract viciously.
He swaps the dumbbell to his other arm and laughs. “Coming from the guy who only plays every few days. Are you sure you should be here today and not resting in a fluffy bed with your arm wrapped in a silk sleeve or some shit?”
“A silk sleeve? I like the sound of that.”
“Yeah, I bet you fucking do,” he drawls, spreading his bare, hairy-as-all-hell legs wider as he changes his stance.
I shake my damp hair out a bit and start tapping my elbows to my knees, going diagonally. “Has anyone ever told you that you don’t wear jealousy well? It ages you. Gives you more wrinkles than one of those dogs with the squishy faces.”
“A pug?”
I jostle a shoulder. “Sure.”
“I don’t look like a pug, asshole.”
“You do right now.” I drop back to the mat beneath me and point at his face, moving my finger in the air like I’m tracing a bunch of lines that don’t actually exist. “Look in the mirror.”
He scowls, his laid-back demeanour faltering as he ignores me and drops the weight onto its rack with a loud clang. I try to hide my grin while I roll onto my stomach and prop myself up on my forearms. With him behind me, I stare at a spot on the black floor and lift myself into a plank position.
“I’m going to beg Roman to get rid of you in a trade,” he threatens.
My chest shakes with a weak, garbled laugh. “You love me too much to see me go.”
The burn in my abs from earlier pales in comparison to now. Every inch of my chest is on fire as I dig the toes of my sneakers harder into the ground and clench my teeth, bearing down. I don’t time myself anymore. It’s pure feeling now. I go until I physically can’t anymore.
My fingers curl into my palms, and I suck in barely controlled breaths to steady myself.
The noise from the other players in the gym with us feels like static in my ears as I bear down, trying to steal a bit more time before I collapse. I’m not the only guy on the floor, but in this moment, it feels like it. I close my eyes, tasting iron.
A handful of seconds later, my knees hit the thick mat beneath me.
“Just over four minutes,” Kellan says before I’ve found the strength to ask.
I roll onto my back again and stare up at the ceiling while I catch my breath. My abs are rigid when I drop a hand to them, feeling how slick they are. The band of the shorts around my waist sticks uncomfortably, so I tug at it, desperate to cool down.
“Thanks.”
He grunts. “How long are you planning on staying? We’ve got a bit before we need to be here for the game.”
“I’m going to run for a bit before I head out. Got a couple of errands to run.”
“Want company?”
No.
“Nah, they’re all pretty lame. I’ll be at your place tonight, though.”
His brow twitches, and his mouth opens as if he’s about to argue, but he doesn’t get the chance. The easy, friendly chatter in the gym gets snuffed out the second the door swings open and Asher Vaughn barrels in. He’s got a seething look on his face, but that’s not out of the ordinary for him.
Both sides of his coin are equally as grouchy. You either get the snippy grouch or the silent one.
He drags his dark eyes across the gym, examining the faces of every person spread out in here before noticing me and Kellan. A bit of the tension drains from his expression. The relief isn’t enough to lighten that scowl.
“Hey, man,” Kellan says while sliding his weight plates onto a barbell.
I don’t bother looking at how heavy they are. He lifts the most out of all of us, and as much as I love a bit of competition, I’m not interested in fucking up my arm right now.
Asher jerks his head in a barely there nod of acknowledgment. I roll my body up and drape my arms over my knees, catching my breath.
“You coming tonight, too?” I ask him, already doubting it.
“Where?”
“To my place. If we win, it’ll be a celebration. Even Roman’s coming,” Kellan says, his chest puffing slightly.
I don’t blame him for being proud of that.
It’s quite an accomplishment to get our manager to go anywhere with us when we’re not playing.
Even though the broody bastard hasn’t exactly announced it to us, I know he’s fallen for Brielle, Wes’ little sister, over the last few weeks.
She’s the one truly responsible for his change of heart, but Kellan can take the win for now.
Coach’s business is his business, even if I’ve grown quite close with Brielle this last year.
“And if we don’t win?” Asher counters gruffly.
Kellan finishes his first lift and then lets the weights fall to the ground. “Then we can all lick our wounds together, I guess. I don’t fucking know. Just come.”
“I’m not coming to a communal wound-licking session,” I say, nose crinkling.
Preparing to lift the weight bar again, Kellan gives me a dramatically disappointed glance. “Oh, so not only are you too good to play two nights in a row, but you won’t even spare me a few soothing licks? Who even are you anymore?”
“Who said I won’t play again tonight? If your bat stays cold, I’ll have to come in and save your ass again.”
“It’s not cold,” he grunts.
Asher passes me and steps onto a treadmill. Buttons chime as he fiddles with the settings. “It’s cold.”
“Actually, I take my invitation back,” Kellan snips, growing red with exertion.
The weights fall to the ground for a heartbeat before he’s lifting them again, spitting out a harsh breath.
I roll my eyes and climb to my feet, turning away from him.
Asher’s not looking at either of us, walking at a brisk pace.
I settle at the machine beside him and choose my speed, keeping it light for now.
He’s wearing the recent Havoc sportswear collection on his feet, legs, and chest. The deep green and grey ensemble features our alternate logo on the front and his name across his back. I’ve got a similar set of clothes in my closet at home, which leads to my next question.
“Did you not have anything else to wear?”
His face sours, eyes twitching as he stares at the wall ahead of him. “I had to pose for photos.”
“Did you say ‘cheese’ like a good boy?” Kellan drawls, finished with his sets now.
My smirk is impossible to trap. “I did that last week. Though I had a blast.”
“Yeah, I bet you did. Attention whore.” Kellan snorts before taking the weights off his barbell.
“If you meant that as an insult, you fell short. I wear that title proudly, Kell.”
Asher ignores us both and picks up his pace to a light jog. I follow suit and stretch out my neck, hearing the cracks at the same time I feel the muscles twist with tension.
“Should have brought headphones,” he mutters under his breath.
I snap my fingers and then point at him. “Good point. Maybe a part of you was hoping for a bit of early morning banter.”
“It’s not early,” is his reply.
“It is for me. I’d prefer to sleep until noon.”
Kellan chimes in, “Maybe not noon, but I don’t mind a crisp ten o’clock wake-up call.”
“Anything beats seven,” I add, glancing at Asher. “Don’t tell me you’re an early riser.”
He keeps his face forward, but I catch the hint of an eye roll. “Seven isn’t even early.”
“Ah, shit. You are,” Kellan groans, using the bottom of his shirt as a rag to wipe the sweat from his face.
Asher ignores him mostly but still asks, “Don’t you have to hit the batting cage or something?”
“And miss this bonding time? Fat chance.”
I glance down at my smartwatch, taking a mental note of the time. It’s almost nine, which means I’ve got somewhere to be.
The treadmill chimes at me when I turn it off and come to a stop. I swallow to soothe my dry throat before hopping off and using the back of my hand to wipe my forehead rather than my shirt. The fabric is just as wet as the rest of me by now.
“Really? You’re leaving after I just declared my desire for bonding?” Kellan asks, pouting.
I smack him on the back, then grip his nape and shake him a bit. “You don’t need to bond with me. We’re already brothers.”
“Aye, that’s what I like to hear. You’ll make me blush if you keep talking like that,” he teases, letting his shoulders fall to their natural position.
I make a noise in my throat as I free him with a shove. “And there you go, ruining it. Go flirt with Asher. I’ll see you back here in a bit.”
“Bring me one of those fancy blended coffees, hey?”
Yeah, Kellan’s a know-it-all. One with a pair of loose lips and a penchant for watching me lose my patience.
It’s hard to piss me off, and he knows it.
That’s got to be the reason he’s subtly hinting at where he knows I’m going.
It’s the same place I’ve been going every single day we’re home in Vancouver.
I don’t even remember when this little tradition started. Has it really been that long?
“Chocolate or vanilla?” I ask, perfectly unbothered.
His mouth quirks knowingly. “Let the barista choose for me this time.”
“Will do.”
With a wave in Asher’s direction that goes unnoticed, I leave the gym without waiting for Kellan to respond. He doesn’t even like coffee, let alone the overly sweet type he mentioned.
No, my teammate is giving me a hard time because he knows I don’t like it, either.
Yet I’ve been forcing myself to have a cup every single day, all so that I can see her and, if I’m lucky, have her be the one to take my order and speak with me.
The owner of Blank Page is the reason I’m picking back up into a jog and rushing out of the stadium rather than taking a shower and settling into the clubhouse until game time.
And I can’t wait to see how annoyed she’ll be to see me today.