Page 14 of Run Home

Chewing my lip, I watch Griffin’s enamored expression as he listens to Danae talk about book club. Griffin hates reading. He’s dyslexic and always struggled to read growing up. Although he gave audiobooks a shot for Danae’s sake, it’s still like pulling teeth to get him to pick up a book in any form. You’d never guess, though, based on his smitten look while listening to Danae talk about the romantic-suspense story her book club discussed tonight.

I do believe love exists. I see it right in front of me.

I’m just not sure if I’ll ever get to experience it in the same way. Maybe my wiring got too messed up by my past for me to have that kind of healthy relationship.

My tender thoughts grow almost painful, so I look away from Griffin and Danae back to the TV. Adrian takes a practice swing before stepping up to the plate and crouching into his stance. He must like what he sees because I notice the telltale movement of his incoming swing. He must feel it in the crack of the bat because he smiles as the ball sails away from him.

Home run.

Chapter six

Adrian

“You were looking good at batting practice,” I tell Carson as we lunge our way down the sidelines.

“Thanks,” he says, not looking over at me.

Well, I guess one word is better than silence.

A handful of fans are already in the St. Louis stadium watching warm-ups. We’re on our second away series in a row, so they’re mostly here to see our opponents, not us. Still, I pause to wave at a group of kids hanging their arms over the railing by the dugout. I grin when they enthusiastically wave back, even though I can’t hear what they’re yelling.

“What’d they say?” I holler to the security guard patrolling the area between us and the fans.

The guard turns to the kids, then back to me. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yells, “They want to see your dance move from last night.”

Laughing, I rise from my lunge and seamlessly transition into the Latin dance steps. The kids cheer as one of them holds up a phone to video, so I end with another wave in their direction.

“You’re supposed to be warming up your knees and hip flexors,” Carson mutters.

Doing another quick salsa move into a lunge, I tell him, “Dancing can loosen up the muscles just as well as lunges. And it’s more fun.”

“Well, as long as you’re having fun,” he scoffs.

“Pretty sure a home run, two singles, and four outs at third last night qualify as good playing and not only fun,” I snap back. I immediately regret the brag, wishing I hadn’t let his sarcasm get to me.

We walk in silence to retrieve our gloves for throwing practice. I rehearse what I could say as we fit the gloves on our hands and grab balls. Tapping my glove on his arm, I say, “Sorry about that.”

He shrugs and throws the ball to one of the training staff. “It’s true. You had a good game last night.”

Pivoting to throw to another Crowns staff, I say, “You’ve been playing better this week too. I just think you—”

“Need to loosen up—I know. You’ve made your opinion clear,” Carson cuts in before he catches the ball thrown back to him. “I think I need to focus on training harder. That’s what’s always worked for me in the past.”

After catching my ball, I toss it in my hand a few times, considering his words. “You know, sometimes what got you to where you are isn’t what will get you to where you’re going,” I begin, then pause to practice a sidearm throw. “The pressure in the majors is different than the minors. I’m not saying you can work less than you used to. But handling the pressure might require something different than just more grit.”

When Carson doesn’t respond, I hold back a sigh.

I let the hotel door close behind me with a loud clack. Shuffling across the room, I toss my gear bag on the floor and flop onto the bed.

For as much as I tell Carson that this is a game to enjoy, I also hate losing.

Considering we play 162 games in the regular season, losing comes with the territory in baseball. No one wins them all. In fact, winning 60-70% of the games is considered a good record.

Still, losing never stops stinging.

Groaning, I pull out my phone, intending to mindlessly scroll social media and forget about our bad game tonight. We have one more game in the series tomorrow, so we can still come out on top since we won yesterday.

Instant dopamine hits when Sam’s name pops up in the notification bar.