8. White Sage

Nour

As fuckedup as today has been, I managed to stick to my schedule. I ate my loaded omelet and two pieces of toast—one with butter, one with strawberry jam—before my shower. I damn near pulled my dick off, angry fucking my hand, to the memory of the picture now lost in the great abyss that showed the deranged unicorn's pierced nip.

After Little Hart left with Elle, the boys and I watched Real Housewives of Beverly Hills together, and I would have napped liked a champ, if I didn't lie there, mind-fucking what I did to have Little Hart all tipped over. The only thing I could come up with is Ellie taking off on me, but how the hell could she not realize it was an accident and I wouldn't have let her get hurt? I did still manage to get some good sleep in.

Blaze and AJ decided to go to yoga with me, so I was still sticking to my routine and yoga did help … until we came back to find Ellie MIA, and then another run-in with Jillian.

It's gotta be a full moon.

"Zoning out again," Archer mumbles to Cooper.

"He's considering his next move. Let the man think," Cooper whispers back.

"If a man's gotta think that hard during a game of Candyland, he shouldn't be allowed to have a driver's license," Archer says, shaking his head. Then he leans back, links his hands behind his neck, and man spreads like he's a grown-ass man and not still in elementary school.

"He's not grown; he doesn't have a wife yet," Cooper whispers to him harshly. "Can't be grown until that."

Archer rolls his eyes then looks up at the ceiling. "How are you even related to me?"

I look back at my card and move my gingerbread man to the black dot. "You two are killing me."

Archer sits forward, rubbing his hands together. "Darn right, we are."

After getting stuck in Molasses Swamp, it's over for me. Brand won, Archer came in second, and I was called a loser.

"All right, Jags, go get suited up and hit the field. You owe the hometown fans some extra love this week," Coach announces.

Walking out of the tunnel,I go through my checklist.

1 - Loaded omelet.

2 - Two pieces of toast; one with butter, one with strawberry jam.

3 - Showered and jerked off.

5 - Watched Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

6 - Napped liked a champ.

7 - Yoga.

8 - Played a game with the boys.

9 - I'm wearing the tie-dyed jock.

10 - old Gold chain is on.

11 - Bracelets the kids from the center gave me, secured.

On the field, I look up and see Amira, who waves a big foam finger at me. I blow a bubble, and she throws her head back, laughing. I also notice Jillian. I mean, you can't miss all that hair and big tits, but I don't look at her; she's bound to go off on me for something else I've done and don't know I have.

"All right, listen up, men," Coach calls us, and we all gather around him. "Been brought to my attention that we're on game number forty-three of the season, and I haven't utilized our relief players nearly enough. Bennett and Nour, you're starting but coming out after four innings. We're climbing the ranks in the league, and we don't need one of you two going out mid-season because your bodies were abused."

"They don't make 'em like the used to," Chuck Turner jokes.

"You fucking kidding me?" Bennett mumbles.

"We're good," I say just to reassure him, using two of my eight words less than a minute from hitting the field.

"You're starting," Amias Steel says. "Still considered your game."

"Yeah, well, sitting on the bench half a game's still a joke."

Amias chuckles. "Try two years as designated hitter and rarely on the field."

Shut up, Bennett, I think.

Josh Henley, one of the relief pitchers, and Brady Masters, the other catcher, are standing there, looking down, but I know damn well they want to do fucking flips and shit, as well they should.

Masters looks at me out of the corner of his eye. I dip my chin, hoping he's reading that I'm good with it.

"Batting order's the same as last game. Now, go warm up."

I nod at Masters to follow me and start heading to do warmups.

As soon asBennett releases his first pitch, I know it's perfect, but not good for us.

Happ rails it right between center and left, where both AJ and Locke are too far away to catch it, but AJ manages to scoop it and gun it to Rome, ensuring he doesn't get to second.

"Thought this kid was good?" Olsen says as he steps up to the plate.

Typically, I don't respond to shit talk, but this asshole deserves it.

"He is. That was a welcome gift; don't get used to it."

I signal to Bennett that this one needs to be taught a lesson, and he delivers a splinter. Olson catches it, and it soars just above Bennett's head. He leaps in the air, snags` it, then guns it to first, where Pope easily tags Happ out.

"Fuck," Olsen mumbles.

"Welcome to Jersey," I call to him as he stomps toward the visitors' dugout.

I look at Bennett and give him a big ass smile. He bites back his own and rolls his neck before delivering three strikes.

I walkin slow so Bennett can catch up.

"Killed it, man."

"Fucked up the first one," he admits.

"Being out half the game only means one thing."

"And what's that?"

"We win it in the first four."

"Sounds good."

"Bennett?"

He looks at me.

"We gotta dance for the fans before we hit."

He rolls his eyes. "You and your superstitions."

I point to his socks. "People wearing kitten socks from college under the ones issued shouldn't throw stones."

"How the fuck do you know that?"

"You're my pitcher, friend, and my brother, Bennett—I know every reaction before you even know you're going to react."

"I fucked up last night."

"You got drunk last night. Fuck last night. Last night was shit. Tonight, we play, we win, and we do it again the night after that, and after that, and keep this going. Wash, rinse, and repeat. We good?"

He nods. "Yeah."

I toss two fingers in my mouth and whistle.

Amias Steel glances over, and I hold up four fingers then tap the pointer to my chin—the ASL sign for talk—and then I grab my cup, because it's been a long time since I have signed and dirty has escaped me.

A big as grin spreads across his face as he looks up at his dad.

"Steel, Pope, Galleon, Turner, Uyar, Locke, Vander, Hart, and Tereira," Coach T yells our lineup as I quickly take off my equipment.

When it's all off, the song begins.

Every one of us that was just on the field gets into position and starts off with a hand slap right before we get to shaking our asses.

The crowd even joins in, and that shit is why the Jersey Jags fans are the best in the country.

"All right, get your shit together, Jags." Coach T laughs. "Let's get some points on the board."

Steel steps upto the plate and allows a strike. The next pitch is a ball, and he lets it fly by. The third, he sends into the outfield and makes it to first.

Next up is Pope. He connects with a solid hit to right field and makes it to first, advancing Steel to second.

Rudy G strikes out, but those calls were questionable as fuck, and he's pissed. Can't blame him at all, but what are you gonna do?

Turner, they walk, which we all know damn well was purposeful.

"One out. Take your time, Uyar," Locke calls to me as I make my way out to home plate, flipping my bat and stepping over the lines as I catch the knob, tap the ground four times, before taking three swings. Then I step into the box, grind my left toe into the dirt, and nod to the pitcher.

The first pitch is way outside, but the umpire calls a strike.

I grit my teeth as I step out, roll my neck, and look up at the sky, inhaling a deep breath.

"Jesus ain't gonna help you, Rookie." The Cubs' catcher chuckles.

The next pitch is outside, too, but my arms are long as fuck and my mood has been on simmer all day. I decide to take it out on the ball.

Like last time, I feel an energy course through, but it's even stronger.

I drop the bat and jog as I watch the ball soar and keep soaring until the announcer yells, "Rookie Nour Uyar has just hit his first grand slam as a major league player!"

I round the bases faster than I have to, but it's unavoidable. I feel high as hell. So much so that when I hit home base, I ask the loud mouth catcher, "What was that you said a minute ago?"

When I head to the dugout, I look up to see Amira on her feet with the rest of them. My sister witnessed that, and I can't even begin to understand why that feels so damn good to me.

She yells something, and even though I can't hear her, I know exactly what she's requesting, and I give it to her. I do a flip, which apparently is even more appreciated by the Jags fans than a grand fucking slam, because the crowd hits an even higher decibel.

"Jesus, man, what got into you?" Rome grabs me and pulls me into a one-arm hug.

"I fucked a unicorn," pops out of my mouth before I even have a chance to think, but fuck it, it's the damn truth.

He busts out into a laugh. "Keep that shit up."

The Jags win by two.

In the locker room, we're all still amped up, and yeah, word's gotten out about my unicorn fuckery. The whole team thinks it's hilarious, all a big joke. Oddly, that eases the fear about what they'll say if a picture is ever leaked. I know how they'll react. I can play the role as team clown if need be. I just hope it doesn't come to that.

O'Donnell's is packedfrom wall to wall, but the bodies part like the Red Sea when we walk in.

"Enjoy it, kid." Pope smiles. "You earned it."

Gwen and Locke are next to Pope, and I swear she's teary-eyed.

"You … were amazing."

"Are you"—I pause because Gwen doesn't cry, but yeah—"cry?—"

She punches me in the arm. "Fuck no."

Locke throws his head back in a loud laugh, and she elbows him.

"You shut it."

Whitney hugs me. "I'll admit, I shed a tear. That was beautiful."

"Thanks, Mrs. Pope."

CeCe grins. "You the man!"

Rome chuckles as he looks down at her. "Someone's had a couple drinks already."

"I'm going to be so easy tonight," she says louder than I bet she realizes.

"I'm not touching that with a ten-foot pole." I chuckle.

"Oh, I am." Gwen laughs.

"Shots, man." AJ grips my shoulders and steers us up to the bar.

Abe O'Donnell, the owner's father, reaches across the bar. "That was one hell of a hit tonight, Uyar, and every other hit an RBI. You do know your batting average's in the top five percent of the Jags and the top twenty of the league, right?"

I shake his hand and don't even try to hide the grin. "Thanks, and no, but I do now."

"Wherever that came from, utilize it."

"He fucked a unicorn last night." Bennett chuckles.

"Bro." AJ shakes his head.

Bennett shakes his own head, clearly following AJ's motion. "He didn't."

AJ winks at him, and Bennett nods and looks at Abe. "He didn't."

Abe shakes his head, too. "No?"

"No," AJ answers.

Abe lines up a few shot glasses. "Well, whatever it was, keep not doing it."

After a few shotsand a lot of selfies with Jags fans, I turn to order and see none other than Jillian Hart behind the bar.

"Can I help you?"

Okay, she's being normal. Well, at least, I think this is her normal.

"Tallest glass you have of H2O, please."

"Make that three," comes from beside me.

Smiling, I turn and see Amira and CeCe's little sister, Cora.

Amira laughs, eyes misty, and pulls me into a hug. "You are incredible."

"Not bad for a kid who wasted his parents' money on college, huh?" I hug her back.

After a minute, she and I separate, and she says, "Don't be mad."

"You never start a sentence with that." I shake my head.

"Well, it was more about me and less about you."

I motion for her to keep it coming.

"I sent a video of that hit toour parents."

I shake my head. "And what I'm about to say is more about you than me. Don't waste your time."

"I just wish it could be what it once was."

"They crossed a line and drew another. It can never be the same."

"One last request?" She pinches her fingers together, showing me little."

I nod.

"Could you let me send them a picture of your contract to show them you make much more than you would have had you?—"

"No." I laugh as I shake my head.

"That's easy enough to find on the internet," Jillian says as she pushes three glasses of water forward.

I turn and look at her, eyes narrowed.

She shrugs. "I don't know yours; I know Rome's and Hudson's. And no, I didn't go looking." She looks at Amira. "When people find out who your brother is, you'll have more folks wanting to be your friends, who know more about him than you. It's disgusting what lengths people will go to fuck with their life through you." She looks down, wipes the bar with a rag, and then peers up at me, brown eyes narrowed. "If you let them."

"I don't have a pro player in the family tree, that I know of, anyway," Cora says, holding up her glass of water, "but yeah, I'll drink topeoplefuckig with your life."

"But look at how strong it's made you." Amira smiles fondly at her. "And you've bounced back and are peopling again, yes?"

Cora nods.

Amira continues, "Next time you and Jillian go to a Broadway show, I better get an invite."

"It was so good." Cora smiles then looks past Amira to me. "No offense, but Broadway over bleachers."

"What!" AJ gasps.

Cora shrugs. "I said what I said."

"Broadway's cool, but you're wrong," Blaze states.

Cora's face immediately catches fire. Oh shit.

I throw the poor girl a life vest. "What did you see?"

"Last night, it was?—"

She's cut off when a drink is spilled all over the bar and her.

"Shit, my bad," Jillian says, making quick work of cleaning up her mess. "I'm so sorry, Cora."

Cora looks down at her soaked shirt and laughs. "First wet tee-shirt contest ever."

AJ damn near chokes on his drink but manages not to spill it all over her, and swallows it down. Then he grabs her hand and lifts her arm in the air. "Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner of O'Donnell's first post-game wet tee-shirt contest!"

I pull off my sweater as I move to hand it to her, glaring at him. "You want to sleep in your car tonight? Rome will have your ass."

"You mean your car? I still haven't decided on what I want." AJ laughs.