Chapter 15

Brooks

I hita home run in the third game of the season.

It's barely a homer, but it's a homer, and it puts us in the lead in the bottom of the fifth.

Two outs later, I'm heading to third with my glove when a new video of Meaty flashes on the jumbotron. I pause to watch, because what the hell?

Meaty's walking into a damn Italian restaurant.

Where they serve meatballs.

The crowd gasps.

Rossi pauses on his way out to center field and looks up at the screen. "That'll solve the Meaty problem," he mutters.

Just as Meaty's opening the door, two massive, very familiar dudes come running. "No! Meaty! Don't do it!"

Rossi barks out a laugh.

I squeeze my eyes shut and mutter a curse.

What the fuck is Mackenzie doing hanging out with hockey players? Some of those guys are assholes. And single.

Not the massive twin tanks lifting her—I mean, Meaty—onto their shoulders and dashing her down the street, away from the chef chasing after her with a meat cleaver. I know those two personally. They're married. They're also obnoxious, but they won't hurt her.

But other hockey players? The single ones?

I don't trust them.

Rossi's still laughing. "I love those guys."

He can love the hockey players all he wants. I'm gonna have a talk with them. Mackenzie's too much of a nut to be trusted not to get herself into trouble.

"Dude. Elliott. What's with the scowl?"

I shake my head. "Don't want the meatball to win."

He hoots again and jogs away.

And three innings, one mascot dance-off, and four rounds of the wave later, the game ends with us up by one.

First win of the season, and it's because of my bat.

Jesus.

No pressure, Elliott. No fucking pressure at all.

After the game, we all have a quick dinner, and then it's time to load up for a trip out west. We're boarding the plane when Cooper thrusts his phone at me. "Dude. Is that really your bedroom?"

I glance down at the picture of Coco Puff on my bed, beneath the gaudy pink unicorn chandelier with the giant blue dildo horn that I swear Eloise had installed, even if she denies it. "Jealous?"

"Fuck, yeah. You must have master sleeping skills to not worry that's gonna crash down on you in the middle of the night. Like, you'll be the guy whose body's found half-decomposed and impaled by a dildo. You'll make the baseball hall of fame for sure for most ignominious death ever."

"Did you just say most ignominious death?"

Darren snorts and rolls his eyes while he drops into a seat. "His sister got him a word-a-day calendar for Christmas, and he's been insufferably intolerable ever since."

"Only on days the words are good. Like when they're nincompoop or recreant."

"What the fuck's a recreant?"

"A dick."

He looks at me pointedly.

Like he's calling me a dick.

Probably is.

If he's not, he should be.

And it makes me smile, because the thing about realizing you're being a dick, and then deciding not to be a dick anymore, is that now, I have something to prove.

I have a team to win back.

And you're damn right I'm gonna do it.

Why, you ask?

Something about being reminded that no matter what team I'm playing for, there are kids who look up to me like I'm a hero. Hell, there are adults who look up to me like I'm a hero. Baseball—the game I fell in love with when I was four years old—is bigger than I am.

I can mourn my old team, and I can still text my old teammates.

But baseball?

Baseball's about the game.

Not the player.

It means different things to different people, but that doesn't change the fact that I owe the fans my all.

Doesn't hurt that Mackenzie came over and made me bacon again this morning.

She took off before I could kiss her again, but she was there. She rubbed Coco Puff's belly. I almost asked her to stop in and play with my dog while I'm out of town.

It's because she bakes good bacon.

Yep. That's my story.

Cooper sits, and I take the seat in front of him. Luca Rossi drops into the row next to me, then turns to look at Cooper. "Hey, Rock, you really getting your brother to bring his goat down for a de-cursing?"

I tuck my phone in the seat pocket and shake my head at both of them while I dig into my travel bag for my noise-canceling headphones. "I thought the ducks already did that. And…the other stuff."

"There's no such thing as too much de-cursing," Darren chimes in from the row ahead of us.

He's probably right.

Mackenzie implied the same thing this morning. "Whatever you're doing, it's working, so keep doing it."

"Like kissing you?"

"Your dog just peed on the carpet."

I smile to myself. She's damn fast when she's on a mission to leave my apartment.

And I might've had too much fun torturing her this morning.

Once the team and staff are all on board, the plane takes off, and I switch on Wi-Fi for one last check of messages before kicking back to get some rest.

Yeah, I'm lying.

I'm texting Meaty.

Eloise did her computer woowoo magic and got me the burner number that Mackenzie's using to send videos to the Fireballs' front office.

Brooks: If you really want to bring Fiery back, you need to commit some heinous crimes. And stay away from the Berger twins and the Thrusters. They're trouble.

Meaty: Who is this?

Brooks: Spike. The Echidna. Remember me?

Meaty: If you're really Spike, you can tell me what's the last thing we did together before I ran away.

Brooks: We admired that drawing of my penis on the ceiling.

Meaty: WRONG. We gave Firequacker a flushie, but only because YOU made me do it. It's YOUR fault I had to run away. I know I was next on the flushie rotation.

Brooks: You have quite the imagination.

Meaty: I'm a meatball. I have ground sausage for brains.

Brooks: Do the Thrusters know you're made of the remains of their mascot?

Meaty: That's exactly why I had to run away. I love the Fireballs too much to let their mascot be the remains of another team's mascot.

Brooks: Wow. This just got sad.

Meaty: It's BEEN sad. Who's watching your puppy, by the way?

Brooks: I'm an echidna. I don't have a puppy.

Mackenzie respondswith a picture of me.

Sitting on this very plane.

Texting with her.

I jerk my head around. Rossi's got his eyes closed and his seat leaned back. Darren's smiling at his laptop and talking quietly, earphones on, video chatting with his pregnant wife.

And Cooper Rock is snoring with his phone loosely clutched in his hand.

I turn around in my seat, reach over the headrest, and smack his knee.

He pretends to startle awake. "Huh? What? Dude. Elliott. Some of us are trying to sleep."

I know he took my picture.

But if I tell him Meaty sent it to me, and he doesn't know Mackenzie stole the costume, will he rat her out?

If he does know it's her, then he knows I'm texting her too.

Fuck it. I don't care what he knows. I only care that he tells me. Right now. "Mackenzie Montana. Talk."

He grins. "Aw, Elliott's got a crush."

"She's a nutjob."

"She's good people."

I arch my brows.

He crosses his arms. "She is good people. She volunteers to help clean up parks all over the city. She's the one who convinced management to hire Addie for our batting coach. And she talked her dads into doing a Fireballs day at their club. It's good luck to have the drag queens on your side."

My brows furrow. I'm not tracking.

Cooper leans toward me like he's ready to grab me by the collar and shake. "Don't you dare be a dick about Mackenzie's dads."

"Why would I be a dick about—whoa. Wait." That's why Mackenzie was at Periwinkles? "Mackenzie's dads are drag queens?"

"Yeah. Duh. Queen Bijou and Lady Lucille."

"Some people are dicks about that," Rossi says without opening his eyes, and it pisses me off that he knew about her dads when he hasn't been with the Fireballs that much longer than I have.

Wasn't she basically mute around all of us a month ago?

"We kick those people's asses." Darren's shut his laptop on his video call with his wife, and he, too, is watching me.

Like I'm going to be a dick about anyone's family. "Did you all meet my sister-in-law? Have you forgotten who wins the award for weirdest relatives?"

"Just so we're clear." Cooper leans back and grabs his phone again. "I'd hate to have to make my brother's goat bite your ass before a game. You play mostly okay."

I sink back into my seat.

Queen Bijou and Lady Lucille.

The headliners at Periwinkles. Owners of the club.

Growing up with non-traditional parents couldn't have been easy. Is that why she was bullied?

I look back at Cooper. "Quit texting people my picture."

He smirks in his fake sleep.

And I pick up my phone again, because this is suddenly more than teasing an annoying—and annoyingly attractive—woman who's cock-blocking me.

Brooks: You need help burying a body? I have a teammate volunteering to be fake-murdered so that we can get you locked up and bring Fiery back.

Meaty: I can't get locked up until I've secured the top vote and the other mascots have been sent to Mascot Heaven.

Brooks: Wait. You WANT to win?

Meaty:No. I want NONE of the mascots to be good options so that the original mascot can come back, but to do that, I have to eliminate all the competition first. By beating them.

Brooks: That's crazy devious and brilliant for someone with sausage for brains.

Meaty: I have layers.

Brooks: So you're also part ground beef?

Meaty: And onion and oregano. I'm delicious.

Brooks: Maybe I'll get to eat you one day.

The text string goes silent.

I wait a full ten minutes, and when she doesn't text back again, I send her a GIF and sign off.

Season's barely gotten started, and you know what else?

That fucking meatball was spot on.

I should wait to have sex with a woman I'm interested in.

I'm not going anywhere. She's not going anywhere.

I have plenty of time to get to know Mackenzie Montana and all of her layers.