32. Hudson

32

HUDSON

“ H udson, stop by my office before you head out, will you?”

“Will do, Coach,” I reply, as I finish tying my shoe.

I remove my AirPods from my ears, which are currently blaring my pre and post music playlist, consisting of Green Day’s entire arsenal of songs. I’ve done that my entire baseball career, and even though we don’t win all the games, it seems to be my superstition, guaranteeing me an injury free game. Which is always a win.

Our team has been slaughtering it lately. We’re on a winning streak, and it’s a relief knowing that, not only am I contributing, but I’m a big factor in the standings with the teammates I’ve been lucky enough to play with.

Callahan and I can easily predict each other’s moves on the field, like a color-coded chess board that only he and I can see. I know exactly what options we have, what direction we can go, and we’re both headed on the same path every time. I’ve played with a lot of different people in my career, and he’s been the easiest to fall into rhythm with. Other than my brother, of course. Which undoubtedly—regardless of our strained relationship—we somehow played like twin souls. We were practically unstoppable on the field.

“Good game, Burnsy.” Callahan reaches his fist out. I bump it as I stand from the bench in front of my locker.

“You, too, man. You killed it today. How’s your shoulder holding up?” I ask, as he holds the back of his arm, waving it around in a large circle.

“Great. At least my brain likes to think so. My body, that’s a whole other story.” He chuckles. “It’s been a good run, and I love that I’m going out this year with a bang, thanks to you.”

“Nah, it’s teamwork. So, you’re really going to wimp out on me, huh? You can stick it out for another, I don’t know, five years, can’t you?” I give him shit because I don’t want him to leave, even though I know it’s his time.

“Hell no, man. I’m going out on top.” He pats my shoulder and heads out of the locker room. He’s been pretty quiet about retiring, and I think, as much as he knows he needs to, he’s not ready to accept it. When all you’ve ever done your whole life is one thing, then one day it’s gone, who the hell are you anymore?

I can imagine the identity crisis he is feeling. I had a small taste of it after I was injured, and that made me hit rock bottom, even with the small hope that I could come back.

Grabbing my bag, I unscrew the lid of my protein shake and finish the rest before throwing it into the recycle bin on my way out of the locker room.

Coach Raymer’s office is down the hall, but his door is closed, which is unusual.

I come to a halt in front of it, hearing muffled voices.

Tapping my knuckles on the thick wooden door, the chatter fades and Coach Raymer calls out, “Come in. ”

The shock that hits me as I open Coach’s door halts me mid-step. My eyes meet Henry’s, who is peering back at me over his shoulder as he sits across from Coach Raymer’s desk, the same way I did the day I first met him.

Mine full of confusion, his full of confidence and excitement.

The panic spreads from my torso to the outstretches of my entire body, arriving at my trembling fingers and sandpaper throat at the same time. The worry and anger battle each other for a moment as I look between my brother and my coach.

“Hudson, come in.” I look at my hand, still on the doorknob, and at my surroundings, realizing the invisible brick wall physically stopped me from stepping further into his office.

I step to the side and close the door, but stay planted where I’m at.

“Hey, brother, good game.” He stands, walking toward me, holding out his hand in a high five handshake, and for the sake of appearances, I hold mine out. He slaps our palms together and pulls me in for a bro hug, patting me on the shoulder. I quickly step away from him and walk into the office to stand in front of Coach’s desk.

“You asked to see me, sir?”

“I figured you knew your brother was here, considering he’s going to be a free agent next year, and I’m looking for a replacement for Callahan next season.” He looks between the two of us, sensing the tension. How can he not?

I knew the reason he was here the moment I saw him. I just didn’t want to accept it, say it, or even consider that as a possibility. But Coach already is.

Coach continues, “The Byrnes brothers back together again. Wouldn’t that be a match made in heaven?”

Hell. It would be hell.

“We were the best of the best, sir, back in our day. Man, it was a sight. Wasn’t it, Hud?” Henry steps to my side, patting my shoulder again like a condescending asshole.

“That was a long time ago.” My voice comes out dry.

“Well…” Coach clears his throat. “I just wanted to give you guys a moment to catch up before Henry flew back home. He’s got a game tomorrow, so he wasn’t staying long.”

He never does, just comes barreling into my life, throwing my world upside down so I can drown in the shitstorm of emotions he brings out of me before leaving again.

“Have a good flight, Henry. I’ll see you tomorrow, Coach.” My reply is robotic at best. I’ve been programmed from years of unpredictable behavior from my brother. My entire body shuts down the moment I’m in the same space as him.

“Hold tight outside for me for a minute, Hudson, while I finish up here.” I simply nod at him, then look over at Henry. I tip my chin up with a silent goodbye and half acknowledgement, hating that I have to do even that.

And waiting outside his office is just as painful. Is he making a deal with him? Is he really considering him for our team? My team. It’s only a few months into the season, but we are a family now.

That reminds me of our trip next month to meet Ember’s family. She’s been even more stressed about it since Elliot showed up. To my surprise, she didn’t talk to her parents about why they sent Elliot instead of coming themselves. She completely ignored the whole situation. I don’t know why she stayed quiet instead of standing up for herself like she did with Elliot. Clearly, it’s deeper than I realize. But so is the situation with me and Henry that I hardly speak about.

Finally, he steps out of the office, and Coach steps through the doorway, calling my name. It feels like he’s leaving the principal’s office at school and I’m the next one to get called in. I ignore him and keep my gaze on Coach as he steps back into his office .

I follow him in, shutting the door behind me, and he wastes no time.

“What’s the deal with you guys?” Coach Raymer asks.

“Nothing.” Literally nothing. We have no deal. No relationship. Nothing. He lost those rights a long time ago. And he ruined it time and time again, every time I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“That wasn’t nothing, Burnsy,” he replies, and rightfully so.

“We haven’t been the same, sir. Since everything happened.”

“It was an accident, right?” he asks.

He doesn’t know about Henry’s engagement to my ex-fiancé. At least that wasn’t all that public because we were so young back then. It was before Henry was the star professional player he is now. So I know he’s talking about my injury.

I stare back at Henry on the pitcher’s mound. We’re up one run at the bottom of the ninth, and we can’t risk anyone else getting on base. Our Coach almost took Henry out of the game after that double, but thankfully, I just stopped Leach from coming into home base with the last hit. Now we just have one player on second and we need another out.

I eye him in a silent understanding. We both know what needs to happen. Reynolds is coming up to bat. Reynolds is calculated; he needs his pitches slow and steady. His reaction time is not as great as others, but he packs a power punch when he does nail it. I call out to Henry for a high fastball. We both know he needs to go top right because Reynolds doesn’t hug his bat close to his body as he should. A high fastball will make him swing, but he’ll miss.

I crouch down and call it out with my fingers, my mitt strategically placed exactly where I know Henry is throwing.

Henry stands tall, bringing his mitt to his pitching hand, looks over his shoulder at second base, then back to me. He shakes his head and his hand peers over his mitt, just barely enough for me to see his pointer finger and middle finger, separated, splayed over the top of the baseball.

Wait. Why is he holding it that way? That’s not his fast-pitch grip.

He lifts his leg, whipping it up quickly before circling his shoulder and ripping the ball through the air. His stance is all off.

My reaction time is slow. The ball cannons through the air between the mound and home base. It flies like lightning, and I’m still thrown off by the moments before his pitch.

Before I can register, Reynolds is swinging. The ball misses both his bat and my mitt as it soars between us, crashing into my ankle, forcing me to fall backward as my entire body explodes in pain.

“Hudson?” Coach calls me back into the room.

“Honestly, sir. I don’t know. I called a fastball. He threw a curveball. I wasn’t ready. I should have been ready.” I dip my chin, ashamed of myself, because I blame myself. I’ve always blamed myself.

“Pitchers aren’t always able to throw perfectly,” he replies.

“I know, Coach.” His reply sounds like the broken record I’ve heard from everyone over the years. Placating me and protecting him. “I just don’t know that I can trust him.”

“Trust him, or trust yourself as a catcher with him?”

“Both, sir,” I reply honestly.

He just nods.

“Great game today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And I’m excused.

I leave urgently, heading straight to my truck. The game is long over and most of the people have left the stadium. Only a few reporters linger outside. I never need to drive to the stadium, considering we all live across the street, but our tinted windows allow us some privacy and protection as we leave the stadium. I pull out of the garage, into the street, then turn quickly into our condo garage, parking in my normal spot.

Fuck .

Fuck.

Henry being a free agent next season allows any team that can afford him to offer him a contract. I can’t imagine New York letting him go, but Henry plays hard-to-get really well, and he’ll make any team he’s considering battle it out for top dollar.

He doesn’t want to play for Seattle, and his motivation is purely to make my life hell. And I still, to this day, have no idea why my brother goes out of his way to do that.

As I exit the truck, my lungs expand fully, taking in much needed air that’s been restricted since the moment I saw Henry.

I was so lost in my own thoughts I didn’t see Ember sitting in her car. She must have pulled up right before me.

“Hey.” She exits her car, shutting her door behind her.

“Hey.” I smile, because I can’t not smile.

“You okay?” she asks, because she’s gotten to know me far better than I ever expected.

“Perfect, now.” I wrap my hand around the nape of her neck and pull her lips to mine. Her touch abolishes the stress, the worry, the anxiety. It evaporates everything except my desire for her and the smile behind my kiss.

Everything is perfect now.

“Good, because I met with the wholesale vendor for all the… products, err—accessories,” a hint of uncertainty in her voice and a furrow in her brow as she tries to find the proper word to describe sex toys, “to purchase for the club, and I have a ton of questions.”

She pops the trunk, and I peer inside to see a huge box of different styles of sex toys. Dildos, vibrators, whips, cuffs. An array of colors, textures, and designs .

My brows take up all the space on my forehead, and I’m quite speechless.

“The construction will be finished by the end of next week. I’ll need to tell her what we need for each room by then.”

Speechless no more.

“Well, looks like we have some homework, little red.”