16. Arlo

The smell of pine tar tickles my nose as I try to focus on getting into my sketches. But it’s harder than I thought to sketch the teams with Harrison right there in front of me. The next book is featuring him, so it’s not like if Gordon saw them, it will be hard to explain why there are so many of Harrison. But what would be hard to explain is that in a few, my mind wandered, and they kind of became more rough sketches for naughty art. I quickly rip out those pages and slip them into the back of the sketchbook to move later and start on a new sketch, this one of Benny practicing his pitches. It always surprises me how versatile some of the players can be. I can hardly walk straight without tripping over my own feet, and yet they can play multiple positions, pitching, hitting, and catching, and half the time they even do it all while flipping through the air.

Hollering starts to echo from the corridor leading out to the field from under the stands.

“Woot, woo, wooooooo,” the original players of Banana Ball cheer, rushing the field in full uniform, flipping and cartwheeling onto the pitch.

The Funky Monkeys and Animal Control players stop everything and watch.

“OG are in the house,” Taylor Blackstone, pitcher and basically frontman for the whole league, announces. His long messy blond curls bounce with each backflip he does toward the pitcher”s mound.

“Ready for us to show you baby ballers how it’s done?” he asks, and that gets him a few sharp looks.

Harrison just laughs.

“Pretty sure our tour matched your numbers last year, Taylor, but you go on thinking you”re teaching us.”

My heart races as Taylor walks slowly toward Harrison, his eyes slightly squinted, jaw clenched tight. He wouldn’t hit him, would he?

Harrison folds his arms over his chest and pops out one hip as he waits, and my gaze keeps moving back and forth between them, as does everyone’s. Gordon shifts like he’s going to intervene as Taylor steps right up into Harrison’s face. They stare each other down, Harrison is only a few inches taller, so they are practically nose to nose, and my heart is racing faster with every second that passes, the air in the stadium prickles with energy. Then Taylor’s lips spread into a wide grin, and Harrison lifts him into a hug.

What the actual fuck?

My whole body is practically vibrating, and that fucker is smiling, having a great old time. I don’t get sports at all. A few other players rush over grinning, too, Duckie included. He slaps a hand on Harrison’s shoulder and says, something I don’t hear but gains a loud laugh from both him and Taylor. The OG and new additions mingle, and then Dennis steps out with two other guys and all eyes go to them.

“Time to build some buzz around this new league,” Dennis yells. The guy next to him steps forward.

“Welcome, new players. Your tour last year was fantastic, and now we need to keep that buzz alive. My name is Liam Rothby, and I am the head choreographer for the league. Your choreographer from last year, Dennis, is joining us as a lead this year, and we are also welcoming an assistant to help keep you all on track. This is Miles Allworth. Now split into teams and let’s get started.”

They go through a few routines on the field as individual teams and then move into larger work. The main event welcome dance is top on their list, and they run it without any music, what feels like ten times before they release them to head in and shower.

Harrison throws me a smile and nods as I watch him walk in with the others, and then I spot Duckie walking my way.

“So what”s this I hear about Harry being your next star? You would think you would want to follow up with a real entertainer.”

“I am,” I say, closing my sketchbook and putting it and my pencils away. He jumps up on the side of the rail, leaning over the edge.

“Please tell me Duckie is number three at least.”

“Actually…”

“Oh man, come on!”

“Sorry, but I’ve already pitched Benny to my publisher.”

“No way! Okay, lock me in for number four.”

“You want to be the main character that bad?”

His eyes go a little wider. “It’s so cool you’re getting kids into Banana Ball. Actually, you are getting adults into it, too, ’cause they are reading your books to their kids and then looking up what we do. I reckon now we’ve joined the league, you have every guy who steps foot out here begging you to be next on the list.”

My cheeks burn. I never thought I would even get my book published, let alone that players would be lining up to be the next main character.

“Oh, that reminds me, Ian wanted to know if he could interview you.”

“Isn’t he a sportswriter?”

“Yeah, but he’s doing these promo pieces at the moment on Harry, and since all Harry could talk about in his interview was you basing your next book off him, he wanted to include maybe some early info or sketches or something, I don’t know. I said I would ask you. If you are down, just tell Harry. He said he could run you over after your next reading.”

I can’t find my voice to tell him how cool that sounds, all that keeps repeating in my thoughts is that he said all Harrison could talk about in his interview was me. My book. The one I am doing about him. I nod, and Duckie holds on with one hand to throw me a thumbs-up, jumps down, and runs off.

The afternoon sun peeks out from behind a cloud, and I turn my face up to let its warmth wash over me. Harrison really used his interview to talk about me. He’s always thinking about other people. What they want, what they need. He really is just so amazing.

I pull out my sketchbook again and try to focus on refining some of the drawings while I wait for Gordon. But I can’t focus and end up turning a sketch of Benny into one that looks way more like Harrison.

“Ready?” Gordon calls from the stairs, and I toss everything into my bag and head over to meet him.

“That was great,” I say, and he smiles.

“It was pretty awesome. I am so tired now, though. Do you mind if we order in for dinner?”

“I can cook,” I say, and he laughs.

“I’d like to avoid a hospital visit.”

“It was one time. I’m way less clumsy with this thing now,” I say, raising my casted hand, but I don’t see the rail beside us, and it clunks against it sending vibrations through my wrists. Thankfully it was a light tap and it didn’t follow with shooting pain. “Okay, fine, but I’m making us all a big dinner when this thing is off. I have to prove to all of you I’m normally really good in the kitchen.”

“How long until it’s off?”

“A few weeks, still. I miss sleeping in my own bed, in my own house.”

“I get it, really, I do. It can’t be easy having to stay with the best big brother in the world in his fancy house with a pool and everything.” He chuckles.

“A pool I can’t go swimming in. Yeah, it’s harder than you think. I know you’ve looked after us since Dad, but Noah is the youngest and he’s still in school, maybe you can focus your attention on what he’s getting up to?”

We reach the car, and Gordon opens my door and heads around to the driver’s side.

“I don’t think I want to get involved in what your brother does, and honestly I don’t want to be parenting you either,” he says, leaning over the roof of the car.

“Then let me go home.”

He frowns and shakes his head slowly. “I can’t. You might feel okay to be alone, but I’m not okay with you being alone yet. It was pure luck you were found that second night you ended up in the ER. If your neighbor hadn’t been walking past at just that second and heard the crash of the pot, we could have lost you.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was. You were still unconscious when she found you. You were on your back, you had whatever it was you were cooking all over you. She turned you to the side, and made sure you could breathe, Arlo. She called the ambulance. She really did save you, and we really did almost lose you. I have to know you’re okay before you go back. I need to. I know it sucks at my place—”

“It doesn’t suck, it’s just not…home,” I say as his words settle into my gut. I haven’t seen him this serious about anything since Dad got sick. I never really thought about how my accident or my repeat accident affected my brothers. Not really. I just thought they were treating me like some clumsy child they had to watch over. But they really thought they might lose me. Old feelings about the day we last saw Dad swell inside, and tears prickle my eyes.

“You get it now, though, right? Why I need you to stay?”

I force a smile and try to keep the tears at bay, that’s all he would need now is thinking he made me cry.

“I get it. Okay, we’ll order in, but I’m serious about my dinner. The day after the cast comes off, my place, for the best meal you’ve ever eaten.”

He reaches across the roof of his truck with one arm for me to shake his hand.

“Deal,” he says, and we climb in and drive home in silence, his words replaying in my mind the whole way. How could I have been so stupid to not see that all this was because he was scared?

“Did you get some good sketches?” Gordon asks as we pull into the garage, and I smile at the old Buick sitting there.

“Heaps, but I think I’ll need some more specific ones to line up with the story. Do you think Harrison would be up for a modeling session? He’s already doing so much, what with the readings and all.”

“I think he’d love that. If you haven’t noticed, Harry likes being the center of attention. Maybe tell him in advance that it’s not one of those nude drawing classes or you might get to see a lot more of him than you want to.”

My mind instantly pictures him naked, posing for me, and I bite my lower lip.

“Don’t!” Gordon warns.

“Don’t what?”

“I saw that look.”

“What look?” I ask, turning away for fear my face would give me away further.

“Seriously, Arlo. Harry isn’t a guy to crush on. He says he’s over the whole hookup scene, but he’s said that before. I don’t want you becoming another one of his one-night stands.”

Little does he know we’ve already had more than one night together. But what if he’s right? What if this is just another phase, and he gets sick of me and goes right back to whatever he was doing, or whoever he was doing before? My stomach churns at the thought.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. He’s a good-looking guy, that’s all that was,” I say, but Gordon’s raised brow and upturned smirk tell me he doesn’t quite believe me.

I’ve got to get better at lying if we’re going to pull this off.