Chapter 1

Jake

Seven months later…

The batter spits on the ground then taps the top of the barrel to home plate, before lifting the bat up and bringing one elbow back. After swinging and missing the last two pitches the count is 0-2, which doesn't bode well for a cleanup hitter. He's pissed and kicking his back cleat like a bull ready to charge.

It is, however, a count that pitchers love because an eager batter is fun to play with, and my brother knows this. High, low, outside, or hugging the plate…it won't matter what Cruz throws next. A hungry batter will chase it, and judging by the way this guy is wrapping his fingers around the bat's grip, he's swinging for the stands, no matter how the ball crosses the plate.

Of course, Cruz doesn't plan on letting that happen. His pre-season ERA is sitting pretty below one, and with this game being our last before the season starts next week, I know he's anxious to shut this batter down and close out the game. But as he sneaks a look at Ellery sitting in the stands, wearing his number just as she has all pre-season, I know it's going to be another moment before he winds up. There's nothing Cruz loves more than giving his girl a show.

It's funny to think the tiny blonde with the larger than life personality would be the one to bring my best friend to his knees. But the day we arrived in Cherry Cove last summer and the two crossed paths, I could see she was the one for him.

It was kind of comical to watch them trip over one another, the two obviously still crazy about the other, no matter what had happened between them. Thank God they finally said fuck it and decided to let go of the fear that had broken them up because they're awesome together, and I couldn't be happier for my brother because he scored.

Ellery is cool as hell. She's everything you'd expect a southern belle would be and everything you wouldn't. She can drink like a sailor, loves her music loud, and prefers Doc Martens and concert tees to polo shirts and pearls. In the time that I've known her, she's become like a sister to me and I am all for my brother giving her whatever she wants. But not today.

I've squatted nearly two hundred days a year, for the past fourteen, and can hold this position all day long. Hell, the number of hours I've clocked doing hip mobility warm-ups and lower body strength conditioning is ridiculous. But for the first time ever, I'm not looking forward to shit-talking with the guys in the club house after the game. I want to get home.

"About time," the batter says with a huff when Cruz turns his from the stands and looks down the line.

"Are you ready to go down swinging?" I reply confidentially, flashing Cruz the sign for a Fastball, which he shakes off.

"No." The batter spits on the ground and adjusts his stance. "Just done watching your pitcher eye-fuck the blonde in the stands. Not that I blame him. Girl is hot."

I shake my head and give Cruz another sign—a Splitter—which he also shakes off. "I'd watch that mouth if I were you."

"Oh yeah?" The batter kicks his back foot again, sending dirt flying. "And why is that?"

I flash Cruz another sign and he shakes it off, too. "Come on, Cabron," I mumble, before flashing him another, which he accepts with a nod.

"Because…" I adjust my stance and position my glove in anticipation of where the ball will land. "That's my sister you're talking about."

Talking smack is one thing. Talking about or hitting on a teammate's girl is another. Last winter, a townie gave his phone number to our right fielder's girlfriend while we were at a dive bar close to campus. When she gave the number back to him, he called her a tease and left. Of course, half the team followed him out to the parking lot and after that, let's just say he went home with piss on his pants and that napkin shoved in his mouth.

If Coach had found out what happened, he'd have benched every one of the guys involved. But there's something about being the best team in college baseball. No one wants to mess with the magic that brought home the championship and not one person at the bar said a word about what happened that night.

"Suggest you keep your eye on what's coming down the pike," I say with a laugh.

As Cruz winds up, the batter grips the bat tighter, and when he delivers his pitch, the ball sails toward us at the same velocity as a Hardball but with no movement. A Slider. A pitch that's beautiful and hard as hell to hit.

As it approaches the plate, the batter swings, but the ball breaks sharply, catching the corner of the plate. It lands in my glove with a pop and I squeeze my glove around it.

"Strike three," the ump calls with a raised fist. "You're out!"

The game is over, and we've won. With this one in the bag, we're undefeated headed into regular season play, which means the likelihood of scouts coming to next week's opener is high.

I stand from my crouching position and remove my helmet and mask with one hand, while holding the glove and ball in the other. "Next time, eyes on the ball, friend."

The batter tosses his bat to the ground and removes his helmet with an angry scowl as I make my way over to the pitcher's mound.

"Nice game, brother." I clap Cruz on the back and he flashes me an ear-to-ear grin. "How's the arm?"

"It's good," he nods, moving it around slowly.

Pitching a complete game is a lot of work, not to mention dangerous. Fatigue usually sets in midway through a game, with a pitcher's arm toast by the later innings. That's why pitch limits exist. So player's don't burn their arms out.

Once upon a time it wasn't unheard of to see greats like Nolan Ryan, Jimmy Palmer, and Steve Carlton throw more than two hundred pitches a game. These days, pitchers get relieved long before their arm gets tired to prevent injury.

Cruz's arm, however, defies reason. He keeps his pitches consistent in early innings, saving his stamina for later, throwing the kind of heat in final innings you would expect from a closer. He doesn't worry about pitch limits because he's known for shutting batters down quickly. In the case they do get a hit off him, our infield is second to none. At least, it was when Cal was at shortstop and Marcus, third.

The new guy filling Cal's spot, a transfer from Cal State Fullerton, is doing a good job, but the infield chemistry hasn't quite gelled. It's weird not seeing Cal in between Cruz and Marcus in my line of sight or hearing his drill sergeant voice call out plays.

I still can't believe one of my brothers betrayed another for money. Sure, someone else paved the way for Cal to turn on Cruz, pumping him so full of steroids he didn't know which end was up. But the fact remains—Cal was determined to ruin Cruz's life and that shit didn't fly with me.

Still, I can't help but wonder how he is. The four of us were inseparable once, and it's hard to just stop caring about someone that was like a brother. From what Marcus has shared, Cal has apparently learned a lot in rehab, and wants to meet with Cruz to make amends. But we're more likely to see Hell freeze over. As far as Cruz is concerned, Cal doesn't exist. He betrayed him by helping Royce attack Ellery and if it were me, I'd probably feel the same way.

I don't know what Cal plans to do with his future. Baseball isn't in the cards, that's for sure. No team wants to pick up a player with a history of juicing. But I hope he finds a way to make up for what he did, in whatever way that he can.

When the outfield finally joins the infield at the mound, Coach walks over, says a few words about a job well done, then reminds us not to party too hard over the weekend. He wants us in top shape for next week's opener and promises Monday's practice is going to kick our ass.

Once he's done, the team fans out in different directions. Some of the guys make their way toward the clubhouse to hit the showers, while others head to their cars, leaving just Cruz, Marcus and me.

"Alright, I'm out too," Marcus jerks his head toward the club house. "I'm headed to the shower, then off to the airport."

"What?" Cruz looks over at him. "I thought you were going to the party with us tomorrow night?"

"Naw man, raincheck. Allison called this morning and asked if I could come for the weekend. I've got a free ticket from all those frequent flier miles I racked up last semester, figured why not. Besides, four's company, but five's a crowd."

Marcus and Allison had been going strong since they met in Cherry Cove last summer. He seemed to like her enough to go the distance, literally, and I was happy for him. It did seem weird he was always heading to Seattle and wondered if we'd be seeing her here more with the season starting, but guess it was none of my business. He seems happy and that's all that matters.

He's still in the dark about what really happened last summer, and Cruz and I plan to keep it that way. The less Marcus knows, the better. Plus, he's the only one out of the three of us that still talks to Cal, and knowing he doesn't have to lie for us, makes me feel better.

"Oh, come on," Cruz shakes his head with a laugh. "It's not like that, man."

"But it is," Marcus laughs back. "You've got your girl and Jenica will be here which means he's got his."

Marcus looks at me and Cruz's eyes follow. "I've got what?" I ask, pretending not to know what he's implying.

"Who?" Marcus corrects. "And never mind. Your mind is clearly elsewhere, and so is mine."

"Say no more." Cruz looks over at Ellery, who is waiting patiently by the dugout. "We'll miss you at the party. Ellery has cooked up some kind of group costume. Hope it still works with four."

"Knowing her it will," Marcus laughs. "Tell her I will wear it some other time to make up not being there." Using his glove, he pats Cruz on the back, then high-fives me. "See you Monday morning."

Cruz and I watch him jog across the field and I can't help but think about how different everything feels this season. Last year, Marcus, Cruz, Cal and I were a foursome that played and partied together. Our apartment was filled with non-stop laughter and our off the field antics were as legendary as our game play. But with Cal gone and Marcus always jetting up to Seattle, the dynamic had changed, and it's only a matter of time before things change again. Only, this time for good.

The next few months were going to chart the path for the rest of our lives. It was an exciting time. Every time I stepped onto the field, I felt one step closer to my dream of playing pro ball. Still, I couldn't help but feel a little melancholy when I thought about closing this chapter and leaving Highland behind.

"Alright," I say once Marcus is out of sight. "I'm headed out, too."

"Where's the fire?" Cruz laughs as I turn and head for the dugout to grab my bag.

"No fire!" I call back over my shoulder. "Just somewhere I have to be."

I give Cruz a finger wave and grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I make my way to the parking lot. When I reach my 4-Runner I unlock the door, throw my bag inside the cab, and look back over my shoulder. Ellery's joined Cruz at the mound. Knowing them, they'll stay there making out there for a minute—maybe even have a quickie—which would be great, honestly, because it would give me enough time to get home before they do.

I climb into the driver's seat and start the car, releasing the emergency brake before looking over my shoulder to back out of the parking spot. When my chest pad hits the steering wheel, I realize I still have my gear on. Throwing my car back into park, I hop out and while the engine is running, rip off my chest protector and leg guards, toss them into the car, then hop back in.

Shit, maybe there was a fire and it melted my brain, because it wasn't like me to rush off the field and forget I was still in my gear. I'm usually the first on the field and the last off because I love this game. I have lived and breathed it for longer than I can remember and have a pre and post-game ritual that I take seriously. But when it comes to Ellery's best friend Jenica, rational thought flies right out the window.

Fiery and smart, with an acerbic wit, eyes the color of the sky, and hair as dark as night, Jenica and I have developed a bond since last summer. One that comes with the kind of benefits that make my pulse race and my dick twitch.

But it's not the thought of a late night make out session that has me running home. It's the message she left on my answering machine earlier today. She was coming up for the weekend a day early and her flight would have gotten in somewhere around the seventh inning.

She didn't say why she had changed her flight, but she wouldn't have done so unless there was a good reason. It would cost her money that she didn't have, and I wanted to know what that reason was. Something told me it wasn't good, however, given the unease in her voice which belied her usual confidence.

I could have asked Ellery before the game started. Surely she knew. But by the time I got to the field the team was already warming up and there was no time. However, seeing as she didn't look in a hurry to get home, something told me she didn't know, which meant Jenica only told me, giving me even more reason to worry.

Last summer, I told Jenica that I would always be there for her and I meant it. The night I pulled that gun from her shaking hands, I'd never been more serious about a promise in all my life. Day or night, I would be there if she needed to talk, and I'd kept my word. When she called, I answered, and when she came up to visit and the memory of that night haunted her dreams, it was my room she tiptoed to, and bed she crawled in.

I would do anything for that girl. Hell, I already had. I'd gotten rid of the gun that shot Royce and made sure nothing on that beach connected her, or any of us, to his murder. I was committed to her safety and making sure that night didn't change who she was because that snark and sass that she doled out in spades…there was nothing like it. She was one of a kind. A real force of nature.

The first time I saw her, it felt like I'd been hit with a ton of bricks. Her blue eyes were captivating, and her coolness intrigued me. But when we finally kissed that night at the cave and she let me into her orbit, that interest turned into more.

I never expected Jenica would drop her guard the way she did that night but once she did…shit, that kiss was hotter than any I'd ever shared with a girl. Hell, it was as hot as the threesome I had last year with the Branson Twins after the Tri Delt semi-formal. Once I started, I couldn't stop. That mouth of hers was too delicious for words.

After that night, whenever we were together, the tension between us was palpable. In fact, we were about to have a repeat performance when she came over to grab the stack of missing persons fliers I'd held onto. But just as we were about to kiss, we heard Cruz yelling on the beach and both of us bolted out the door.

From there, everything happened so fast—Jenica pulling out her gun and shooting Royce, his body floating in the ocean, Cruz and I working fast to cover up the fight he had with both him and Cal. That night we were driven by adrenaline, keeping the girls safe, our only objective. But once our inquisition of Cal came to an end and the sun came up, the shock of what happened wore off and reality set in.

Cruz would not let Ellery out of his sight. Even when their parents came to town, and the two filled them in on a version of events we all agreed was the only truth people should know, he was by her side. While Ellery had Cruz, Jenica needed someone to have her back and I decided that was me. I took up the same protective stance with Jenica and didn't let her out of my sight the rest of the summer.

It wasn't until the night before we headed back to Highland, however, that Jenica and I finally kissed again, and this time it lasted all night. She let her guard down fully and we did things I'd been dreaming about from the moment I first laid eyes on her. Things we continue to do every time she is here.

But no matter what we do, no matter how hot our nights together get, the line is clear. No sex. Make out sessions ended at third base. We're friends that fool around and make each other feel good. I liked satisfying her needs, and she feels safe with me, and that's it. It goes no further. Doesn't matter to me what we do if I'm being honest. I love it when she visits.

But by the time I pull into the driveway at home I'm so keyed up at the idea of just seeing her, that the pang of regret when I don't makes my chest hurt. Then I remember she wouldn't be waiting outside. She has her own key and probably let herself in.

Throwing my car into park, I shut off the engine, push open the driver's side door, and hop out. I don't bother with my bag or gear. She's inside. I can feel it. But I can also feel something's wrong, and I need to find out what it is so I can fix it and make it better just like I have done since last summer.