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“Thanks.” I wipe my brow, grimacing when my arm gets coated in sweat. “Think we’ll survive?”

“Maybe.” He dumps his water bottle over his face. I lick my lips—because I’m still thirsty, not because the move makes himappear sexy or anything. “Remember when practice used to be fun?”

I shoot him a half-hearted glare. “Dude, this is still fun. Sort of.”

Coach Bryant took over this season for old man Harley, who finally retired. He’s been running us ragged for the past month. Don’t get me wrong, the guy knows his stuff. But sometimes, I miss the laid-back practices we used to have under Harley. We’d spend half the time shooting the shit and goofing off, because he trusted that we could rein it in when the time came. Now, it’s all business, all the time.

“Break time’s over. Let’s get back to work!” Coach Bryant slaps each of our asses as we head back out onto the field and get to work sharpening our skills.

Daniel and I settle into our routine pretty quickly. He sets up shop behind home plate while I get comfy on the mound. As I wind up, he flashes me a series of quick hand signals.Fastball. Curve. Changeup. Slider.

Nodding, I let each pitch fly with as much precision as I can muster.

“Nice one, Charlie!” Daniel gives me a thumbs-up when my next throw smacks his glove dead center. “Keep that release point consistent.”

Daniel never just catches during practice. He coaches me, offering bits of wisdom and encouragement whenever Coach Bryant isn’t watching.

“Keep your shoulder closed,” he calls out when my next pitch veers off course. “You’re opening up too early on the delivery.”

I adjust and throw again, getting a nod of approval when the ball rockets into his mitt.

“Nice! You got it now.”

We keep the rhythm going, ignoring the sweltering sun that’s turned the field into a furnace. Sweat trickles down my back as I force my tired arm to cooperate.

The rest of the team is struggling too. They groan and pantwhile Coach Bryant prowls around the field, a panther ready to strike. He barks reminders of what we’re doing wrong, and I’m suddenly appreciative of the fact that Daniel’s always in my corner.

Finally, after an eternity of pitches, Coach Bryant blows his whistle, signaling the end of a grueling afternoon. We huddle around him, a motley crew of exhausted athletes barely able to stand. I lean on Daniel, who supports me with an arm around my waist.

“Good work today, men.” Coach Bryant stares each one of us in the eye. “Remember, hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard. Now, hit the showers.”

I snicker. Where Coach Harley would wax poetic with his speeches, Coach Bryant evidently prefers his to last as long as a prostate exam.

“What’s so funny?” Daniel whispers in my ear as we trudge down the hall to the locker room.

“Nothing. I think I’m getting loopy. Nothing a nice cold shower won’t fix.”

I walk outof the locker room feeling like a million bucks—or at least like a functional human being again. Daniel’s still in the shower, taking his time getting clean. One of the downsides of having such a furry rump, I guess.

As I sit down on the bench outside the stadium, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I glance at the screen, and my face splits into a grin. Big brother is calling.

I accept the FaceTime request, and Roy’s face fills my screen. He looks the same as always—a five o’clock shadow, dark brown eyes, and a scowl on his handsome face. He’s my hero, my rock, the person I look up to most in this world.

“Roy! What’s up, bro?”

“Charlie.” His voice is gruff but warm. “How’s it going? You at practice?”

“Just finished. It wasbrutal.I think the new coach wants us dead. But you know me, I can handle it. What about you? To what do I owe the pleasure of your mug?”

“As I’m sure you know, Mom’s birthday is in a couple of months. Dad wants to throw a big party and put me in charge of planning it.”

“He wants me to be there?”

Roy nods. “Bingo. So, what’s your baseball schedule like in May? I’ll schedule the party around it.”

I rattle off the dates, my mind still reeling from the fact that Roy called me. Usually, it’s like pulling teeth to get him on the phone. I’m lucky if I can get an “LOL” from him when I text him a joke that I came up with. Yet here he is, taking the time to do what he hates…for me.

My heart swells with love for my big brother. He’s always been there for me, even when I was an annoying snot-nosed kid following him around like a lost puppy. Mom always says I put him on a pedestal, but how can I not? He’s strong, smart, successful—everything I want to be. He can also be intense at times and somewhat closed off, but that’s just how he’s always been.