Page 8

LOGAN

H e left quickly but slowed as I caught up. I approached from behind him on the path and he made space for me to walk beside him. The wind pushed his messy blond curls against his forehead beneath his oversized grey sweatshirt when he turned to look over at me as I matched his pace.

“I would have been fine at camp,” I said, clenching my hands in the pockets of my hoodie.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Dean laughed. “I wouldn’t leave my worst enemy to the bears.”

“Is that another term for teammates? Because they’re the only dangerous thing in these woods,” I snapped, and my eyes were drawn ahead of us to where a group of players were roughhousing as they barreled through the forest.

“They’re not all bad, Josh.” Dean shook his head. “You just need to open up more.”

“This isn’t therapy, Tuck, it’s a baseball team. Stop trying to drag me into your emotionally messed-up chosen family. You guys are weird. Just let me play baseball.” I sighed.

I was so sick of that being their line. Everyone, from Tucker to Cody, all wanted me to acclimate to their offputting, touchy-feely bullshit. I couldn’t do it, not even if it was tempting. It made me sick to my stomach. Families weren’t like this . They were rough and mean, they were forgetting your kid at school pick-up to score drugs. They were sixteen different boyfriends because your mom couldn’t hold one down for more than a few months. It was hiding in your closet, praying that the screaming stopped in time for you to get some sleep so you didn’t pass out during your exams.

Family wasn’t some cotton candy fairytale they’d dreamed up. Family was the last people you’d choose to share blood with but the first people you’d drop everything for if they called for help.

“Van has two older siblings; a sister who runs an animal shelter and plays for the Harbor Hillcats,” Dean said, ignoring my hissy fit. “And a sister who works for the UN overseas. He’s the baby of the family and I’m positive that’s what will make him a good therapist. He was born listening to everyone talk around him like he wasn’t there. He hears everything, so don’t say anything stupid or damning around him.”

“Good for him. I’m sure the tree will make a great therapist,” I grumbled, ignoring the way it made me feel to know that his family was so selfless. I loathed this tactic Dean was playing. He was backing me into a corner by simply being himself and it was infuriating.

“Liam…uh Baker, he grew up in Ontario but got into school in Michigan and then was transferred to us last season. He’s a good guy, little weird and pronounces his O’s funny, he smokes like three packs a day so if you need one…” He said. "Jensen, he's like an otter. Unsuspectingly kind. He's up for anything, super social and funny. Unreal hands… he has like photographic memory or some shit, if you give him signals he'll remember every single one."

Jensen, he was the catcher. I remembered his name, only because he woke up with a smile on his face and it pissed me off. No one should be that awake at six am. I kept my head down as Dean went through more guys. “Silas is a saint,” he said, and my hands flexed at my sides.

If you only knew.

“Dude would give you the shirt off his back if you asked. We call him Doc, Cael calls him Gramps to get under his skin, but he’s not that old. He’s an only child. His mom is the sweetest woman in the world. His dad is a fucking tool though,” Dean said, and I turned to look at him for the first time since we started walking.

Wrong. It was all so wrong.

“What?” He asked when I stared. “You look offended…”

“Not offended, just surprised. I thought Silas was a daddy’s boy,” I huffed.

“Alright, that's a strange hill to die on,” Dean said, his brows furrowing. “Ok, well you know Arlo.”

“Legacy son with the world on his shoulders and perfect season.” My jaw tightened at the memory of all the news articles that were waved in my face as the season ended. Coach would have shoved them down my throat if he couldn’t get in trouble for it.

“Okay, so you don’t know Arlo.” Dean laughed. “He’s not like that off the field. He’s a little rough, kind of like you.” He stared at me for a little too long after he said it and it made me wanna push him off the path into the bush, but I clenched my fists again and held back the urge.

Arlo and I were nothing alike.

“Arthur King really is the guy the news paints him as. He’s a mean drunk. He pins Nick and Arlo against each other a lot. Just when you think they’re in an okay place, Arthur pinches Nick and sets him on a warpath.”

“I really don’t need the King family drama distracting me from the season, Tuck. They don’t even play for the team anymore,” I snapped.

“But they’re your coaches. Like it or not, you’re about to be in the middle of that.”

“Like it or not? Maybe the King brothers should learn to be professional and leave their feud off the field. We have games to win. If they want therapy they should walk off a tall cliff with Van Mitchell.”

Dean snorted; he actually laughed at what I said.

“What?” I snarled, embarrassment creeping up my spine. It wasn’t meant to be a joke.

“It would be hard to replace Van. He’s the tallest and fastest fieldman in the league and his batting average is nearly .340. And as for Arlo, you’ll never have a better pitching coach. I think you’re smart enough to know that. So if you want, we can walk them off a cliff but it won’t help you or your season.”

“You’re infuriating,” I grumbled and settled back into my indifferent mood.

The trees bristled in the wind, a lot of them only just beginning to bud, with small green leaves sprouting from the dried winter branches. I could see why they came out here for Spring Camp; it was almost serene. We had never done anything like this with Lorette. They weren’t sponsored in the way Harbor was. The Shores funneled money into the NCAA programs without batting an eyelid, and it only added to the agitation I felt toward the family.

“Ella,” he said, after a beat of silence.

“I know Estella Miele’s story.” I stopped him with a hand waving in the air. “She killed one of the most promising NFL stars of our generation and walked off scot-free to live her perfect little life.”

Dean stopped walking and pulled his hoodie off his head letting the breeze whip through his hair as he stared me down. "Shut the hell up, Josh."

"Or what?" I challenged. "Does the golden boy have any other settling besides happy?"

"You don't get to judge Ella," he warned, his temper simmering and suddenly I was tempted to see how far I could push him.

“There it is. Did I hit a nerve, Tuck? What, do you guys pass around your live-in bat bunny? Is this one of those weird group projects where you all have a schedule for her?” I pushed. “Arlo gets her Mondays, Cael on Wednesdays, you seem like a—”

Before I could finish the joke Dean advanced on me, his hand tangled into my sweater as he shoved me roughly against the nearest tree.

“Get the fuck off me.” I pushed on his chest without him budging. He was the biggest player on the team by far and I was strong but he was…made of concrete and rebar.

I could feel his fingertips burning through my sweater. The heat was unbearable, like I had my throat pressed to an element. The panic settled across my chest, suffocating my ability to remain calm. Memories flickered violently, reliving every touch like I was still that little kid unable to protect myself.

Vomit filled my mouth.

“Tucker,” I warned.

“You can run your mouth about any guy on this team, Logan,” he spat. “But if I ever hear a single bad thing about Ella come out of your mouth again, it’ll be me you have to answer to.” His tone dropped in pitch, into a territory of anger and loyalty I had never seen from the first baseman.

My chest felt heavy, like he had laid hundreds of rocks on top of it, and no matter how badly I struggled to get free of him, his grip was unwavering. His face was so close to mine that I could see the intricate swirls of sea green that danced in his blue eyes, and smell the sharp sandalwood and amber cologne he had sprayed over himself that morning. I sat there in those colors trying to find reality. A truly desperate attempt to crawl out of the panic attack that was consuming me whole.

“She never did a damn fucking thing to you,” he said when I didn’t answer.

“She broke my fucking nose.”

“You deserved that and you know it.” He shoved again and my back scraped roughly against the wood. “You wanna act like that’s who she is but I know Cael talked about her. She’s his sister in all but DNA and sometimes I even question that. You know what she’s done for him, for this team. She’s like Cael, like you ,” he spat. “You’re so quick to assume we’re all bad people but you’re the common dementor for our anger, Logan. Keep her name out of your mouth.”

“Jesus, Tuck.” I shoved again. “Fine, Ella is off limits.”

Dean finally let go and stepped back

I stared at him a second longer, composing myself and tugging on the suffocating collar of my hoodie. His grip still burned on my skin like a brand that wouldn’t fade.. I could take all the emotional abuse from this team, their taunts and jabs but…

“Don’t ever touch me again,” I said as he walked past me.

“Keep hiking,” he responded, after a long, measured breath. “We have two hours left before we pop out on the other side back at camp. It’ll be dark soon.”