Page 43

Xavier

The kid at the front desk of Double Play looks half asleep, scrolling his phone when the door jingles. He drags his focus from the device momentarily before it falls back to the screen and then back up again. Eyes wide, he practically trips over himself when he shoots out of the chair to get to me.

"Hey, man, I'm Xavier. Vivi said I could stop by and spend some time with the kids," I tell him, extending my hand.

He pumps it excitedly. "Of course. I'm Clay. Let me get you checked in and then I can take you back. They'll be so stoked to see you."

It's the last day of the All Star Break and I haven't been able to get the idea of stopping by to see some of the kids out of my head since Vivi mentioned it. She doesn't know I'm here yet.

After verifying that I am a registered volunteer, Clay leads me back to the gym, hands flailing as he gives me a tour. He's clearly reveling in having something to do, so I don't bother telling him I've been here before.

Squeaky sneakers skid across the gym floor as a group of teens play basketball. High-pitched giggles come from a group of girls collapsing into each other as they watch back a TikTok dance by the bleachers.

On the opposite end of the gym, the sharp slap of a ball against a glove calls to me. Two smaller boys, still teens but undersized, are playing catch, and damn, the one with the tight dark curls sticking out from under his worn baseball cap has a cannon on him.

No wonder Clay is disinterested in anything that isn't on a screen while manning the front desk. All the action is in the gym.

"Is it okay if I go talk to them?" I nod toward the pair.

He nods eagerly. "Totally, Mr. Kingsley. That's Elijah and Ezra--they're brothers. Both are crazy talented, but Ezra, the little dude, he's next-level."

"Do you know what position he plays?"

His brow draws together as he thinks about it. "Second."

Second .

Clay opens his mouth to say more, shutting it as quickly.

"What are you thinking, Clay?" I ask, curious if sees the same thing I do.

Next to me, his eyes follow the path of the ball a few more times before peering at me. "It's BS, is all. There's nothing wrong with second base, but they only put him there because he's the smallest kid on the team. He's sharp too, knows the game better than any of them. They're holding him back."

"Thanks, Clay." I pat him on the shoulder and head for the two brothers.

Elijah spots me first, and the ball his brother throws zips past his head and bounces off the wall behind him.

"What the hell!" Ezra hollers at his brother as the ball rolls back toward them. "Are you going to grab it?"

When Elijah doesn't answer Ezra shakes his head, jogging towards the ball and scooping it up in his glove. "Are you broke, bro?" He slams the ball into the outstretched glove in front of him.

Still staring over his brother's shoulder at me, the speechless boy lifts his chin in my direction.

"Wha--" Falling as speechless as his nearly identical practice partner, Ezra's mouth comes unhinged.

"Do you mind if I join you?" I hold up my glove, the corner of my mouth lifting with it. I watch patiently while they have a silent conversation that makes me envious of not having a sibling, until finally, both of their heads bob rapidly.

Closing the space between us I extend my hand. "Xavier Kingsley."

"Catcher for the Bandits." Elijah's voice comes out as a squeak while he shifts from foot to foot, his whole body practically vibrating.

When his brother is done manhandling me in an impressive handshake, Ezra cautiously takes my hand. Looking up at me from below the brim of his Bandits hat, his dark eyes double in size, like it's all hitting him at once.

"You've won two Gold Gloves and you've been voted into three All-Star Games," the smaller boy finally says.

"I better step up my game or you'll be coming for my spot. You were throwing absolute lasers."

Vivienne was right. Being here and seeing Ezra blink back shock is fun. But he looks like he might pass out from the praise, so I release his hand and take the spot Elijah was standing in earlier. The two boys form the wide end of our triangle, taking turns throwing with me for a while.

Around us, the gym starts to quiet as kids are picked up, leaving us with space to talk. Of the two, Eli, which he tells me he prefers over his full name, is more talkative. I learn that he's younger, although not by much. They're Irish twins--thirteen and fourteen.

"I hear you're a second baseman. Is that your favorite position?" I ask, nudging Ezra into joining the conversation.

He shrugs, palming the baseball against his thigh before he throws it back. The leather smacks hard against my glove with the extra heat he put on that one.

"Do you ever play catcher?" I send the ball towards his brother.

Another lift of his shoulders, and he mouths something I don't hear. When I cup my hand to my ear, he rolls his eyes, reminding me a little of Tenley, before repeating, "The gear doesn't fit."

Damn that's rough . I instantly know if this kid has any interest at all in playing catcher, I'll have new gear in his size waiting for him next week.

"He'd be such a good catcher. No one sees the field like him," Eli brags.

"Shut up," Ezra snaps back.

"You don't want to play catcher?" I can't get a read through his mask of anger.

"He wants to, he's too damn stubborn." Eli rats him out in classic little brother fashion.

"Elijah." Ezra's temper flares.

"No, E. I'm sick of watching pride get in your way." Eli's gaze flits to me, his jaws tight with frustration. "He wants to play catcher, and he'd be damn good at it, too. He played when we were younger, but the gear is too expensive and Ma would never . . ."

Ezra fires his glove at the ground and for a heartbeat I think I'm going to have to break up a brawl as he stares down his little brother. His nostrils flare, but instead of advancing on Eli, he turns and stomps out of the gym.

I give Ezra space, choosing to focus on Eli. When I turn toward him, I find him holding both of their gloves, his head down.

"Sorry," he mumbles, sucking in a shaky breath as I approach.

"You've got nothing to apologize for, bud."

"He'll be okay." Eli shakes his head like it's him that needs convincing. "He needs a minute. I wish he'd stop protecting her."

Alarm bells go off in my head and I look around for an adult who might be better equipped to deal with whatever Eli is about to unload. It's then that I realize the gym is cleared out and check the time.

It's six o'clock and the brothers are the only two kids still here.

Leading him to the bleachers, I fire off a text to Tenley, belatedly letting her know I'm going to be late. When she replies with a thumbs up, I sit the kids down and brace for the tough conversation.

Hoping to coax him into sharing, I keep my voice soft. "Who's your brother protecting?"

"Our mom." He sniffles back against the moisture building along his dark lashes.

"Are you guys safe?"

"Safe enough," he mumbles.

I don't like that answer. I've lived that answer and hearing him say it makes rage boil in my belly.

I grit my teeth hoping he offers more, knowing it needs to be shared on his terms.

After a few beats of silence, Eli pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes and shakes his head. "She's not abusive or anything; she works a lot, and when she's not working, she likes to go out. It's better that way. She's nicer when she gets her time."

Her time.

"Is Ezra afraid your mom will get mad if he asks for catcher's gear in his size so he can play?"

He rolls his tongue along his front teeth, nodding.

Having the supreme displeasure of being raised by an asshole myself I ask another question, not wanting to make things worse at home. "Those are nice gloves," I comment, testing the waters.

He looks at his lap, studying them before he says, "Yeah, these are from Double Play."

And there it is.

"Why hasn't Ezra asked Ms. Cardoza about catcher's gear?"

Eli huffs out a wet laugh. "Ms. Cardoza--no one calls her that. Why would you call her that, bro? Are you her favorite or something?"

I sure fucking hope so, but that's not the point. I push the errant thought away, focusing on Eli, who's smile has made a reappearance, but he's not done.

Eli looks much too eager to roast me over the formal use of her name when he opens his mouth to continue the assault. "Vi, or, Vivi, sure, but never Ms. Cardoza. " His eyes light up with mirth and I roll mine back at him, genuinely glad he's finding humor in this.

I must not recover fast enough because the next words out of Ezra's mouth are a teasing taunt. "You like her, don't you?"

I press my lips into a thin line, if only to mask my grin. "Hey, we're talking about you, not me."

"It's like that? Okay, I see."

I nudge him with my shoulder. "What if I talked to Vivi about the catcher's gear for your brother?"

He tilts his head, assessing me with the skepticism of a distrustful teen--looking more like his brother than ever. "Why would you do that?"

This is the part Vivienne was talking about where I can make a difference.

I wet my lips, looking up for help, direction, a fucking clue on where to start. But there's no one. At nearly six-thirty, the boys still haven't been picked up. How often is this happening , I wonder, still looking for my sign to continue.

I turn on the bleacher so I'm facing Eli head-on.

"My mom died when I was young and my dad was . . . well, let's just say he was a piece of work. I think if he'd stayed sober long enough to figure out how to hand me over to the state, he would have." The dark laugh that breaks loose takes me by surprise. "I don't know what's going on at home, but I know what it's like to have a parent who's not around much. Or who doesn't want to be. I've been there and it might not be much, but if this helps, I'll make sure you both have the gear you need."

"Okay," he says, quick to accept my reasoning. "Okay," he repeats.

That was easier than I expected.

"You know," Eli says, his hand landing on my shoulder and his lips flattening, looking serious beyond his years. "If you just, like, stop being dramatic about it and, I dunno, go outside and touch some grass, maybe this decades old trauma wouldn't weigh you down. Like, you've got all this stuff bottled up, and you're not even letting it out. Let it out like a big fart or whatever. You might feel better." He pauses, then shrugs. "Or, you know, take Vivi on a date. Hot girls fix everything."

Yeah, I knew it was too easy. "A comedian and baseball player. You remind me of my teammate, Dom."

"He's hilarious. I follow him on Insta. I'm thinking of turning my trauma into a side hustle someday. Gotta start now if I want to be good at it, right?"

"Right," I say, wondering how quickly we lost the thread of this conversation. I stand, tilting my head towards the lobby. "Let's go find your brother, and I'll talk to Vi about that gear."

Eli hops off the bleachers like we didn't just have a heavy-ass conversation and follows me across the gym, peppering me with questions about playing professionally.

Ezra sits in the lobby, his arms crossed, staring at the front door--watching and waiting. I open my mouth to say--I don't even know what. Clay gives me a slight shake of his head.

I look at Eli and he waves me off, falling into the chair next to his brother. Taking the hint, I veer off into the hallway behind Clay to look for Vi.

I find her still holed-up in her office, her head bent over her keyboard, phone to her ear. Her fingers make a mess of her hair as she nervously plays with it.

"Glenda. This is Vivienne Cardoza from Double Play again . It's six-thirty, and the boys are still waiting to be picked up. This is becoming an issue. Pick-up ends at six. Please call me back immediately to let me know when you'll be here."

A future where Holland deals with this kind of shit from Kristy flashes in front of my eyes and I make a note to follow up with Collin and make sure my testimony for the upcoming custody hearing is airtight.

"Does this happen often?" I ask when she ends the call.

"More than it should." She lifts her head, her mouth forming a little O when she sees me. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to know they're great kids. Eli's really something--funny as hell. Ezra . . . he's . . ." Too serious. Like someone who has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I worry about him. He takes everything so personally, like it's his job to fix things he can't control."

I nod. I round her desk, leaning over her chair and rubbing her shoulders until some of the tension she's carrying from the phone call ebbs.

We can talk about the catcher gear later.

Loud voices break through the silence of her office and she tips her head back, giving me a look I've seen before. The one she used to get right before she'd lay into me. Only this time it's not aimed at me and I'm extremely grateful to be on her good side.

And I hope I can convince her to come over later and work off some of the tension I can see building in her shoulders from dealing with the boys' mom.