“He reminds me a bit of you as a kid.”
“Oh, come on! I wasn’t that bad.”
“I seem to recall an incident involving spit-balls and the coach’s daughter—”
He smirks. “Fine. Maybe Iwasthat bad. But we couldn’t all be you, Reyes. So calm, so focused. Early to every practice. Always offering to carry the equipment and help clean litter off the bleachers after our games. A coach’s dream.”
There’s a strong sense of irony, looking back — the devilish son of the police chief a constant source of trouble; the angelic boy from the wrong side of the tracks forever overcorrecting for his criminal connections. I don’t bother pointing out to Chris that not all of us have the privilege of acting out. Even in elementary school, I knew I had to work twice as hard to be seen as anything exceptjust another Reyes kid. From my very first tee-ball team all the way through varsity, I bent over backwards to distinguish myself from Jaxon’s actions. In a way, I’m still doing it. Only this time, it’s not on a baseball field and the stakes are much higher.
“Any word from the DEA?” Chris asks, reading my mind.
“Not since the other day. They’re watching the harbor, waiting for the trawler to come back into port. Could be any minute, now. They said they’ll call as soon as that happens.”
“They want to raid the boat with a full hold.”
“Mhm.” My eyes follow the swing of the redheaded kid. He’s butchered three separate attempts at hitting the ball off the tee and his self-confidence is deflating faster than a week-old birthday balloon. At the back of the line, Ross sniggers something cruel that makes the whole line of kids laugh. I keep my eyes on the batter. “Jimmy, look at me.”
Beneath the brim of his plastic helmet, his eyes find mine. I see a double-dose of humiliation, lurking beneath the shimmer of impending tears. Poor kid can’t take much more taunting. “Hey — don’t give up. Adjust your grip — remember how we showed you earlier? Where are your hands supposed to go? Up a bit farther. Yep, that’s it.” I nod at him. “Now, try again. You’ve got this, buddy.”
He grins crazy-big when his next swing makes definitive contact, sending the ball across the infield with a sharp crack. Chris and I both cheer encouragingly, clapping our hands and stomping our feet. He won’t be the next David Ortiz, but at least he can hold his head up high as he walks to the back of the line to join Ross.
“Next up!” Chris calls. “That’s you, Matthew. Hey! What’s our rule? Put on your helmet before you step out of the dugout, remember?” My co-coach slides a glance at me as the next batter steps up to home plate. “Four hours with these kids, and I’m questioning if I’ll ever reproduce.”
“Don’t worry, Tomlinson — reproduction requires you find a woman willing to tolerate you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Ass.” He shoves me playfully. “Speaking of women… how’s Valentine?”
“Don’t go there.”
“What? I’m curious. Sue me.”
Curiosity aside, I have no intention of telling Chris a damn thing about me and Jo. Not our heated kiss three days ago, not the radio silence she’s been broadcasting since. I don’t need his opinions on how badly I butchered that conversation — I’ve been beating myself up enough all on my own. Nor do I need any reminders that, even as we speak, she may be accepting that stodgy asshole Beaufort’s marriage proposal.
“I…” I adjust my baseball cap, pulling the brim lower to shield my eyes. “I’m giving her a little space.”
“You’ve given her a year of space! Try a new tactic.”
“Hilarious.”
“I wasn’t joking. When has giving Josephine Valentine space ever gotten you anywhere?”
“Who’s Josephine?” A kid named Uriah asks, jogging up to us. His shoelace has come untied — I bend to help him. His small hands hold my shoulders for balance. “Is that your giiiirllfriend?”
“See, everyone wants to know,” Chris taunts from above. “Come on, Coach Reyes. Is she yourgiiiiiirlfriend?” He stretches out the word into two elongated syllables, just like the six-year-old. I tighten the final loop and point back toward the dugout.
“Off you go, Uriah.”
He runs off without so much as athank you. I rise back to full height, glowering over at Chris. “Was that necessary? The whole team will be giggling about my so-called girlfriend in about thirty seconds flat.”
He holds up his hands defensively. “I stand with the first-graders on this one.”
“That’s not a shock. You do share the same maturity level.”
“You still haven’t answered the question.”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
“I’m your best friend!”