“Three down and still on fire,” the reporter praises him, running down some stats that mean nothing to me because it’s like a foreign language, before asking a few generic questions. He comes across as open and friendly though not chatty; he answers the questions succinctly without seeming like he’s brushing her off at all. He’s both self-possessed and humble. Aw, hell—I catch myself smiling along with him on the other side of the camera.
I will not swoon.
Then I inwardly cringe and can only imagine what it does to Carter as the reporter asks, “Your dad must be so proud of you. What’s he had to say about the season you’re having with his team?”
I see it for a split second, the agony in his eyes flashes there and gone before he delivers what I’m sure is a variation of a practiced response. “Oh, yes. So far, the season is going great, but we both know it’s a team effort. We both do our best every time we step onto the field. I just want to be the best at my job for those guys.”
“Maybe he can introduce us to Cash. That’d be awesome,” Bodie suggests.
Yeah. No. Not so much. Even as big of a fan as Bodie is, he doesn’t know the truth about Cash, and Carter hides it well. He’d confided in me—which makes me unreasonably happy. Why does that make me feel so good?
The reporter circles back to the subject. Get a clue, lady! He answered your question. “Are there any plans for your dad to attend a game? Support his club and son in person?”
“Not sure just yet. He’s a busy man.” Carter shifts on his heels, his arm flexing as he moves slightly back from the reporter, who takes the wrap-up hint. His body language was subtle but effective. The man does have full command of his body, that’s for sure.
All I want to do is hide away, but Carter doesn’t have that luxury—he has to endure these questions day after day, covering his true feeling about Cash. Which makes me wonder why he doesn’t just tell the truth, or the very least, refuse to answer questions regarding that part of his life. Is that even an option?
“I should get going. I’m busy the next few days, but please reassure your mom I will make it for Sunday lunch.”
“Will do.”
“If you get bored, you can come hang out at my place. We’re going to do a live podcast for Friday’s game.”
“I’ll pass.” Mainly because of the other podcast-mates.
“Since you’re not going to use Carter’s number, can you kindly hand it over?”
“No! I’m not giving you his phone number so you and your brothers can harass him.”
“We wouldn’t harass him … just ask a few questions or chat a bit. Maybe,” Bodie says as I shake my head. He concedes, walks to the door, and throws it open as I step behind him, ready to shut and lock it after him. He stops abruptly, turning to me. “Do you know what I find really interesting?”
“What’s that?” He’s going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.
“That you’re holding onto Carter’s number even though you have no intention of using it.” Bodie winks, leaving me to ponder his statement long after he disappears out of sight.
Because it’s the truth. I did say （and I meant it） that I have no intention of ever dialing that number. So why hadn’t I tossed it in the trash a week ago when he left it on my desk?
12
CARTER
The hot shower does nothing to ease the stiffness in my shoulders. It has nothing to do with my throwing arm and everything to do with the postgame interview, and the possibility of my father attending a game. It’s not surprising folks would assume such. Under normal circumstances, within a normal family, it would be expected. But if he shows, I don’t want to know about it. Certainly, he’s figured that out by now.
Grabbing my phone, I click to find no new messages from him about my game, and unfortunately, no messages from Avery. I know she won’t text me, she outright said as much, but it hasn’t stopped me from checking my phone more often than usual over the last week.
The team manager calls out through the locker room that it’s time to get to the bus. Tomorrow’s an off day, but we’re heading out tonight for our next road series. Off to the next city where we’ll play the day after tomorrow. Traveling’s never bothered me before, but I’ve been ready to get back to Canaan Falls since the moment I boarded the plane. That’s definitely an abnormal feeling. And it’s irritating as shit.
Fast forward a couple of hours later, and I’m stepping into the hotel room I’ll call home for the next few days. The walls feel too tight suddenly, and since tomorrow is a day off, I decide to head down to the hotel bar. One drink won’t hurt. I don’t indulge often during the season, but I will tonight.