Dustin sat on the bench, letting the heat bake his skin. He’d been at the field for hours of pregame work. Sweat trickled from his neck all the way between his shoulder blades. He’d have to shower before putting on his uniform—or maybe he wouldn’t. What did it matter anyway?

“Hey—you just gonna sit there?” called Brayden. He and the other pitchers had shagged balls during batting practice. They were as sweaty as the rest of them.

Dustin lifted a hand in acknowledgment. “Maybe in a while.” The heat made him drowsy, which made it harder to think in a straight line, which made it easier for his thoughts to drift away from Clover.

Brayden took the spot next to Dustin. He downed half a bottle of a yellow sports drink. “Why’re you such a Debbie Downer?”

Dustin turned away from him. He wasn’t in the mood for brotherly love today—not the way Brayden dished it out. “I stunk it up in Texas.” He gave the obvious answer.

“You’ve stunk up other states. Why is this one bothering you so much?”

Dustin’s jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. “Maybe I should quit now. If my stats sink any lower, they’re going to cancel my contract. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be remembered on blooper reels and strikeout recaps.”

He suddenly wished he had a bat in his hands and a thousand balls in a pitching machine. He’d love to have something to hit; the anger that coursed through him was almost as strong as the lethargy had been.

“Whoa.” Brayden read his face and put up both hands. “Where is this coming from? You’re Mr. Baseball.”

“I was.” His anger deflated. Clover would have liked that nickname: Mr. Baseball. “Baseball deserves better than me.”

Brayden shook his head. “Dude—you are baseball. You live it, you love it, you’d marry it if you could.”

Dustin rolled his eyes.

“Do not swing at me—I’m starting tonight and I don’t need your crap. But I gotta ask: is this about Clover?”

Dustin shifted in his seat. “That didn’t exactly work out.”

“Did she get jealous of your job?”

The image of Clover’s face lighting up when they walked into the locker room shook Dustin to his core. “The opposite. She loves baseball.”

Brayden’s mouth fell open, and then he jumped to his feet and pulled on Dustin’s arm. “Don’t be an idiot. Get up. Go get her. And bring her right back here. I’ll call the preacher.”

Dustin shook off Brayden’s hold. “What are you talking about?”

“If you found a woman who loves baseball as much as you do—you’ve got to marry her. We can make this happen in under an hour. Come on.” Brayden’s grin was real. He continued to shove Dustin towards the locker room door.

Dustin had had enough. He planted his feet and pushed back, sending Brayden stumbling. “What am I supposed to do, tie her up and throw her in the back of my car?”

“If you think that will work.”

“It won’t.”

“Try it.”

“You’re an idiot.” Dustin made for the door on his own. He was done with this conversation.

“You’re a bigger idiot if you let her get away,” Brayden called after him.

Dustin ran his hand down his face. They had a home game tonight, and he prayed that he’d look up in the stands and see Clover in his seats. That was the prayer he carried in his heart. The prayer that carried him through a half-hearted shower and the bitter feeling of sliding into a uniform he might not be allowed to wear much longer.