Chapter Twenty-Three
Dylan
Disjointed thoughts crashed around Dylan’s head the whole way home. He hadn’t meant to react like such an idiot to Uncle Rick’s text. Two miles from the marina, some of the shock had worn off, and he realized he’d been kind of rude to Lucy.
While he waited at a stop light, he texted her. Sorry I ran off like that. I’m a little blown away by the news. See you tomorrow?
And Dylan was blown away. Uncle Rick had come through in a big way. This was it—his chance to prove he had what it takes. Now he just needed to be ready for the tryout. Extra sleep, watch his diet, be careful when demonstrating pitches to the campers to protect his arm…he needed to commit to all of it. He only had three days, so he needed to pack in as much preparation as he could.
So why was it that his mind kept drifting back to Lucy driving the Sea-Doo? Her hair had tickled his face, and her body had been warm against his as they cut their way through the water. And the feel of her mouth on his had been nothing short of heavenly. Especially her little, “wow” afterwards. That was the kind of reaction he liked to hear after kissing a girl. And even though she’d said it out loud, he’d been thinking it, too.
Dylan rolled to a stop at a light on Main and shook his head. Much as he wanted to relive every second of the afternoon, he needed to focus. Soft skin and sweet smiles had to wait.
His parents didn’t have much to say when he came home. Dinner was tense, and each scrape of a fork or knife sounded like an avalanche. His mother kept the conversation fixed on the neighbors’ redecorating, and Dad made noncommittal noises ever so often. Dylan ate as quickly as he could, looking longingly at the baked mac-n-cheese when he piled an extra helping of salad onto his plate.
“Honey, don’t you want some mac-n-cheese?” Mom pointed at the casserole dish, still more than half full of cheesy, golden-crumb goodness. “I thought it was your favorite.”
“It is.” Finally, Dylan couldn’t take the elephant in the room. It was tap dancing on the table for God’s sake. “I’m watching what I eat the next few days, before the scout comes out to see me. I need protein and veggies for that.”
Dad set his fork down. “While I’m glad Uncle Rick is taking such an interest in your career, you’ve been acting like we don’t care about you. If you’d told us, ‘hey, I’d like to eat clean the next week for my tryout,’ your mother would’ve substituted the carbs for broccoli. Just because we want you to consider college doesn’t mean we’re don’t care about what you want.”
Okay, that stung. “Then don’t push college. Let me have a gap year. I don’t even know what I’d major in.”
“Lots of freshmen don’t,” Mom said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “We only want the best for you and to keep your options open. You’re in binary mode: it’s baseball or nothing. We’re trying to help you see the big picture. That’s all. If the scout likes you, we’ll travel to whatever team you end up on and watch you play, bursting with pride.”
Dylan stared at his plate. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, maybe if you’d listen to what we said instead of trying to guess at what we meant, this would’ve been easier.” Dad sighed. “You’re a very smart kid, Dylan. Honor roll, top ten-percent, excellent prospects. You’re good at math and science. Heck, you could teach math and coach baseball if you didn’t want to leave the game. But your mother’s right—if you do make it, we’ll be there, all the way.”
“Thanks.” Dylan looked up at both his parents. His mom’s eyes were shiny with tears. “And…maybe I’ll fill out some applications. You know, just in case.”
His dad’s satisfied grunt spoke volumes. Mom smiled at them. “Well, Dylan, I guess this means Dad and I are going to eat all the brownies I baked this afternoon. Pity.”
Dylan groaned. “Now you’re playing dirty.”
“Yeah, because I need to lose ten pounds, and I thought my ravenous teenage son would save me from those brownies.” She stood. “You know where they are if you change your mind.”
Dylan held up a forkful of salad, less enthusiastic about it now. “Thanks, I’m good.”
Floored by his parents’ not-quite one-eighty, he headed to his room after dinner. He’d need a good night’s sleep—because tomorrow his plan for MLB domination would be kick-started.
“A real scout?” Nate asked. He’d herded most of his campers over to the third baseline to run warm-ups and came over to say hi. “For real. Like a major league scout?”
The awe in Nate’s tone made Dylan flush with pride. “For real. My uncle set it up for Wednesday afternoon.”
“Gonna be hot then, man.” Nate scratched his head, mussing his dark hair. “That scout will be sweating his ass off.”
“Heat’s good,” Dylan said. “It’ll keep my arm nice and warm. Plus, I need to prove I can play under harsh conditions. That’ll do it.”
“No doubt.” Nate gave him a fist bump. “I better get over there before Ledecky starts bossing the kids around like he knows what he’s doing.”
Dylan waved him off. His pitchers had gathered at the mound and were horsing around. Otis had arrived early, while Dylan was in the locker room wrestling the pitching shield out of the closet. He felt bad for missing Lucy—he really did—but maybe it was good he hadn’t seen her. He needed to keep his head on straight until Wednesday.
He trotted over to his campers. “Good morning, guys. Everyone warmed up?”
“Yes, Coach Dylan,” they shouted in unison.
“All righty, then. Split off into teams for catching practice. No pitching—throw like you’re trying to surprise a runner who’s floated too far off first plate. Okay?”
They nodded and jostled to pick partners. Otis stood aside. Dylan frowned. “What’s up?”
“We’re an odd number,” he said. He was wearing a bright blue Under Armor T-shirt and a very serious expression. “I want to catch with you.”
Otis’s huge, pleading eyes weren’t something he could refuse, so Dylan went to pick up his glove. They found an empty space near the first base foul line and Dylan lobbed an easy ball Otis’s way. He caught and raised an eyebrow. “You can try harder.”
Dylan laughed. “Big talk, there. Show me what you’ve got, hot shot.”
Otis threw, straight and reasonably hard, right at Dylan’s glove. The kid was good. Really good. He’d seen it, but there was a maturity about Otis’s play that wasn’t there with the other kids. He needed a coach, a real one, to develop what could eventually be college, or minor league, skills.
Problem was, if Dylan suggested that, Otis would ask him about coaching. That might cause some complications if Dylan kept seeing Lucy. Still…this kid needed more than a two-week camp could teach him.
The rest of the day sped by. He put the campers through their paces, hitting, pitching, stretching. A few of the boys were already getting restless. They weren’t serious about it, but most of the others were, and that made Dylan proud. If nothing else, he’d given them something to work on in the next season.
When dismissal time came, Lucy was one of the first people there. She stood just outside the fence, waving at Otis—and Dylan. He walked over while Otis picked up his gear. “How’s your day been?”
“Good.” She smiled. Her hair was back in a ponytail today, its pink tips fluttering in the wind. “I’m, um, I’m going to Serena’s later. Think you might want to join us and meet some hot chicks?”
Dylan laughed. “What guy wouldn’t?”
“Well, these might shit on your shoes.” Lucy gripped the honeycombed openings of the chain link fence. “They aren’t exactly house broken.”
He reached up to wind his fingers through hers. Not easy with the fence in the way, but the forced distance was kind of hot, to be honest. “It sounds good, but I need to focus on my tryout Wednesday. Rain check?”
He didn’t miss the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, even though Lucy merely shrugged. “Sure. I’m busy Thursday, but maybe Friday.” She frowned. “Maybe.”
Okay, that expression is concerning. “Why ‘maybe’ for Friday? Camp will be over.”
“Oh, nothing. But maybe we should get together Wednesday night. Just in case.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. “Are you sure it’s nothing?”
“Hey! Why are you holding hands with my sister?”
Dylan let Lucy go like he’d been burned. And in a way, he had. He’d forgotten all about the risk. Now Otis was standing behind them, hands on his hips. Dylan shot Lucy a glance.
“Otis, we should go. We’ll talk in the car,” she said.
He shook his head, glaring. “You promised.”
“No, I didn’t.” She sounded so much more patient than Dylan could’ve been. “Let’s go, okay?”
Otis gave Dylan a long, dark look, then stomped through the gate. Lucy smiled sadly at Dylan over Otis’s head, then turned to walk him to the car.
Tristan came over, carrying a plastic tub full of baseballs. “What was that all about?”
“Otis caught me holding hands with Lucy.”
Tristan laughed. “That’s one protective kid.”
“Not in the way you think. I could be in for some trouble over the next few days, and that’s not exactly what I need right now. But it’s my fault.” Dylan rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Can you stick around for a while? I need to get some practice in with a live hitter before Wednesday.”
“Sure, let me put this stuff up.”
After Tristan left, Dylan watched Lucy’s Jeep pull out of the lot. He hoped she wasn’t in for it with Otis. But she probably was.