The Dugout(96)

They both laugh and back away. Rian lends out his hand and says, “I think we’re in business, sis.”

“Yeah?” I take his hand and shake it. “You really want to work with me?”

“We do.” Sean takes my hand next and gives it a squeeze. “We always thought it would be neat to expand, but never put together a plan, so it’s like you reached into our heads, pulled out our random ideas, and put it on paper. This is killer, Milly.”

“Thank you.” I clap because, hell, I can’t contain it anymore, everything seems to be falling in place. “When do we get started?”

“How about when we get back from the expo in a week, does that sound good? It gives you some time with Carson, to help him out, and then we can hit the ground running.”

“Sounds great. Thank you so much.”

“No, thank you,” Sean says. “Now, go get your guy.”

Joy filling me, I get into my car with one thing on my mind: getting to Carson.





The boys are making their way through tournament play right now, so thankfully I asked Jason for the code to the loft, which he gave me, making me promise to let him know how Carson is when I get to Kansas. I have a lot of people to inform once I get there.

Not even bothering to change since my flight is in two hours, I quickly rush to the loft, run up the stairs, and unlock the door with the keypad. The loft is eerily quiet as I make my way through the living room and back toward the bedrooms. I haven’t spent much time in the loft, we were usually at my place to get away from all the prying eyes, but I do have a few memories in this testosterone-filled space, especially when the boys made me stand on a chair and announce my favorite pickle flavor.

Smiling to myself, I reach Carson’s room just as a tall figure opens the door, scaring a scream right from my lips. Backing up, hand to the chest, I startle as Carson’s face comes into view. He’s carrying a duffle bag in one hand, his bat bag in the other, and he’s wearing a frown when his eyes connect with mine.

“Carson,” I say breathlessly, trying to gather my wits.

He looks me up and down and then asks, “What are you doing here?” His tone is rough, borderline angry.

“I . . . I was going to . . .” I swallow hard. God, when was the last time I stuttered around this man? It feels like a few months ago, when he positively scared me. I take a deep breath and say, “I was coming to get you more clothes. I have a flight to Topeka in a few hours.”

“Why?”

Uh . . . am I missing something?

“To visit you. To be with you.”

“Cancel it,” he says, moving past me without even a second glance.

“Wait.” I snag his arm. “Carson, what’s going on? Aren’t you even going to say hi? Talk to me? I’ve been worried sick about you. Everyone has.”

“Tell them I’m headed to Phoenix for training.”

I try to look past the brick wall he’s stacking between us, but it feels like I’m sinking with each glance. There’s no possible chance that I can relate to him right now because I’ve never lost a parent, let alone two, but I want to understand, I want to be there to help him.

“Okay, do you want me to go with you? Do you have an apartment there? I can help you get set up, settled in.”

“Nah, I’m good.” He checks his watch on his wrist. It’s old and a little big on him. I’ve never seen it before so I’m going to assume it was his dad’s. Just seeing the worn-out scratches on it, the wear and tear, it brings tears to my eyes. It must be a piece of his dad he’s carrying with him, but I can’t be sure.

“When are you leaving?”

“A few hours.”

“Okay,” I say, taking a step forward. “Then let me take you to the airport. We can talk, maybe pick up some food together before your flight.”

He shakes his head. “You clearly have somewhere to be.”

“What?” I look at my outfit and then back at him. “No, I haven’t changed. I just finished my meeting with my brothers about the facility, then I was headed to you.”

His eyes seem dead, like the fun and vibrant guy I got to know is no longer there and instead, a machine going through the motions has taken his place.

And for a second, a brief moment, I think he’s going to ask me how the meeting went, that he’s going to drop the anger he’s wearing and be the man I know him to be. But instead, he says, “I’m out.”

Shocked, I watch him start to walk away but not before I run in front of him and trip over the area rug in the living room, not used to my heels. I crash to the floor, my hands breaking the fall so I don’t smack my face on the concrete floor.

“Jesus,” he mutters as he helps me up, his hand to my arm. “What the hell are you doing?”

Straightening out my blouse, I answer, “Trying to t-talk to you.” Embarrassment from the fall consumes me and my emotions from not talking to him for two weeks come tumbling out when I say on a broken voice, “You’re my boyfriend, Carson. I thought talking was a normal thing in a relationship. Or do we not have that anymore?”

He looks away and that right there, that avoidance, the stiffness in his shoulders . . . I realize what he’s about to do. What he’s been avoiding.