The Bad Boy Bargain (Suttonville Sentinels #1)(49)

“You’re nothing but a loser, Sawyer.” Cameron poked him hard in the chest. “Leave her alone, or next time I’ll hurt more than your pride.”

“What in the Sam Hill is going on out here!” Coach shouted.

Footsteps pounded, and the guys holding him abruptly let go. The three guys on the outside of the fence ran for it, but Tristan had the other two by the backs of their shirts—underclassmen by the looks of it. They glared defiantly at him.

“Simons, Carrier.” Coach sounded disgusted. “I don’t know what that was about, but I have zero tolerance for fighting. If you paid attention in my history class, you would’ve remembered that.”

“We weren’t fighting, sir.” Simons jerked free of Tristan’s grip. “We were just talking.”

“With Sawyer slammed up against the fence?” Coach’s eyes lit up with anger. “Get off my field, both of you. I’ll see you in the principal’s office tomorrow—if you’re lucky, you’ll only get three days’ in-school suspension.”

“But—” Carrier said.

“Go. Now.” Coach turned his back on them, trusting the rest of the team to take care of the problem.

“You heard him,” Tristan said cheerfully. “Off you go!”

The rest of the team herded Carrier and Simons out the gate at the edge of the field, and many of them watched until they disappeared into the parking lot. A moment later, tires squealed.

Tristan turned to Kyle. “What, is Cam a Mafia boss or something? Or is he so afraid of you he had to bring four guys to keep you away from Faith?”

“How do you know that’s what he wanted? Maybe he wanted to kick my ass just because.” Kyle rubbed at his cheek. He’d have a weird octagonal bruise across his cheekbone tomorrow. That would be a tough one to explain to Grandpa.

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Warning off the guy who made out with his ex in public? I’d say it’s all about Faith.”

Kyle didn’t answer.

“All right, guys. Enough chitchat. We have a game tomorrow.” Coach checked his stopwatch. “Let’s do some sprint drills.”

Everybody groaned and lined up. Kyle took a few slow breaths. The adrenaline from the ambush still roared through his veins, so when Coach shouted, “Go!” he took off like a shot. Back and forth from home to first, touching the bases at each end, not counting how many turns, or seconds, or anything. He just ran, trying to focus his roiling mind.

“Stop!” Coach was shaking his head. “Sawyer, you made eighteen turns. Save some of that speed for tomorrow, kid. Starters, head out for catching drill. The rest of you are on the batting machine.”

Kyle went to the dugout for his mitt, overhearing one of the better freshman players mutter, “With Sawyer here, I’m never gonna play. He’s an iron man.”

Kyle felt a little bad for the kid, but not much. He was graduating—this was his last season. He paused and turned to the wide-eyed freshman. “Ledecky, you’ll play next year. And you’ll probably be better than me in the long run. Your turn is coming.”

Ledecky’s astonished smile made him feel a little better, but only for a second. One thing Cam had said kept ringing in his ears: you’re not good enough for her. He already knew that, but it stung to hear someone else say it. Angry, he ran onto the field, spending the next sixty minutes fielding everything sent his way. By the time Coach waved them over, the front of his practice jersey was almost entirely green with grass stains.

He jogged down the steps to the dugout, where Tristan was waiting for him. He looked ready to bite a nail in half. “Want me to walk you to your car?”

Kyle shook his head. “Nah. I’m going to stay, do a little extra batting practice.”

“Don’t push it. But, seriously, we got your back, man.” Tristan punched his shoulder. “They mess with you, they mess with all of us. You don’t have to haul it alone, okay?”

Tristan had played ball with him on one team or another since they were eleven. He remembered what life had been like. And he didn’t care. He still had Kyle’s back.

Kyle wasn’t alone.

He squared his shoulders. “Thanks. And I have your back, too.”



A fastball flew out of the pitching machine. Kyle let instinct take over and swung. No contact. Damn, too high. He squared up in the batter’s box again. The next pitch came and this time he connected, nice and hard. The ball sailed up, up, up, and sailed over the fence.

“Sawyer,” Coach called. “Time to shut down. Almost everyone else is gone.”

Another ball came. Another solid hit to the left field corner. Double.

Coach went to the pitching machine and turned it off. “That’s enough. You’re looking good—don’t overdo it and hurt yourself.”

“Okay.” He took a long breath and raised his arms over his head to stretch his shoulders. “I’m out, then.”

“See you tomorrow. Get some sleep, will you? You look exhausted. I need my players sharp.”

Kyle nodded, packed up his gear, and walked out to his car. Someone had thrown an egg at the Charger. Cursing under his breath, he set to wiping it off with one of his towels. Seriously, couldn’t Cameron be more creative? At least they hadn’t slashed his tires.