Page 45 of Bad Ball Hitter
“Don’t you have a house to attend to?” I ask, holding my side.
“You look like shit, Gunner.” He doesn’t wait for an invitation. He just breezes past me into my apartment.
“Well, come on in,” I mumble bitterly.
“And to answer your question, I live in an apartment and hire a housekeeper who cooks. I’m free all the time.”
“Just my luck.”
“Watch it, or I’ll start to think you don’t want me around.”
I lift my eyebrows.
“Fuck off. I’m your best friend.”
What’s sad is he isn’t wrong. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend after I gave up on them after I got stabbed in the back.
Rappel walks straight to the fridge and grabs an energy drink.
“By all means, make yourself at home.”
“Thanks. I will.” He takes a few swigs before addressing the real reason he showed. “Came to check on you after the coach’s talk. You doing okay?”
An unexpected lightness hits my chest. No other teammate has ever asked about my well-being, and no one has ever tried to get close enough to care. “I’ll survive.”
“It’s pure bullshit, you know that, right?”
Coach pulled me aside when we returned and told me he was pulling me from rotation tomorrow. It’s only for the day, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. Kaplan is pitching and must’ve whined about using someone else. Fucking crybaby.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Are you sure there wasn’t a prior beef with Dior?” Rappel asks.
“Not that I’m aware of.” I shrug but then wince. My body could use an extra day to heal, but I don’t want it. I want to play. “I don’t know where his hatred for me comes from.”
Rappel frowns. “Maybe he’s pissed you took Rob’s place. That was his friend. Don’t worry. You’re still one of the best we’ve got.”
His words do little to ease my troubled mind. The game—this is my turf. This is where I should be shining, not sitting on the sidelines while someone else takes my place. But right now, my place in the team feels as uncertain as my relationship with Miranda … and Lila.
I grab the water from the fridge and slump back onto the couch. Rappel sits down next to me, crossing a leg over his knee. Despite our jesting banter, I know he’s genuinely concerned.
From how his brows furrow, I know he’s about to bombard me with a barrage of questions.
“What’s going on, Drake? You seem … distracted lately.”
Distracted is an understatement. I’m fucking torn apart by guilt and uncertainty. I want Lila, but I can’t have her with Miranda still in the picture.
“I screwed up,” I confess.
“With Miranda or Lila?”
“Both.”
Rappel’s deep sigh sounds like he’s carrying this burden with me. “You fucked both of them?”
“What? No!”
He tosses his hands up. “History, bruh.”