Page 36 of The Way We Swing Back

“Not really,” he said, turning back to his phone. “Sorry. You can go hit off the tee if you want.”

“I guess,” I said.

I walked to the cage alone, replaying the conversation. How could he not realize his brothers liked him? I couldn’t think of another trio of brothers who liked each other more.

A small voice in the back of my head whispered to me. But Gavin and Tanner obviously enjoy each other better.

I felt a touch bad for Zach, realizing he may have had a point. But seriously? He had a dad, a mom, and two brothers who would kill for him. It was tough to get overly sympathetic.

I walked back into the house after hitting off the tee for an hour, my shirt sticking to my chest from my sweat. The Quinns’ kitchen lights were on, flickering once or twice a minute, the bulb needing to be changed. It was that weird time of early afternoon when everything stood still.

My stomach growled. I dug through the fridge, grabbed leftover pasta, and threw it in the microwave. I didn’t even realize it had become second nature—walking in, serving myself food like it was my kitchen.

Zach dragged himself downstairs a minute later, rubbing his eyes. “Smells good,” he said, half-hearted.

“You want some?” I asked, already grabbing a second bowl.

He squinted. “Uh... sure.”

I split the meal and slid it toward him. He stared at it for a second, debating if he should take it, then grabbed a fork.

“When did you start doing that?” Zach said, twirling a noodle.

“Doing what?” I said, taking a seat at the table.

“Just... making yourself at home. Serving me food.” His voice wasn’t mean, but it had an edge to it, like the words were a splinter he’d been picking at for a long time.

“I’ve always made food here,” I said. “I cook all the time for you guys.”

“Yeah, but... you didn’t use to act like you lived here,” he said. “You don’t knock anymore. You know where everything is. You sat in Tanner’s spot on the couch when he was at college. Mom asks if you want food from the store. Gavin hangs out with you all day. It’s just—when did you move in?”

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. That was the thing with the quiet ones. When they talked, you knew they meant it. “Zach, I didn’t—”

He let out a quick, humorless laugh. “It’s fine. I’m not mad at you. I’m just... realizing you fit here better than I do sometimes.”

“That’s not true,” I said at once. I stood up, the chair squeaking as I pushed it back. “Dude, this is your family.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, eyes on the floor. “But you complete the whole baseball Brady Bunch thing we’ve got going.” He took another bite, chewing deliberately. “I don’t even like baseball as much as you all do. Gavin breathes it. Tanner lives it. You practically pray to it. And me? I’m just... here.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Zach kept going, voice low. “You fit better here. And you always will.”

I froze. Zach wasn’t the type to say feelings out loud—not even to his family. But I knew his words too well, the exact fear I always had with anyone I let get close. “Zach,” I said quietly. “You’re not replaceable.”

He stabbed another forkful. “Then why does it seem like I was the placeholder until you showed up?”

I set down my bowl, no longer hungry. “Is that really what you think?” I asked.

Zach shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his voice cracked just enough. “Some days? Yeah. Everyone gets excited when you’re here. You’re the ‘fun one,’ the ‘baseball one,’ the ‘let’s-help-him’ one. Meanwhile, I skip one BP session, and everyone gets worried I’m quitting life.” He laughed under his breath. “Mom knows your schedule more than mine at this point.”

The words hit harder than I expected. Harder than I wanted to admit. “I’m not trying to take your spot,” I said.

“I know,” he said, standing and carrying his empty bowl to the sink. “But you never had to try.” He rinsed the bowl, set it upside down to dry, and paused before heading upstairs. “Don’t change. You still need to be here. I needed to say it out loud, though.”

He didn’t wait for me to answer. Just went up the steps and disappeared.

I stared at the pasta in front of me. Right behind it, Zach’s empty seat stared at me, accusing me of doing this on purpose.