Page 110 of Hiding in the Outfield

“Thanks, Mom.”

The grease glistens on the thick-cut bacon, and my stomach revolts. Don’t think I’ll be eating it today.

“Killer game yesterday,” Jake says, and follows it with a swallow of coffee. “You’re on fucking fire lately. Like, how do you hold a bat that hot?”

“Language, Jacob,” Mom scolds.

He shoots her an apologetic smile.

“Thick batting gloves,” I chirp. I fall into the role so easily.

Dad’s booming chuckle echoes through the diner. “I’ve noticed a difference since you started implementing that advice I gave you.” He arches a brow. “Old man always knows best, ain’t that right?”

Yes. My dad is obviously responsible for all my success. It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the email he sent that I never read.

Maybe it’s a lot easier to swing now that I’m not walking around buried under the shame and self-hatred my family instilled in me. It’s like I was swinging with a weighted sleeve on my bat, and I’ve finally been allowed to remove it.

An image flashes—one that can only be complete fiction because it’s of me walking in here, Frankie at my side. I’d be proud to introduce him as my boyfriend. He’s smart as all hell, he’s hilarious and spunky, he’s soft and kind, yet the strongest man I’ve ever met. I’d be lucky to call myself his boyfriend. And my family would be lucky to meet him.

But they don’t deserve him.

“I was talking to Cynthia,” Mom says. “Her daughter just finished her early childhood education degree. You remember Melanie? She was a couple years behind you, but she always had eyes for you.”

I frown and think back. Cynthia is one of my mom’s close friends. All the moms are pretty close in my small town. I think I remember seeing a mini blonde-haired, green-eyed girl around. “Vaguely.”

“She’s planning to nanny for a while…” Mom presses.

My father looks at me expectantly.

“That’s…nice for her?”

“Maybe you should reconnect,” Dad says. “That’s exactly the kind of woman who’d make a good mother. And she’s not tied down by a job right now.”

“Leave him alone, you two,” Jake says. “He literally just sat down, and you’re trying to marry him off. The kid doesn’t want to get married. I’m older, and I don’t want to get married.”

“Don’t get me started on that,” Mom says with a pointed look. “You don’t even have a professional athletic career that you could maybe”—she glances at me—“use as an excuse.”

My parents hold very traditional values. Marry young. Pop out a few kids. The wife takes care of the house and kids; the husband brings home the money. With my brother and me out of the house, my mom is dying for grandchildren and my dad future athletes to coach.

“Yes, well, at least you have a girlfriend, Jacob. You’re heading in the right direction. She’s a great girl, too. I have no idea why you won’t put a ring on that,” Dad says.

Jake just grunts.

I use that tactic sometimes too.

“I could take you ring shopping.” Mom bats her eyes innocently.

Jake tenses next to me. “No ring shopping needed. Anna and I broke up.”

Mom gasps, and Dad freezes with his sandwich halfway to his mouth.

Shit. Anna and Jake had been dating for like three years. Looks like my bomb won’t be the only one dropping today.

“What happened? When did this happen?” Mom asks.

Jake shifts. “A few months ago. It’s really not a big deal. We weren’t working, that’s all there is to it.”

“Maybe we should be setting you up with Melanie,” Dad says thoughtfully.