Page 66 of Hiding in the Outfield

O’Neil cackles. “That’s fantastic. Old man Slater.” He pauses and cocks his head. “Also, why are you two sitting together? I thought you discreetly hated Olander, Michaels.”

Ouch.

“I’ve recently discovered he’s not half bad. He’s, like, not the best, but I can put up with him now.”

I smack him across the back of the head. “Fuck you.”

He glances over his shoulder and grins at me before looking back at O’Neil and Slater. “That’s where he’s been. He’s been crashing at our place.”

“We’re holding him hostage,” Nebs chimes in. “He keeps trying to leave—no fucking idea why, because we’re great—but we won’t let him.”

Henderson walks past to find his seat and calls back. “I’m not complaining about having the room to myself.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s all a ploy so he can have Barnes work on his shoulder. He doesn’t actually like any of us,” Winters adds.

“Wait. Is there room for one more?” Thompson asks. He falls into the seat across from Nebs and Winters. “Because I had my best game ever after he worked on my arm.”

And just like that, the conversation turns to how we can steal Barnes for our athletic trainer once he graduates. No one is paying attention to or asking questions about me anymore.

I glance around as the guys continue to joke around. Michaels’s hands are in full motion as he talks—his entire body, actually. Winters is apologizing for not having the forethought to stuff Barnes in his duffle and bring him on the road with us. My gaze clashes with Nebs’s, who’s silent. He watches me for a beat, then looks away. Even he stepped in to cover for me.

“Oh!” Michaels spins around to face me. “Olliebear. I forgot to tell you. I’m your new roomie. You know, since mine got the call-up and yours…well, your last one was a bigoted asshole who got kicked off the team. I’m a huge upgrade.”

Isn’t that the fucking truth?

“There weren’t any quieter options available?” I chirp.

“What he failed to mention is that everyone else refused to room with him,” Winters says.

“Ah, so I got the short end of the stick.”

“We didn’t want to scare off Trent,” Nebs says. “So, we put him with Thompson. We figured if he roomed with Michaels, we’d risk him quitting baseball altogether. And we really need his fucking talent.”

A chorus of laughter fills the bus.

“I’m a fucking delight,” Michaels grumbles.

“You’re something,” Thompson says with a grin.

“Who wants to play Mario Kart!” someone calls out.

A bunch of guys call back in agreement, and everyone starts settling into their seats, headphones and gaming handhelds coming out.

I go to put my earbud back in, but Michaels leans over to me and lifts his fist. “I got your back, bro,” he says quietly. “A week is a long time. Figured you might need some video calls to get through it. I can disappear when needed, and I don’t ask questions.” He bounces his eyebrows. “I’m not like a regular roomie; I’m a cool roomie.”

My head falls back with a laugh. “Dude. Really? Corny as all hell.”

A smile splits his face, and he wiggles his waiting fist. I dab it.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” More than he knows. “And I can do the same for you.”

“I knew you weren’t all bad.” He relaxes into his seat.

I arch a brow. “Did you, though?”

“No, I really did think you were a piece of shit.”

I cough on a laugh. “Well, at least you’re honest.”