Page 149 of The Fall Classic

Liv hands me the envelope and papers, and my eyes scan the first page, but it’s all legalese that may as well be written in Greek.

Well, most of it is.

I read and reread the only part I can understand until the remaining strength and excitement drain from me, and I sink to the floor next to Liv.

I let my head fall to her shoulder, and she pats my arm before clearing her throat. “I think you need to call a lawyer.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Logan

Here’s what people don’t know about the playoffs.

They’re so much more stressful than normal games.

Oh, wait, everyone knows that.

I’m simply not sure anyone feels it as intensely as I do.

Half the guys in the clubhouse are joking around, laughing, even dancing. A few are playing cards. Some are on their phones while others—like Rojas—are reading something. My catcher is holding his cross necklace with one hand and his Bible in the other.

And I’m cool as a cucumber, not stressing a bit about how Georgie is meeting with Jane today and definitely not worried at all that over the last week, we haven’t had a chance to talk about that thing she was supposed to tell me because she keeps bringing up other things, and I let myself get caught up in them for too long until I realize how good she is at deflecting.

Why is she deflecting at all?

I’m afraid it’s because she’s seeing more and more how difficult it is to be in a relationship with a professional athlete.

I’m afraid that as much as we love each other, it won’t be enough.

I’m afraid that all of my roads led to her, but she’s finished the journey and is ready to chop down my tree and turn my trunk into a boat⁠—

My head is a super fun place to be right now.

Jake comes up next to me, wearing his street clothes. He’s always the first to the clubhouse, but he has some ritual where he sits in the stands before every game and eats a pretzel with Scottie, who’s his player coordinator and practically his sister, which is why them fake dating to rehab his image was both so believable to the public and so gross to them.

“What’s up, Fisch?” he asks. “You pitching today?”

“If it goes that way.”

“How’s the headspace?”

“Great,” I lie. “So good.”

“Bro,” he chuckles, kicking off his shoes and starting to change into his uniform. “‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’”

Rojas looks up from a nearby bench and gives Jake a nod, and I look between them. I haven’t seen them even talk before.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

Jake snickers. “You don’t just borrow trouble, you hunt for it like it’s treasure. You’re a trouble hunter.”

Have I mentioned before how much I loathe Jake Rodgers?

“Yup.” It’s all I can think to say that won’t make Doug mad at me. The man hates clubhouse drama so much, it almost cost Lucas and Scottie their careers.

Speaking of Doug, when I get up to refill my water bottle, I spot him in Joe’s office. The door is open, which tells me they either don’t care if anyone overhears or they have too much on their minds.

“Coop’s never looked better,” Joe’s saying. “Jake too. I’m not worried about our hitting.”