Page 16 of The Foul Out

“Since you already have myjersey, do you want the blue one? I could sign it.”

I held up a blue jersey with the number 29 printed on the back. On the rack in front of us was the pin-striped version in a kids’ size.

We’d been in the Revs store for about ten minutes, and Piper was struggling to decide what item she’d like. The boys were getting antsy, so Asher and Zara had taken them, along with their daughter, Clara, over to play with a bin of bouncy balls.

With every minute that passed, Piper was getting more agitated. Picking any item from the store could be fun, but for a kid like Piper, it was an overwhelming task. Especially in a bright space like this. The lighting was specifically set up to draw attention to multiple areas. For someone with sensory processing issues, this place was too bright, too loud, too overwhelming. If I’d asked Hannah what the plan was ahead oftime, I could have made adjustments. But I had been pouting over a foul ball instead of focusing on what really mattered. Not that I’d known we’d have issues.

It wasn’t until I looked across the room to see the little redhead with pigtail braids nervously blinking over and over that, with my background, I understood. My heart cracked as I took her in. And boy, had I wanted to give the poor kid a hug when she claimed she wasn’t smart. An autism diagnosis didn’t negate a child’s intelligence. It didn’t rule out anything completely. JJ had mentioned that Piper loved the Revs, so I’d expected an excited kid. He’d always said she had some issues, but he’d never elaborated, and I’d never asked.

Now, for someone like me, it was abundantly clear. And rushing her in this situation would only cause her to stress more. As long as Hannah didn’t storm in, asking what was taking so long, I could be patient.

Hannah had a plan, though. She was geared up to take pictures and videos of us all laughing together while eating breakfast. She’d bribe the kids with Revs gear—that’s what this stop in the store was about—then we’d head up to the field, where she’d take more pictures and videos of us dicking around. At the end of the day, I was to drive Harper and the kids home and get footage of me with Harper and the kids around their apartment. I’d post. The Revs would post. Then Zara would release the photos to her sources and change the narrative. That, supposedly, would make the world believe that rather than hating Harper, I’d befriended her. Stupid dumb shit.

Regardless, if Hannah rushed in here, it’d only cause more stress for Piper.

Normally, I’d send Cam to deal with the head of PR, but he’d bowed out before we finished breakfast in the team room so he could make it to a meeting.

“Mom says no signed clothes.” Her slight pout reminded me of JJ. She looked so much like him. Sam too, especially in the eyes. They were the same brown color mixed with that mustardy yellow. “If it’s signed, we can’t wash it, and Mom has rules about washing clothes every day.”

I was learning that Piper’s mom had a lot of rules. The woman was so uptight. Though her constant state of clench might be why her ass looked so good in those black leggings. I shouldn’t be noticing things like that, but each time she stormed away, my eyes were drawn to her perfect ass.

“If you’re okay with never wearing the jersey, Mr. Bosco can sign it.”

“Kyle,” I corrected. Again.

Harper had a thing about the kids calling me “mister.” It didn’t seem right, given the situation. A situation I’d have to explain to Harper at some point. But that could wait. It was clear with every glare she shot my way that she disliked me. Telling her who I was, to her, to JJ wouldn’t help that situation.

If my life wasn’t consumed by baseball for ten months out of the year, and I hadn’t been a selfish prick when JJ’s life kinda imploded, there would be nothing to explain. I would know these people already. Hell, I should have known them long before everything went wrong. Ishouldbe Kyle to them.

In high school and college, when JJ and I played together, he’d easily been my best friend. When I was drafted and he wasn’t, we’d drifted. Especially since I’d spent eight years in California. The space I’d created between my former life and the freedom I’d found since being drafted may have been a bit much, and I’d held on to it too hard. And definitely for too long. Even when he got married, I’d kept that distance. It had been in the middle of the season, and I’d missed the wedding.

When his dad died, it had hit me just how far we’d drifted. That’s when I decided to make an effort with texts and phonecalls. We’d seen each other more in the last year than in the ten before it, and I’d told myself I’d be even more involved once the season ended. That was why I’d promised to help with Harper and the kids.

“I’m not sure.” Piper blinked rapidly as she worried her bottom lip.

I wanted to tell her she could have one of everything. That seemed fair. But crabby pants had been clear the kids could each chooseonething. I was doing my best to keep my promise to JJ, to be a good guy, but this damn woman was making it hard.

“How about we get Mom set up while you decide?” I suggested, hoping to take some pressure off Piper.

I shuffled over to the women’s section and perused a rack. The kids had both shown up in Revs gear. Piper in my jersey and Sam in a gray Revs T-shirt. But Harper wasn’t sporting the Revs blue. Just like last night, there was no outward indication that she was a fan of America’s pastime. I swiped a medium jersey from the rack and undid the top two buttons.

“What are you doing?” Harper groused as I stalked toward her. Her lips were set in the same firm line they’d been in since she’d walked into the team room.

Between that and the perma-scowl, it was beyond clear that she was still upset with me. My job today was to fix that. If she’d only loosen up a bit and give me the chance.

As I approached her, I held the shirt up. She took a step back, but before she could get away, I yanked it over her head.

She sputtered and squirmed, clearly shocked, despite my obvious intention when I stepped up to her. What else could I have been doing with the jersey? I stepped back, and as I did, she struggled with the garment, fighting the fabric like it was on fire.

“If you put your arms through the holes, you’d be able to move,” I said, choking back a laugh at her ridiculous need to free herself of her cotton confines.

“I’m not wearingyournumber.” She stopped fighting then, snapping straight to glare at me.

I probably should have been offended, but it was hard to pull off when she looked so cute. Her auburn hair was falling out of the messy bun on the top of her head, and a scowl dusted with freckles adorned her face.

With a smirk, I pulled a pen from the center of one of the displays, pressed down on the end with aclick, and closed in on her again.

“What are you doing?” she huffed as she wrestled with the sleeves of her jersey.

---