Page 98 of Passed Ball

His brow draws together as he thinks about it. "Second."

Second.

Clay opens his mouth to say more, shutting it as quickly.

"What are you thinking, Clay?" I ask, curious if sees the same thing I do.

Next to me, his eyes follow the path of the ball a few more times before peering at me. "It's BS, is all. There's nothing wrong with second base, but they only put him there because he's the smallest kid on the team. He's sharp too, knows the game better than any of them. They're holding him back."

"Thanks, Clay." I pat him on the shoulder and head for the two brothers.

Elijah spots me first, and the ball his brother throws zips past his head and bounces off the wall behind him.

"What the hell!" Ezra hollers at his brother as the ball rolls back toward them. "Are you going to grab it?"

When Elijah doesn't answer Ezra shakes his head, jogging towards the ball and scooping it up in his glove. "Are you broke, bro?" He slams the ball into the outstretched glove in front of him.

Still staring over his brother's shoulder at me, the speechless boy lifts his chin in my direction.

"Wha--" Falling as speechless as his nearly identical practice partner, Ezra's mouth comes unhinged.

"Do you mind if I join you?" I hold up my glove, the corner of my mouth lifting with it. I watch patiently while they have a silent conversation that makes me envious of not having a sibling, until finally, both of their heads bob rapidly.

Closing the space between us I extend my hand. "Xavier Kingsley."

"Catcher for the Bandits." Elijah's voice comes out as a squeak while he shifts from foot to foot, his whole body practically vibrating.

When his brother is done manhandling me in an impressive handshake, Ezra cautiously takes my hand. Looking up at me from below the brim of his Bandits hat, his dark eyes double in size, like it's all hitting him at once.

"You've won two Gold Gloves and you've been voted into three All-Star Games," the smaller boy finally says.

"I better step up my game or you'll be coming for my spot. You were throwing absolute lasers."

Vivienne was right. Being here and seeing Ezra blink back shock is fun. But he looks like he might pass out from the praise, so I release his hand and take the spot Elijah was standing in earlier. The two boys form the wide end of our triangle, taking turns throwing with me for a while.

Around us, the gym starts to quiet as kids are picked up, leaving us with space to talk. Of the two, Eli, which he tells me he prefers over his full name, is more talkative. I learn that he's younger, although not by much. They're Irish twins--thirteen and fourteen.

"I hear you're a second baseman. Is that your favorite position?" I ask, nudging Ezra into joining the conversation.

He shrugs, palming the baseball against his thigh before he throws it back. The leather smacks hard against my glove with the extra heat he put on that one.

"Do you ever play catcher?" I send the ball towards his brother.

Another lift of his shoulders, and he mouths something I don't hear. When I cup my hand to my ear, he rolls his eyes, reminding me a little of Tenley, before repeating, "The gear doesn't fit."

Damn that's rough. I instantly know if this kid has any interest at all in playing catcher, I'll have new gear in his size waiting for him next week.

"He'd be such a good catcher. No one sees the field like him," Eli brags.

"Shut up," Ezra snaps back.

"You don't want to play catcher?" I can't get a read through his mask of anger.

"He wants to, he's too damn stubborn." Eli rats him out in classic little brother fashion.

"Elijah." Ezra's temper flares.

"No, E. I'm sick of watching pride get in your way." Eli's gaze flits to me, his jaws tight with frustration. "He wants to play catcher, and he'd be damn good at it, too. He played when we were younger, but the gear is too expensive and Ma would never . . ."

---