Page 2 of Double Play

My friendship with Arden began in the fourth grade. Her mom had just been relocated to France for work, and she moved to our small town of Tinsville, Pennsylvania with her dad. From the moment my teacher asked me to show her around the school, we were inseparable. I immediately took on the role of her protector, and that’s how it was for years. It wasn’t until eleventh grade that I realized my feelings for her had begun to morph into something else.

I had a few girlfriends in high school, but baseball was my main priority. Rumors were already swirling that I would be one of the top second base prospects during my senior year, and I was focused on perfecting my craft. When it wasn’t school or travel ball season, I spent multiple nights a week doing private lessons, which put a damper on my social life.

Arden was the exact opposite. She played volleyball but always made the time to go out with friends. It wasn’t that she wasn’t dedicated to the game—she just didn’t have to work as hard to be great. She was a natural talent from the moment she touched the court, giving her a little more freedom to enjoy her teenage years. While I was holed up in batting cages, working on my swing night after night, she was going on dates and having fun. It wasn’t until I saw her kissing one of my teammates outside the biology lab one day that I realized how I really felt about her.

“Cooper Peterson?” I asked, making her jump from where she was standing, watching as he walked away. “When did that happen?”

She whipped around, laying a hand over her heart. “Jesus, Jacks! You scared the shit out of me!” Her shock melted into a silly smile, her cheeks pinkening the way they always did when she was embarrassed. “Last night,” she replied. “He took me to play miniature golf and kissed me when he dropped me back off at my house.”

I could feel the rage bubbling up inside me as I took in her love-struck expression, jealousy coursing through me as I did my best to keep it from rearing its ugly head. We had been friends for years and I never even considered making a move on her, so why all of a sudden, was I pissed at the thought of anyone else kissing her?

“So now you’re a thing?” I asked, scrunching my eyebrows together. I was trying to stay calm, but I fucking hated every bit of the situation.

She shrugged. “Not really. He said he didn’t want to put a label on things, but that we could see where it goes.”

Of fucking course, he did.

“He’s an idiot,” I replied, shaking my head. I knew he was leading her on, but if I said that out loud, it would’ve made me sound like a dick. So, I chose to cut myself off, but the newly unveiled emotions inside me continued battling one another as I stood there, well and truly confused by every one of them.

She shrugged. “I’ve been single for a long time, Jacks. Our junior prom is in like, two months and I don’t even have a date. I don’t want to go alone. Maybe Cooper will ask me if things go well.”

I swallowed hard, my fists clenching at my sides as the thought of the two of them at the prom together hit me. Or worse,after it. I had been listening to my teammates talk in the locker room for weeks about their post-prom plans of getting fake IDs and renting hotel rooms to bring their dates to. It didn’t bother me before—but now? I couldn’t let it happen. Cooper Peterson had already broken too many hearts in our grade, and I wasn’t about to let him add Arden’s to his list.

Fuck that. I had to do something.

“Hello?” a muffled voice says, ripping me from my memory as a fist raps against the truck window rapidly. I whip my head up, eyes locking onto Arden’s while she stands there with about six duffel bags hanging from her small frame. Her dark brown hair is piled into a messy bun on top of her head, and her brows are pulled in as though she’s wondering why it took me so long to notice her there. “Unlock the door, jackass.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, pressing the button to disengage the locks before throwing my door open and hurrying around the hood. By the time I get to her side, she’s already beginning to lower the bags from her shoulders, loading them into the back seat.

“I got it,” I say, reaching out to take over. She rolls her eyes, handing them to me one by one as I make room on the seat. I can hear the toes of her shoes tapping against the pavement as she exhales, and I already know it’s probably the first full breath she’s taken all day. Arden hates traveling. It ramps up her anxiety, which is something she’s struggled with since I’ve known her. Whenever she’s in high-stress situations, she turns into a ball of nerves, doing everything she can to hide it because she insists it makes her look weak.

I shove the last of her luggage into the back seat, turning to her with my arms open. “Come here,” I say, and she steps into me. Wrapping her in a tight embrace, I feel the tension in her body melt away, a tiny whine of frustration slipping from her lips. I can’t help but chuckle. After all these years, you’d think she’d give herself a little grace when her anxiety gets the best of her, but she never does.

“Rough flight?” I ask, resting my chin on the top of her head. She smells the same as she has since I’ve known her—strawberries and cream, mixed withher. Even though there was a split second in high school where the scent affected me in other ways, it’s always given me a familiar comfort. And although we’ve drifted apart over the last six or seven years, it still does.

“So much turbulence,” she replies as I rub my hand up and down her back to soothe her. “And newborn twins. Of course, my AirPods died after the first hour.”

I suck a breath through my teeth. “Yikes. Let’s get you home so you can relax.”

TWO

JACKSON

Forty minutes later,we pull into the parking garage of my building, and I look over to find Arden out cold in the passenger seat. It took her a few minutes to calm down once we loaded up her things, but after a long hug and a trip to Starbucks for some lavender tea, she was as good as new. I just hate that I have to wake her now.

“Hey, Princess,” I say, using the nickname I gave her after our fourth-grade Halloween party, where she made me dress up as Mario so she could be Princess Peach. I begged her to let me be Bowser because I thought the shell and spikes were cool, but she insisted, so I gave in. To this day, a photo of us in those costumes hangs on the wall in our parents’ living room. It seems like a lifetime ago.

“Noooo…” she whines, her brows knitting together in annoyance before she turns away. “Five more minutes.”

I chuckle, playfully flicking her neck with my middle finger. “No. Get up, or I’ll leave you in here alone. I heard they once had a panther on the loose in this garage.”

She rolls her head against the headrest to face me again, peeking with one eye. “You’re lying.”

I shrug. “Am I?” Opening the door, I slide out of the truck, hearing her huff an exhale as she does the same. I round the back, bumping her out of the way with my hip and earning a much more lighthearted eye roll now that her nerves are calmer. Making quick work of loading her bags onto my shoulders, I lead the way to the elevator, ushering Arden inside and pressing the button for the thirty-fifth floor. It worked out that today is one of the team’s rare days off since she couldn’t find a moving company to transport her car from Pennsylvania to Florida before she left. I didn’t want her taking an Uber from the airport and being dropped off in a strange place all by herself with no way of getting around. Although playoffs are coming up, and I should be getting in some extra reps at the batting cages today, I’d much rather be here making sure she’s settling in okay.

The metal doors slide open, and I step out, adjusting the bags on my shoulder before starting down the hall toward my condo. Arden yawns behind me, telling me that her tea did its job and the nap she took on the ride over wasn’t nearly enough. It’s another effect of her anxiety. She tries so hard to keep it at bay sometimes that it physically drains her. It’s not even dark outside, and I can already tell she’ll be hitting the hay as soon as she can.

“Home, sweet home,” I say, stepping through the door and moving aside for her to pass. I watch as her exhausted eyes widen, ping-ponging around the expansive living area as if she doesn’t know what to look at first. Hawk and I only bought this place a few months ago, so none of my family has gotten a chance to see it. Arden saw the old place once, but it was a shack compared to the almost six thousand square feet we have now.

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