Page 60 of Sliding Into Love
“But—" Derek tried to interrupt.
“I had been thinking of using my real name again, though. But now my mom’s best friend is the coach, so maybe not.”
And he’d shared more information than he’d meant to. Fuck.
Jen and Derek stared at him for a moment, and Ethan saw the gears in their heads whirring.
“Isn't Jimmy Fisher married to—" Derek began.
“Laura Lorne, David Lorne’s daughter. Yep!” Isaac interjected again, damn him.
“So your mom is a big-time agent, the owner of a billion-dollar sports agency, and your dad is in the Baseball Hall of Fame? And you don’t want people to know?” Jen asked, arching a brow at him.
“Bingo.” Ethan pointed at her. “I fucking hate it. I might be a decent pitcher, but I’m not Jimmy-Fisher-level good. I never have been, and Marshall never let me forget it. It’s a lot of pressure, and it’s exactly what I was trying to avoid when I started going by Ethan Ford. I didn’t want anyone to expect me tobeJimmy Fisher.”
Abruptly, he stood, knocking his chair over in the process, but he didn't bother to right it.
“I need some air,” Ethan said, not looking back at them as he walked away.
“But we’re outside!” he heard Derek call helpfully.
Reluctant to head back to his apartment, and having heard nothing from Ivy, Ethan drove back to the stadium, despite it being at the heart of his problems. He’d always been able to think more clearly when letting muscle memory take over, the movement of his body freeing his mind to sort through his problems.
The empty baseball stadium was eerie in its peacefulness. With no lights or sounds other than his footsteps and the creaking of the metal gate as he swiped his key fob to get in, Ethan felt like he was in a horror movie.
And maybe he was because as soon as he stepped behind the gate, every light in the stadium blazed on, blinding him. Blinking, Ethan peered through his fingers but saw nothing other than the stadium, lit up as if it were a game night.
Must be a glitch in the system,he thought.
Spinning the bat in his hand a few times before tapping it on the instep of his shoe, Ethan settled into a batting stance before swinging it lightly to loosen his shoulders and wrists. He heard a faint rustle of fabric, but when he looked up and saw nothing, he chalked it up to the wind rustling one of the stadium’s many sponsor flags in the breeze.
There didn’t seem to be much of a breeze, though.
Deciding to ignore it, he pressed the button for the automatic pitching machine and squared up his hips and shoulders for the first pitch.
Thunk.
Hit. If he’d been on the field, it would have been a perfect shot to left.
Thunk.
Hit, dead center.
It was dark in the alcove, but Ethan would have sworn he’d seen something move behind the machine.
Maybe it was a shadow.
Thunk.
Left again.
The barrel of the pitching machine shifted, seemingly of its own accord.
Ethan straightened out of his stance and walked toward it.
He saw the ball coming toward him and turned fast enough to avoid being hit straight in the stomach; it rammed into his flank instead.
Instant numbness and then intense pain radiated from the place of impact, and Ethan folded to the ground, landing on his hands and knees, gasping for breath.
