Page 53 of Totally Ducked

“Nooooooo, you’ll wash off the scent of me. How else will I keep all those sexy baseball players away from you?”

I laugh. “If you behave, I’ll let you mark me all over again after practice.”

“Deal,” he replies, and I close the door and jump in the shower.

When I emerge, Ian’s on the phone, standing by the window.

“We’re lucky it was scooped. Your photo guy faked his shot,” he says. I guess he’s talking with his editor. That prick better be happy about Ian refusing to write that shit and saving his ass.

“Then I quit. As soon as this tour is over, I’m done,” Ian says, then he hangs up the phone and drops it on the nightstand. His hands shake as he turns to face me.

“What the fuck did I just do?”

“Sounds like you quit,” I say, as I close the distance between us and take his hands in mine. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

Ian locks eyes with me. They’re glassy and wide, and all I want to do is take away the worry that’s living behind them. But I can’t.

“He said he didn’t care it was faked, he had a release, so he was covered legally. He said my refusing to write the article didn’t save him from anything but a scoop on a story.”

“What a jerk.”

“Shit, I just quit. Who’s going to hire me now? I’ve got what, a few weeks under my belt as a sportswriter. What did I do?”

“You’ll be okay. Your work is amazing, you can sell freelance until you find something permanent. We can ask the fellas if their magazines are hiring. You know these guys now, they know you, they can vouch for you. We can all vouch for you.”

He nods, but the concern is etched into his forehead and no amount of reassurance from me is going to take it away. He said he’s been trying for ages to find other work, and he’s right, when it comes to freelance, you have to really sell it and find the pieces no one has.

My timer goes off. I have to meet the team downstairs to head over for warm-up. Ian glances at it.

“It’s okay, you go. I’ll be over soon.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, and as much as it pains me to leave him, I have to.

Warm-up is great despite my body still feeling the workout I had last night and my attention constantly drifting to what Ian’s going through. We move into focus training, but Ian isn’t on the field yet, so I quickly check my phone. There isn’t a message from Ian, but there is a message from Yarro, my editor.

YARRO: Your last article reached the top view numbers for the year forUnlaced. Things have cooled off in the NHL, too, so looks like you’ll be back on hockey as soon as this tour is over. Great job.

I stare at the message. Getting to go back to writing about hockey is everything I wanted. Everything I’ve been working toward this whole tour. As much as I had hoped it would be this way, I never really thought about what that meant for Ian and me. We’ve shared a room this whole tour, a bed for most of it, I can’t imagine not being with him. Maybe he can come back with me? He can write freelance from anywhere, he can come to the games with me, and write about hockey maybe, too. I couldtalk to Yarro, maybe he needs another writer. Oh, no one was on Banana Ball before now. Maybe Ian can take over that?

“Yo, Brendan, move your ass,” Coach Miles calls, and I drop my phone onto my bag and run back onto the field.

“Sorry, Coach,” I say, jogging out to position. I wait for the hitter to step into the box, scanning the field, the players, and the vibe even in training is the most fun I’ve had in years.

I’d forgotten how much I loved baseball. Now I’ve gotten to live out my childhood dream of playing in a major stadium for a paying crowd, it’s reopened that dream like a flesh wound that will be really fucking hard to close when it’s all over.

But I guess I got over it once, I’m sure I’m worrying about nothing. I’m sure I’ll be fine stepping back off the field and into the press box.

The smack of the ball sounds through the field, and I set off on a run, catching it in my glove and sending it right to second base for an out.

“Nice, keep it up,” Coach Miles calls, and my chest fills with pride as I retake my place on the field, waiting for the next pitch. How do I go back to writing hockey after this?

Chapter twenty-six

Ian

After sending in myofficial letter of resignation, I spend the morning rewriting my resume before finally heading across to the field. Even though I can hardly wrap my head around what I’ve done, I don’t wait to tell the other writers about my decision.

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