“Oh.” Heather blinked. “He didn’t mention that to me, but he doesn’t always tell me what he’s doing.”
“Of course, he wouldn’t.” Chris could see her falter, so he rushed to reassure her. “I didn’t keep my mother posted on everything I did, either. No boy does.”
“Right.” Heather’s smile returned.
“I just wanted you to know that I’m going to take very good care of him. And if you ever need to reach me, my number and email’s on the website.”
“Thank you so much.” Heather nodded.
“I better go. Congratulations.”
“You should say that to Jordan!” Heather shot back, with a final smile. “I’m just the mom.”
“I meant congratulations for quitting your job.”
“Oh, right!” Heather rolled her eyes, adorably. “God knows what happens next.”
“We’ll see!” Chris knew exactly what happened next, but that was for only him to know.
Chapter Twenty
Chris scanned the party under way at his apartment. Coach Hardwick had declined to come, but the players filled the living room, wolfing down pizza and talking among themselves. Everyone had arrived except Jordan, Evan, and Raz, and Chris was concerned. He hoped it didn’t suggest a reconciliation between Jordan and Raz. He was looking for an opportunity to solidify his relationship to Jordan and finish Raz.
“I wonder where Jordan is.” Chris stepped onto the balcony, which overlooked the pocket parking lot. A few of the players were freestyling, which gave Chris a headache, but Trevor and Dylan stood talking against the rail, so he went over to them. “Hey guys, great game! Way to go!”
“Hey Coach!” Trevor shook his fist in the air. “Awesome! Larkin’s the man!”
“Trevor, I give credit to you guys, too. It’s a team victory.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Trevor beamed.
“It’s the truth. You hit two doubles today. And you, Dylan.” Chris turned to the boy. “Dylan, that home run! I think that ball went four hundred feet.”
“Not that far,” Dylan corrected him, pushing up his glasses with a tight smile.
Suddenly their attention was drawn by noisy rap music coming from below, and they all turned to see Evan’s BMW pulling into the parking lot with its convertible top down, blasting hip-hop. Evan was driving, Jordan was in the passenger seat, and Raz was wedged in the nonexistent backseat, his knees tucked under his chin. Evan parked and cut the engine, abruptly ending the music.
“Musketeers!” Trevor called to them, but Dylan looked over at Chris, worriedly.
“Are your neighbors going to be pissed at the noise?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Chris waved him off.
“Musketeers, pizza’s hot!” Trevor hollered.
“Zaaaaaa!” Evan hollered back, looking up with a grin as he opened the car door and got out of the BMW.
Trevor pointed down at Raz, laughing. “Raz, you look like a dog! Did you put your head out the window? Did you get a treat?”
“Shut up, Trevor!” Raz called out, climbing out of the car, and just then, Chris thought he heard the telltale clink of a bottle from below. They must’ve been drinking, and he didn’t approve. Alcohol was an X factor he didn’t need right now.
Trevor called back, “Yeah, Raz, you’re a good dog! What tricks can you do? Besides throwing your bat? That was smooth, dude!”
The boys on the balcony burst into laughter, and the players who were inside the apartment came out. “Yo!” they started calling out, “Raz! Evan!” Then they broke into a chant, “Jordan, Jordan, Jordan!”
Chris watched Jordan get out of the car and follow Evan and Raz to the back door, which he’d left open. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Chris said, making his way off the balcony and into the apartment, then opening the front door just as Evan and Jordan reached the top of the stairs with matching grins.
“Hey, Coach Brennan!” they both said in unison, then started shoving each other, Evan saying “Jinx,” and Jordan saying, “What are you, in middle school?”
“Welcome, guys!” Chris clapped them both on the shoulder. “Come in and have something to eat. We’re celebrating. Big home victory!”
“Totally, Coach!” Evan said, crossing into the apartment.
Chris shook Jordan’s hand. “Jordan, you played incredible today. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Great to see your mom there, too.”
“I know, right?” Jordan smiled, shyly. “She never came before.”
“She brought you luck.” Chris could see Raz coming up the stairs but didn’t hurry to acknowledge him. “I introduced myself to her. We had a great talk about you. She was so proud of you.”
Jordan shuddered. “She didn’t say anything embarrassing, did she?”
“Of course she did. She told me what a good boy you were when you were a little baby.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jordan’s eyes flared in mock-alarm.
“I’m kidding. You did terrific today. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Jordan glanced over his shoulder at Raz, who lurched forward.
“Coach, your crib is sick!” Raz pushed past him.
“Hey, Raz.” Chris caught a whiff of beer on Raz’s breath, but not on the other boys. He closed the apartment door, watching as Jordan followed Evan toward the food table.
Raz stopped to look at the gun case. “Whoa, Coach! Are they loaded?”
“No,” Chris answered, going over. “You like?”
“Awesome! Are you a good shot?”
“I’m not bad. How about you?”
“Never tried.” Raz kept looking at the guns, and Chris couldn’t tell if it was to avoid looking at him. Either way, it was time to twist the proverbial knife. There were many kinds of weapons in the world, and words could be the most lethal.
“Raz, I have to say, I was really disappointed when you threw the bat—”
“Sorry,” Raz said, sullen. He raked back his hair, loose to his shoulders.
“I know you have a lot going on with your older brother, but—”
“I don’t have a lot going on,” Raz shot back, shifting his gaze back to the gun collection.
“Okay, then I stand corrected.” Chris had brought it up because he wanted to see how Raz would react. “I’m talking to you, as your coach and as your friend. I’m looking out for you. You can’t have a bad attitude. Between us, my buddy was there today. He saw what you did.”
Raz’s head snapped around, his dark eyes newly troubled. “You mean the guy you sent Jordan’s video to?”
“Yes, but that’s between you and me. I’m not even going to tell Jordan that. You’ve got to do better next time.” Chris patted him on the shoulder, like tough break.
“What if there’s not a next time, Coach?” Raz grimaced.
“I’m sure there will be,” Chris answered, but his tone suggested exactly the opposite.
“But, there’ll be other games. I’ll get in as reliever, won’t I?”
“That’s up to Coach Hardwick, not me. You’re going to have to dig yourself out of a hole.”
“I got a single.”
“True, but that’s not the problem.”
“What’s the problem?”
“An attitude problem is the kiss of death for recruiters.”
“‘The kiss of death?’” Raz’s frown deepened.
“That’s what my friend told me. No school will touch a kid with an attitude problem. They don’t need the aggravation on the field or in the dugout.”
Just then, Evan and Jordan came over holding plates of food, and behind them was Trevor and Dylan. Evan laughed. “Raz, we were just saying, that might’ve been your best pitch ever. Except that you pitched your bat.”
Trevor burst into laughter. “Raz, what do you call that pitch? Was that a fastball? Or fast bat?”
Dylan smiled. “Dude, I think it was more like a curve. Don’t you think it was a curve bat?
I thought I saw it curve right before the plate. Or the fence.”
“Or my mom!” Evan joined in, his eyes comically wide. “Raz, you almost cracked my mom’s skull wide open!”
Trevor added, “And his own mom! He almost clocked his own mother! He pitched a curve bat!”
“Trevor, shut the hell up, you meathead!” Raz shouted, shoving Trevor.
“You shut up! Get your hands off me!”
Chris delayed acting for a half second, and just then, Raz shoved Trevor harder, and Trevor shoved Raz back.
“You’re crazy, Raz!” Trevor shouted. “You’re outta your mind!”
“Boys, Raz, stop it!” Chris reached for Raz, but just then, Raz threw a punch, missing Trevor, upending Evan’s plate of food, and connecting with Jordan’s face.
“Arhh!” Jordan jumped backwards, his hand flying to his cheek.
Raz whirled around on Jordan. “Oops, did I hurt you, rock star? You going to get a mark on your face now?”
Jordan recoiled, shaken. Raz’s punch had broken the skin, making a cut that started to bleed, dripping down Jordan’s cheek.
Trevor yelled, “You suck, Raz! You can’t take it! You never coulda pitched the way Jordan did today!”
“I could so!” Raz lunged for Trevor in anger, knocking Evan and Jordan to the side.
“Stop, Raz!” Chris decided this had gone as far as he needed it to go. He grabbed Raz by the shoulders from behind, forced him backwards, and pressed him into a sitting position on the cabinet in front of the gun case, looking the boy in the eye. “Raz, you’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”
“So what!” Raz yelled in Chris’s face, and the boys fell stone silent. Jordan wiped blood from his cut, leaving a pinkish smear on his cheek.
Chris turned to Evan. “Evan, were you drinking, too?”
“No.”
“Are you okay to drive?”
“Yes.”
Chris believed him, only because Raz didn’t call Evan a liar. “I want you to take Raz home.”
“Okay, Coach.”
“Thank you.” Chris took Raz by the arm and lifted him off the cabinet. “Raz, get it together. You’re your own worst enemy.”
“Leave me alone, buddy!”
“Good-bye.” Chris walked Raz toward the door, with Evan behind. When he opened it, Raz wrenched his arm away, stalked out of the apartment, and hurried down the stairs. Chris put a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Take him right home, please. No monkey business, no drinking.”
“Okay, Coach.” Evan motioned to Jordan. “Jordan, you coming?”
Chris interjected, “Evan, I want Jordan to stay. I need to check out his cut and see if he needs to go to the hospital.”
Jordan shook his head, and blood dripped like a red tear down his cheek. “Coach, I don’t need to go to a hospital. It’s nothing.”
“That may be, but I’ll take you home. I’m responsible for you. I met your mom today. You can’t go home and tell her you got injured at my house without her hearing from me. That can’t happen, Jordan.”
“Okay,” Jordan said reluctantly. “Later, Evan.”
“Later.” Evan waved them off, leaving the apartment and going down the stairs.
“Jordan, let’s take a look at that cut.” Chris closed the door, satisfied that he’d accomplished his mission—or Raz had, for him.
And he wouldn’t mind seeing Jordan’s mother again.
Chapter Twenty-one
Chris stood next to Jordan as the boy opened the apartment door, and Heather looked up from her laptop. She was sitting on the couch in a sweatshirt and jeans, with her hair in a ponytail. She had one of those Housewives shows on mute, and her expression morphed from sleepy to shocked when she saw Chris entering with Jordan, who had a fresh wound on his cheek.
“Hey, Mom.” Jordan closed the door behind them. “I’m okay, don’t freak.”
“Oh no, what’s that on your face?” Heather moved the laptop aside, jumped up, and went over to Jordan, peering at his cheek. It had swollen pink, but the bleeding had stopped. “What happened, honey? Chris, what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, Mom. I’m fine.”
“He really is,” Chris added.
“Tell me what happened. Did you fall?” Heather squinted at the cut, gripping Jordan’s arm as if he would otherwise run away. “I hope you don’t need stitches.”
“I don’t think he does,” Chris interjected, speaking from experience, though it wasn’t an experience he could share. “I looked at it carefully, cleaned it up, and left it uncovered so it could get air.”
“I’m totally fine,” Jordan said again. “It’s really nothing,”
“So how did it happen?” Heather looked from Jordan to Chris. “Did it happen at your house? At the party?”
Jordan hesitated, and Chris realized they should’ve discussed this before now. The party had continued after Evan and Raz had gone, and Jordan had hung out, even helping Chris clean up afterwards. They’d talked about other things on the ride here, like the game and pitching mechanics, of course, always mechanics. Chris had been glad to get closer to Jordan at his most vulnerable, and Jordan’s friendship with Raz had to be dead meat after tonight.
“Mom, it doesn’t matter,” Jordan answered, but Heather looked at him like he was crazy.
“It matters to me, Jordan.” Heather wheeled her head back to Chris, her blue eyes so frank that it unsettled him. “What happened, Chris? You tell me, since my son won’t.”
“I’m sorry, but unfortunately, there was an altercation.”
“An altercation?” Heather asked in disbelief. “With you?”
“No, with Raz,” Chris rushed to explain. “I drove Jordan home to apologize to you, because it happened at my house.”
“It wasn’t really an altercation, Mom,” Jordan said, edging away. “It’s not a big deal.”
Heather placed her hands on her hips, turning to Jordan as he backed toward the hallway. “Jordan, if it’s not a big deal, don’t make it one. What’s the big mystery? Did somebody hit you? Tell me.”
“Raz got in a bad mood, is all.”
“Raz hit you? That’s terrible!”
“He didn’t mean to.”
Chris didn’t say anything. He knew that if he made Raz look bad, Jordan would only defend him.
Heather’s eyes had gone wide. “Jordan, what do you mean? How do you unintentionally hit somebody in the face? Are you saying it was an accident? Was it an accident?”
“Mom, no, but it’s not a big thing. It’s fine.”
“Then it was on purpose? He hit you under your eye. He could’ve ruined your vision. Why did he do that? Were you guys fighting?”
“No, not really.” Jordan backed up toward the hallway.
“So then why did he hit you?”
“He had a bad day. You saw, at the game.”
“Hmph! Yes, I did see. I saw him throw a bat. That’s bad sportsmanship, and it’s dangerous.”
Jordan looked at Chris as he left the room. “Coach Brennan, thanks for everything. Good night. Good night, Mom.”
Chris gave him a wave. “No worries, Jordan. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow morning.”
Jordan turned away and headed down the hallway.
“Jordan, we’ll talk later,” Heather called after him, then turned to Chris with an exasperated sigh. “Sheesh! Is he really okay?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
“It was nice of you to take him home.”
“Not a problem.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Or is it too late for you?”
“A glass of water would be great.” Chris realized that he could get something accomplished here, if he stayed awhile. Plus she really was cute.
“I have some cookies, if you’re a cookie guy.” Heather led him to a small dining area that was part of the kitchen, then gestured him into a seat at the table.
“Of course I’m a cookie guy. Who isn’t?” Chris sat down, taking in the kitchen
and the dining room. It was modest, and a weird reddish glow came from the curtains, from the Friendly’s sign next door.
“It’s Chips Ahoy. Not gourmet or anything.” Heather reached into a cabinet above the counter, and Chris could tell from her residual frown that her mind was on what had happened to Jordan.
“There’s no such thing as gourmet chocolate chips.”
“Yes, there is.” Heather opened the bag of cookies, shaking a few onto a plate she took from the dish rack. “They cost twelve bucks a pound at Whole Foods.”
“Not worth it.”
“I agree. You really want water? I have milk.” Heather brought the plate of cookies over to the table and set it down. “Milk and cookies is better than water and cookies.”
“Water and cookies is fine. I just won’t dunk.”
“Ha!” Heather brightened, heading back to the kitchen. “Everybody in my family dunked, we’re big dunkers. Toast got dunked in coffee. Doughnuts, too.”
“I like to dunk toast in coffee,” Chris said, realizing it was the first completely true sentence he’d said since he’d come to Central Valley.
“Me too.” Heather turned on the tap and poured water into a glass, then went to the freezer and popped a few cubes into the water. “We dunk Italian bread in gravy and—”
“Gravy?”
“Gravy is tomato sauce, that’s what we always called it. My mother was Italian, from Brooklyn. It’s my ex who was from here.”
“Oh.” Chris caught the reference to her ex, so now he could officially know what he already knew.
“My mother even dunked her bread in salad dressing. Vinegar and oil.”
“That would be extreme dunking.”
“They were dunking professionals.” Heather smiled.
“I’m a dunking champion.” Chris found himself smiling back.
Heather laughed as she brought the glass of water over and set it down, then took the seat opposite him. The table was small, and the only fixture was an overhead light, which was unusually cozy—at least it was unusual to Chris, because coziness wasn’t a feeling he’d had often. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt cozy.
One Perfect Lie Page 10
