I spent most of my years chasing after my brothers, living in their shadows.

“I can’t imagine Tripp with a group of teenage girls in his house. He would die.”

That makes Molly laugh. “Oh god—I brought over my friends Liza and Annabelle one time, because I didn’t realize he was home from an away game, and he was in the hot tub and Liza kept staring when he finally climbed out of the water. She asked if she could climb in too if she ran and got a swimsuit. I was so embarrassed.”

I can only imagine.

My brothers are both insanely good-looking, if you’re into that big, dark, broody type. Most women are.

“What did Tripp do?”

“He went and got dressed in like, thirty layers—even put on a winter hat—and stood in the kitchen with his arms folded across his chest as if we were going to accost him.” She laughs. “I’m super good at reading nonverbal cues, so I knew I had to get them out.”

Super good.

Mad crush.

Like, like, like.

If I hang out with this kid much longer, I’m going to be talking like her and probably wanting to hang out at the mall.

“You seem to have a really good head on your shoulders,” I say, because it’s true, as we pull into the parking lot of the obstetrician.

Molly preens under my approval. “Thanks. My parents are super strict, but they trust me, which is cool.” She unbuckles her seat belt and pops her drink into the cup holder. “I used to work at a store, but then Mr. Wallace moved in next door, and let me tell you, my dad just about died. He was freaking out—he won’t admit it because he tries to be cool, but he’s a huge fan.”

We slam our doors, walking side by side to the front entrance, and I won’t lie, it’s nice having someone along.

“So then one day I was outside in the yard doing whatever, and Chewy saw me and ran over, and when I brought him back home, that’s when Mr. Wallace asked if I’d walk the dog and babysit him sometimes and stuff. It’s a pretty good gig. I got to quit my other job.”

“Probably because of your dad and his man crush.”

“Oh for sure because of his man crush! He pretends not to care, but every so often he asks me a million questions. Who hangs out at the house, what Mr. Wallace is like, blah blah blah.”

“And your parents aren’t…worried you’re hanging out at a dude’s house all the time?”

“I mean—Mr. Wallace has a girlfriend, and he’s not actually home all that much, especially during the football season, so they’re not worried he’s going to take advantage of me.”

“Sorry, I had to ask.” It would have been remiss of me not to, and now that Molly is in my life, it’s my duty to look after her the way my brother obviously looks after her.

Wallaces stick together; clearly Molly feels some obligation to watch out for me as well.

What a strange kid.

Four

Mateo

The season doesn’t start for months, but we’re gearing up for training camp—which isn’t in Illinois, but Arizona.

Normally, I’m pumped to leave town and do so early, just after the holidays, split from the cold-ass Midwest weather and make for the western sun, but something has kept me here longer.

A feeling.

A nagging in my stomach that something is about to happen…

I watch Buzz Wallace, the team’s closer, walk past me in the locker room, eyes averted because he knows what I’m going to ask: What’s your sister’s phone number?

How does he know? Because I’ve already asked him a few times, only to be rejected, much like his sister already did.

Call me a glutton for punishment, but don’t call me a quitter, ’cause I’m asking again and his scare tactics aren’t going to stop me.

There’s a duffle bag hanging at my side, and I heft it onto my shoulder so it’s more comfortable, tailing him as he makes his way to the conference room we use for team meetings. It’s set up kind of like an informal press conference room, with desks and a table up front where the coaches and managers speak. Show game tapes, go over strategies—shit like that.

“Stop following me,” he says without turning, voice echoing in the concrete block hallway.

“We’re going to the same place—I have to follow you.”

“Then stop staring at my back.”

Buzz Wallace is ridiculous sometimes, an actual grown-up child. I wager that were we stuck in the back of a car together, he’d complain that I was looking at him for the duration of the trip, and I’d most likely win that bet.

“You have weak shoulders,” I smart, teasing him to get a rise.

It works.

He turns momentarily to argue. “I do not!” Postures, standing straighter.

“Okay, you don’t.”

“Don’t agree with me like that—it’s annoying.”

I laugh. Having grown up with six sisters, not much fazes me. He’s being difficult because he doesn’t want me asking about his sister; deep down inside, he knows the reason I’m asking is because True and I had a connection.