“The holes are gone, see.” Buzz moves out of the way so I can get a load of his handiwork, the holes he drilled now filled with metal brackets, suspended above the window facing the street.

“You are unbelievable.”

He starts his descent from the ladder. “So does that mean you’re going to come grab lunch with me?”

“Only if you don’t ask a ton of questions. I’m not in the mood.”

But I could go for some soup. And salad. And maybe some breadsticks brushed with butter and dipped into alfredo sauce?

Yeah. Lunch definitely sounds good, but we’re not going somewhere he can get a damn sandwich.

Fool.

My brother drives me to an Italian place, and I order enough food to sustain us for a year, doubtful I’ll eat half of it but sure am gonna try.

He watches me while I fork lettuce onto my plate, my mouth watering. Nom.

“I’m not going to ask why you’re staying with Tripp and not me.”

I sigh loud enough to wake the dead and sit back in my chair. “Oh, here we go again. Do you ever let up? You’re like an old woman, nag nag nag.”

“I’m just wondering why you’re staying with Tripp, that’s all. I’m curious, sue me.”

“You’re not curious, you’re jealous—and I already told you, he’s never around and I like peace and quiet. I don’t need you breathing down my neck. Chandler is hardly around either, so it’s just me and the dog.”

And sometimes Molly.

“What about your girlfriends? Where are they? Why aren’t you staying with them?”

I stare at my brother. “Would you prefer I stay with one of them instead of Tripp so you don’t feel so butthurt about it?”

He scoffs, and I have my answer.

“For your information, my old roommates aren’t an option. Winnie moved in with her boyfriend after we were evicted, and Monica moved in with her parents.” Happy now?

Buzz shakes his head, disbelieving. “I still can’t believe you got fucking evicted. That is some bullshit right there.”

Not really. Not since we weren’t paying the rent on time.

“I could have fixed up a place for you. I wouldn’t have anything furnished, but at least you’d have a place all to yourself if what you want is privacy.”

I mean. Maybe.

The further along I get in this pregnancy, the more privacy I’m going to want.

Right?

Or no?

My head does a hesitant little nod. “Maybe.” We’ll see. “Give me more time to think about it.”

This mollifies my brother. “I, of course, would have a spare key.”

I laugh. “No, you will not have a spare key!”

“Why not?!”

“You won’t even be around—you’ll be in Arizona, for pity’s sake.”

“See! So how can it hurt for me to have a key to your house? You’re not making any sense. I’ll be like your groundskeeper and maintenance man.”

“You.” I stab at my salad. “Will.” Stab. “Be.” Stab. “Gone.”

“So? I’ll put cameras up.”

“Oh my god, Buzz, are you hearing yourself? You’re worse than Mom, Dad, and Tripp combined! If you won’t be here, what the hell good are you going to be all the way across the country?”

A cruel reminder that the father of my child is also going to be clear across the country while I get more and more pregnant.

The thought of that suddenly depresses me, and I shove lettuce in my mouth.

“I’ll fly you out. You can come stay with us there. Lie out in the sun, sit by the pool, work in the shade on the patio.”

That does sound lovely. Instead of renting a house or apartment or staying in a hotel like many professional players do while they’re in preseason camp, my brother bought a house—a fixer-upper—a few years ago and stays there instead.

Then, throughout the winter, my parents will fly out to Arizona to escape the shitty Midwest winter.

“Thanks for the offer.”

“But?”

“But nothing—I’ll think about it.”

“We won’t be gone a long time. Spring training is only thirty-seven days.”

Thirty-seven days sounds like an eternity, actually, except I’ll never admit that.

“So…” My voice trails off, and I clear my throat. Shift in my seat. Plop a breadstick into the alfredo dipping sauce and swirl it. “Do you ever have friends stay with you?”

Buzz pauses. “What friends? From home?”

“No,” I say, feigning ignorance. “Like, teammates and stuff.”

“They can get their own damn houses.”

Oh.

How the heck am I supposed to find out gossip about Mateo when my brother is so tight-lipped about his buddies?

“Do you hang out with any of your teammates while you’re training?”

My brother shrugs. “Usually, but last year I wasn’t married—or even in a relationship.”

Buzz and Hollis met and were engaged within three weeks, married within months.

Yes, you heard that right: it was a three-week courtship. Insta-love and all that good stuff…

“And Hollis is going to be there this year?”

He nods. “For the most part, back and forth since she’s got to check in with her office periodically. She can’t just skip town completely, but we are going to pay some of her support staff while wifey is away so she has more freedom to come and go.” Buzz is eating spaghetti and inhales a giant forkful. “She’s excited.”