“Hell, I’d do the same. Fucking with him as a soon-to-be brother-in-law would be my daily goal in life.”

“It does breathe air into my lungs.” He props the door open for me and we both head out into the dimly lit parking lot that is patrolled by security until the last player leaves.

“A couple more weeks and then it’s the All-Star break,” I say, noticing our cars are parked next to each other. “I’m glad I’m taking the few days off rather than pitching.”

“Yeah, I wish I’d done the same, but making the All-Star team after all the bullshit from last year . . . wanted to revel in it.”

“Attention whore.”

He doesn’t deny it, just shrugs. “The boss demands attention.” I roll my eyes at the use of his nickname.

“You’re getting far too cocky. I need to bring you back down to reality.”

“Only you could.” He unlocks his car. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I answer while sticking my key into my door and unlocking it.

Besides a few rookies still waiting to make their big purchase, I’m the only guy on the team with a car that wasn’t made in the last two years. When I was younger, my dad—when he was sober—took me to car shows after some of my baseball games, or even before sometimes. He would walk me around, telling me all about each and every engine. When I was in middle school, a black Mustang caught my eye. I remember spending an hour taking in every little detail. I memorized the name, took pictures of it, and told myself when I made it to the big leagues one day, I’d get myself one.

And I did.

Nothing sounds better than the roar of my mighty 375 horsepower V8 engine and its gnarly exhaust note as it rumbles around the Chicago streets. I set my phone and wallet on the seat next to me and click my seatbelt, which is when I see the text from Kinsley light up my phone again.

Kinsley: You better call me today, Maddie. Or this friendship is over.

Chuckling from the empty threat, I turn my engine to life. I’ll give her a call when I get home.

“You’re lucky you called me tonight.” Kinsley’s familiar smooth and girly voice floats through the speaker of my phone while I lie back on my couch with my sketchbook in my hand, a pencil in the other.

“You offered up a pretty scary threat, Kinny.”

“That’s right I did.” There’s fake anger in her voice. I can tell it’s fake because I’ve known the girl since we were five. Neighbors, best friends—who really shouldn’t be friends given our differences in interests—we know the ins and outs of each other. When she’s angry, her voice becomes shaky. She’s the type of person who reverts to crying because it’s the only way her body knows how to react when angry.

“What’s up?” I ask, scratching away on my pad, drawing her face from memory as we talk.

“What’s up? Seriously? Maddox, you missed our monthly talk. That’s unacceptable.”

“Busy schedule, babe, you know that.”

She sarcastically laughs. “Who was it . . . Katrina? Or Tess? Oh wait . . . let me look at my schedule.” She pauses and I continue to smile to myself as I outline her eye, thickening the top lid because of her dark lashes that line her beautiful green eyes. “According to what I have written down, it’s Yasmin.”

“Why do you have my fuck schedule written down?”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

Rolling my eyes even though she can’t see me, I say, “Yeah, it was Yasmin.”

“I knew it,” she whispers. “Freaking Yasmin and her long black hair. She got me three months ago too.”

“Really?” I ask, feeling a little guilty that I’ve missed two of these phone calls. Third Saturday of every month. It’s what we “set in stone” when we were in high school when I was being drafted. She was terrified I’d forget about her. I told her that would never happen, so we made a promise to talk on the phone every third Saturday of the month. Ten years later, we still make that phone call. Even if it’s a day or so off.

“Yes. I mean, I get it, she has amazing boobs, but honestly, Maddox, is a pair of boobs really better than our friendship?”

“I mean . . .”

“I will glitter-bomb you. Don’t make me send another special package to your place.”

“Christ, please don’t. The last one shot up my nose. I was sneezing glitter for days.”

“Well deserved. At least the glitter was biodegradable so it probably dissolved in your snot.”

I loop my pencil around her other eye, paying special attention to the shine in her iris that I remember so vividly from the last time she came to visit. “Good to know your glitter bomb is a part of me now.”

“Just a gentle reminder that I’m always with you.”

I chuckle. “That glitter bomb was not gentle by any means.” She laughs, the sound like a warm blanket covering me up from behind. It’s impossible to count the amount of times I’ve heard her laugh, but the sound will never get old to me. It feels like home—and that’s always been about Kinsley.

“So tell me all the things about life. I see that you’re killing it on the mound. You were so sweaty the other night. Every time they did a close up, I gagged.”

“Aren’t you treat to talk to?” She laughs again. “That’s what hard work does to you, Kinny, it makes you sweat. You should try it some time.”

“My, my, my, you’re ripe today. Have you been taking those vitamins I sent you? They’re supposed to improve your mood.”

“They smelled like death. I chucked them.”

“What?” she screams on the phone. “Maddox. That is such a waste.”

“I’m kidding. They’re in my cupboard, untouched, but they’re in there.” I sketch out the little lift to her nose that I’ve studied many times. A slight slope with a gentle curve at the tip. A button nose, I’ve always told her.

“Well open them, they will do you some good,” she huffs and I smirk, loving how easily I can annoy her. “So what else is happening in your life?”

“Not much. Skipping the All-Star game this year to opt for a break. I feel like I need one.”

“I was wondering what was going on. Do you plan on going anywhere? Maybe coming to visit me in Michigan for a few days?” There’s hope in her voice and I hate to disappoint her but . . .

“Stay-cation, babe. Sorry.”

“Ugh, I knew you were going to say that. If people only knew you the way I know you, they’d be shocked that you’re not the rebel bad boy with the tattoos they paint you as, but rather a snuggle cuddly bear who enjoys hot chocolate with thousands of marshmallows and staying at his apartment with a sketchbook in hand.”

“Yeah, and if we can keep that under wraps, that would be awesome.”

“Don’t worry, tough guy, I won’t ruin your image.”

“It’s appreciated.” Heart-shaped lips where the corners automatically tilt up ever so slightly, as if she has a permanent smile on her face. It’s a little thing I’ve noticed over time about her lips—the corners are always aiming toward the sky, rather than the ground. It’s what makes her so special, ever optimistic. “What’s up with you? Any new boys I need to know about?”

“Unless you’re speaking of the four-legged kind, then no.”

Kinsley works for an animal shelter in our hometown. She’s always been the girl that takes in every animal that crosses her path. A Mother Earth type, healing, feeding, and saving one animal at a time ranging from caterpillars to stray cows she finds along the road.

Yeah, a fucking cow. She brought the heifer to my house first, knowing her parents were going to be mad, but she wanted to save “Bessy” and give her a warm place for the night until she could figure out her action plan. It’s how I ended up sleeping in my parents’ shed one winter night, sharing a blanket with an odorous cow.

“No one?”

“Well, you know, I do get my womanly needs met by Stan down at the Feed and Seed occasionally.”

I groan. “Jesus fuck, not Stan. Kin, have some standards.”

“You’re failing to remember that I live in the middle of nowhere. There aren’t many options for bed partners around here. Or friends for that matter . . .” she mumbles, and I know it’s one of her grievances about living in the town we group up in. Everyone left, including me, leaving her with her mom as her only friend and . . . Stan apparently.

“But Stan . . .”

“Hey, I don’t judge your brothel of women you keep on hold, so don’t judge my need for release with Stan. Okay?”

“Fair, but it’s not a brothel.”

“Agree to disagree,” she says as I start to work on her hair, wishing I could portray the natural blonde hue of it, the way it shines under the sun, making it almost look white. “I do have some depressing news.”

My pencil pauses as I look down at the phone. “Depressing? You never talk about depressing shit. You’re always a ball of positivity.”

“Yeah, I tried to put a good spin on this but not sure I can. I’m having a hard time. Maybe you can help me.”

“You know I’m the wrong person to try to spin something positively but I can give it a try. What’s up?”