Page 131 of The Score We Never Settled

“Ya sure? Because it’s a decent story?—”

“Positive. Thank you.”

He bows his head. “Alright then. It’s there if you ever wanna hear it.”

Yep, never gonna happen.

I pat his chest and step out of his hold because I need to tell him what’s going on for the next several weeks.

“I’m heading out to Houston to see Briggs. He’s in a big series right now, and tonight, if they win, they clench a playoff spot.”

“He will,” Uncle Ben says confidently. “That boy never stopped when someone told him not to do something.”

“I hope so. He deserves it.”

“Maybe. But, if he does, I’ll fly out to see him play. Maybe bring his dad out.”

“I…don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Trust me,” he replies. “I know what I’m doin’. Ya gotta break through the tension and let him get all his anger out. Then ya can repair it. I didn’t have the best relationship with my old man, either. But, after some time, we got somewhat there. Might not be perfect, but…might be.”

“Okay.”

He pulls me in for another hug and squeezes me tight. “Call me when you land.”

“Will do.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on Blake for ya. Maybe bug him a little ’cause I’m bored.”

I smile. “Sounds good.”

He gives me a small grin. “I’m proud of you, Layla Jean. And I’m gonna love ya no matter what, alright?”

I try to return the smile but tears well up in my eyes. “Yeah…alright.”

“Don’t be cryin’, now. I’m no good at that.”

“Okay.”

He shoos me. “Now, go get your sister-in-law so I can actually win today.”

38

BRIGGS

“I lovewhen they play hard to get. It makes my cock hard and—” Several handfuls of peanuts launch at Davis Blaine, our third baseman, and the biggest loud mouth of emotions, thoughts, and shit no one wants to hear about.

“Shut the hell up, man,” Theo—our catcher—chides, circling his tequila in his glass as another country song blares from the overhead speakers of the bar. “No one, and I meanno one,wants to hear about your dick and what makes it hard.”

“Second that,” Josiah—our right fielder—adds in.

“Third that,” Riley—our center fielder—tacks on even further. “Please, just don’t.”

Davis doesn’t, and never, looks discouraged when we bitch at him about what goes on underneath his pants, flagging down one of the bartenders with his hand. “Alright. Well, when you hear screamin’ in my hotel room tonight, don’t be alarmed. I’m just going to be pullin’ on some brown curls to celebrate our big playoff debut.”

And thank God for that.

It was a stretch and a lot of pressure, but we finally gained our spot tonight, and we’re not slowing down. We’ve got a lot of work still to do, and the pressure is mounting, but CoachDavidson has laid off me, which gives me more mental space to focus.