Page 68 of Caught Offside

“January. At a gala. A man I’d never met told me about aged gouda in scrambled eggs, and I spent the next six months pretending the ground wasn’t moving.”

Dev’s composure cracked. A fissure, the suggestion of a smile.

“Go to dinner,” Patrick said.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s exactly that simple. And it’s exactly that complicated. Both things.”

Dev studied him. Patrick held the look.

“You’re different,” Dev said. “Since the winter. Since him.”

“I know.”

“It’s a good different, Fonty.”

Patrick stood. He clapped Dev on the shoulder, brief, firm. Dev’s hand came up and gripped his forearm. Two beats passed. Then he released.

“I’ll think about it,” Dev said.

Patrick grabbed his bag and headed for the parking lot.

His phone lit up.

Done. Will call, under your name. Section 108.

My dads will beat you there. Pops has been ready since breakfast.

Patrick found Section 108. Mason and Sean were already there, just like Asher had said they’d be.

“Patrick.” Mason slid over to make room. “You made it. He’s catching a kid who throws ninety-six and has the command of a lawn sprinkler, so this is going to be educational.”

Patrick sat. Down on the field, behind the plate, Asher dropped into his crouch.

Patrick knew what being good at something felt like from the inside of his own body. Watching it from the stands was different, and a summer of games hadn’t worn it down. Asher framed a pitch on the corner and stole the call. Between innings he jogged off, found the section without looking, and tapped his chest once with his glove, the same thing he’d done at every game Patrick had made it to, small enough that nobody around them knew what it meant.

Sean saw it.

“He’s calling a good game,” Sean said. He delivered it level and low, the praise built right into the assessment. “Better than I did at his age. I was all stuff and no plan.” A beat. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I tell him everything you won’t,” Mason said. “It’s a whole system we have.”

“I know. It’s why I married you.”

Mason grinned at the field. Sean didn’t look away from his son.

Asher came up in the fourth, dug in loose-shouldered, and ran the count full. Then he drove a ball into the right-center gap and pulled into second with his helmet low. Sean stood and clapped with his hands above his head. Mason whooped loud enough to turn the row in front of them. Patrick was on his feet between them, yelling. Asher found the three of them from second base and grinned.

Much later, in Asher’s apartment with the game on mute and the leftovers gone cold, Asher put his head on Patrick’s chest.

“Your season’s about to eat you,” Asher said. “It’s going to suck looking up and not finding you.”

“My rink has stands too.” Patrick’s hand moved slowly through Asher’s hair. “Your season ends in October. Mine’s just getting started. Time for you to repay the favor.”

“A whole winter of hockey.” Asher tipped his head back to look at him. “I’m getting a jersey with your number on it.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Patrick said.

But that was later. For now, Asher stood on second base in the big leagues, on the team his father had worn for a generation, having earned every inch of it himself, and he looked up into the stands and found Patrick.

Leo traded palm trees for lake-effect snow, a downtown with one bar, and a mechanic who won't look him in the eye. Will Leo settle in with his new team? Find out in Hard Check.

Long before Asher was even a glimmer in their eyes, Mason and Sean forged a friendship as minor league players. Little did they know they’d wind up rivals in the big leagues. Read Wild Pitch to see what happens when Mason drops a truth bomb on his buddy, changing both their lives forever.