Page 4 of Force At Third

“Yeah, man, you can crash there, too, if you want.”

“Perfect,” he says as I pop the hatch and toss my duffle inside.

When I first got pulled up to the majors, I bought a new house every time I was traded. I own a place in New York City; Houston, Texas; Denver, Colorado; and Miami, Florida. I wasn’t going to buy in Jersey since I have a place in New York, but I fell in love with the shore. When I resigned with the Jags, I bought a killer house.

I also buy ridiculously expensive vehicles at the start of every season. This year, it’s a charcoal gray Levante GT.

“Heard mention they weren’t making them much longer.” I toss my duffle in, and he does the same.

We get inside, and I inhale one of my favorite scents in the world.

Vander leans back. “Leather and new car.”

“Damn right.” I hit the ignition button then press on the gas to hear her purr louder.

“You name her yet?”

“It hasn’t come to me yet,” I say, pulling out of my parking spot. “But it will.”

“Some guys have kids; some have cars and houses.” He laughs.

“Don’t feed me your line of bullshit. Some guys have them both,” I say, referring to his daughter.

“She’s not a kid anymore, man. She’s going to college.” He exhales deeply and scrubs a hand over his face.

“You and Lisa should make it official and have another,” I joke … sort of.

He doesn’t reply with his typical fuck that this time; he just looks out the window.

We’re teammates and have an unspoken view on relationships—I don’t say shit, and he doesn’t, either. We don’t roll like that, and tonight’s not the night to open that bag and unpack it.

Especially not with Gwendolyn in town.

“You get new wheels?”

“I bought my graduate a new ride.” He smiles.

“You get Lorna the new Range Rover?” I ask, knowing she was asking for one.

He shakes his head. “Got her a used Land Rover.”

“Fucking harsh,” I joke, knowing that’s not the case.

He rolls his eyes. “Two years with a license and three car accidents. The damn insurance is more than the vehicle. She keeps it on the road and her grades up, she’ll get a new one for college graduation.”

“You’re a good dad, man.”

“Damn right I am,” he says as we pull into O’Donnell’s parking lot.

When I swing into a tight spot, he grips the dash, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Something’s not right with you.”

I open the door and slide out. “It’s meant to be driven and parked, not left on a showroom floor.”

* * *

Walking into O’Donnell’s, the scent of aged wood and roasted peanuts wafts through the air. The dim lighting casts a warm glow over the place, packed with Jaguars fans waiting to celebrate the win with us.

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