Page 14 of Liam

Wyatt smirks. “Neither do I.” Then he lowers the tailgate and sits in the bed of the truck, resting his back against the side. “You still got it,slugger?”

My smile is slow, built up by the sudden onset of excitement swarming my stomach. Fingers tingling on the grip of the club, I place the shaft on my shoulder, then raise it. “Haveyoustill got it?”

He scoffs. “Did I ever?”

“Not really,” I retort, and we laugh together as he throws a golf ball high in the air toward me.

I swing… and miss completely.

Wyatt busts out a guffaw.

“Shut up! It’s harder than it looks!” I motion for him to throw me another one, only to get the same result. This happens three more times before I finally hit the ball with a loudthwack,and I turn to Wyatt, my smile unrestrained. And maybe a little cocky.

“Nice,” he muses, watching the ball until it disappears completely.

“Hey, Wy?”

His eyes trail to mine. “What’s up?”

“Thank for this.” It’s exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it.

“Are you kidding? I finally have someone around to do dumb shit with.” He throws another golf ball my way. I hit this one farther than the first. “Wow. Your stepdad’s really been working with you, huh?”

“Foster dad,” I correct.

He shrugs. “Same thing.”

“Not even a little bit.”

But Griffin isn’t the one who got me into softball. Roman did. He introduced me to T-ball as soon as I could hold a foam bat, and I’ve loved it ever since. I don’t know if I love the game so much as I love that I got to experience it with him, but either way, it’s turned out well for me. Roman was a pitcher in high school, but he always played second to another guy on his team—a guy now in the major league. Sometimes, I wonder how far he could’ve gone if someone else hadn’t always outshined him. Considering he dropped out of school at sixteen, I have a feeling he didn’t care all that much about baseball. ButIdo. Even with the wrong equipment, being out here, doingthis…it’s the first time I’ve felt like myself since I got here. It feels like I haven’tbeen able tobreatheuntil now. As if there’s been a constant weight on my shoulders, an unbearable ache in my chest, and I wish I knew the source, so I could kill it dead.

I spend the next few minutes hitting ball after ball, while Wyatt rips into the snacks he’d bought (possibly stolen) earlier. But he’s quiet, almosttooquiet, and I already know what he’s thinking before he even says the words. “So… are you going to tell me what happened today?” he asks around a mouthful of chips. “Or do I need to pay our old friend a visit?”

I turn to him, my head tilted slightly. “Our old friend?”

“Twincest.”

With a sigh, I lower the golf club I’d been using as a baseball bat and ask, “You’re not still messing with him, are you?”

“No.” He laughs once. “I couldn’t give fewer fucks about the kid. Why? You want me to?”

Maybe.“No.”

“Good,” he responds, motioning for me to sit on the tailgate as he hands over a bag of Starbursts. “He’ll probably post about it on YouTube.”

I sit my ass down and carefully open the bag, making sure the tiny squares of sugary goodness don’t explode everywhere. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

“Heard about it orsawit?”

I pick out a orange Starburst and focus on unwrapping it. “I don’t really go on YouTube that much.”

“Still… they’re kind of everywhere.”

“They are?” I ask, glancing up at him.

Wyatt nods, saying, “They’re kind of a big deal. Not so much around here anymore, but definitely online. They have, like, six million followers on YouTube alone.”

“Is that good?”

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