Page 26 of Tagging Bases

Daniel traces the rigid lines of steel and stone with a knowing nod. “Let me guess—minimalist chic?”

“No. Maximum control.”

We cross the street toward the alleyway that runs behind the building. My parents would die if they knew I was here, let alone what I was planning to do to their precious condo tower. The thought makes me grin.

“If your parents live in a place like this, why are you…” Charlie trails off, gesturing vaguely at my paint-splattered shoes. The same shoes I wore to work that netted me a dirty glare from Danielle.

“My parents are…difficult,” I begin, choosing my words carefully. “They’re the kind of people who care more about appearances than substance. Growing up, it was all about maintaining the perfect image—the right clothes, the right schools, the right friends. Anything that didn’t fit into their carefully curated world was swept under the rug.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable questions. But Charlie and Daniel remain silent, their expressions open and nonjudgmental. It gives me the courage to continue.

“They never understood my passion for art. To them, it was a frivolous hobby. Something to be tolerated as long as it didn’tinterfere with their grand plans for my future. They wanted me to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or a fucking investment banker. Anything but an artist.”

I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. The memories of countless arguments and disappointed frowns are still fresh in my mind, even after all these years.

“They used to trot me out at their fancy galas and charity events as if I were a prized show pony. ‘Look at our son, the prodigy,’ they’d say while I stood there in an overpriced suit. A fraud. They have no idea that I’m a graffiti artist now. If they knew, they’d probably disown me on the spot.” I let out a humorless chuckle. “Not that they haven’t already done that in every way that matters.”

Daniel’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, your parents don’t know about your graffiti art? At all?”

I shake my head. “As far as they’re concerned, I’m nothing but a disappointment who refuses to ‘kiss the ring.’”

“Damn, H. That’s rough,” Charlie says. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that.”

I shrug, trying to play it off like it doesn’t still hurt. “It is what it is. I’ve made my peace with it.”

But have I? Standing here in front of their building, all the old resentments and frustrations bubble to the surface. The part of me that’s still that lonely, misunderstood kid is screaming for attention.

For validation.

Forlove.

Daniel clears his throat, drawing my attention away from the gleaming eyesore. He studies me intensely. My skin prickles as a chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the chilly night.

“I get it,” he says gruffly. “The pressure. The expectations. Knowing you’re never good enough.”

I blink in surprise. “You do?”

He nods. “My parents are wealthy too. Not quite on the same level as yours, from the looks of it, but they’re well-off.They also have extremely specific ideas about how my life should go.”

“How so?”

“They want me to work with my dad on Wall Street after I graduate. Settle down with a nice girl from a good family and pop out heirs that’ll carry on the Hollingsworth legacy.”

I wince in sympathy. “I’m guessing that’s not your dream scenario?”

“Not even close.” Daniel kicks a pebble on the sidewalk and watches as it skitters into the gutter. “I love baseball. It’s the only thing that makes me feel alive. But to them, it’s not a career. It’s something to keep me busy until I’m ready to step into my predestined role.”

“That sucks, Hollingsworth.”

“Tell me about it. They don’t even come to my games. They’re too busy schmoozing with potential clients or jetting off to some exotic locale.”

Charlie, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this exchange, suddenly pipes up. “Shit, you guys. I feel like a total dick now, complaining about my mom nagging me to call more often.”

A pang of longing hits me square in the chest. “Your mom cares.”

His expression turns wistful as he gazes up at the building. “You know, growing up on a small farm in Pennsylvania, I never could’ve imagined being friends with people like you two.”

My heart skips a beat at him calling me a friend already. “People like us?”

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