Page 33 of Even Odds
“Sexist.”
Swing.
“Asshole.”
The machine stops with a sad sputter. I toss the bat aside and gather the scattered baseballs, continuing to mentally rip Trevor into shreds.
Batting cages are my favorite way to release feminine rage.
“Late night, huh?”
The classical music blasting in my headphones has nothing on the southern drawl that cuts through the staccato notes.
“Jimmy! What are you doing here?”
“I was gonna ask you the same thing.” The gap between his front teeth is on full display when he grins. “Giving you my spare key doesn’t mean I can’t come check on my favorite girl.”
Jimmy Teaks owns Slim Jim Batting, the only batting cages in Clear Lake, along with teaching and coaching varsity baseball at Bryan High School in Cade and Kenneth’s hometown. Hours spent under the sun during baseball season have deepened the rich sepia tone of his skin.
“Bad day?” he asks. “If your colorful language is a hint, I’d guess Trevor was a real pain in your derriere today.”
I groan. “Understatement of thecentury.”
When I stumbled upon Slim Jim Batting as a college freshman, I was running away from yet another dinner invitation from my randomly assigned roommate, and now best friend, Mallory. Thirty minutes after sneaking out of our dorm room to avoid her, I was swinging a bat with a man who was old enough to be my father.
“You think becoming friends with Mallory could be a distraction?” Jimmy had asked, feeding baseballs into the machine.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I swung at a ball. “College is about soccer and setting myself up for a successful career. Friends aren’t something I can control. What if she decides she doesn’t want to be my friend someday? Then I’m hurtandunfocused.”
Jimmy chuckled. “Don’t you think that’s a sad way to live?”
“Nope.” I swung harder. “It’s smart.”
He turned off the machine, walked over, and ruffled my braids. “Give your roomie a shot. She may change your life.”
It took some time to accept Mallory’s friendship, but Jimmy was the reason for that. She thanks him every time they see each other.
He holds a sheet of paper against the cage. “You wouldn’t believe my surprise when I opened the newspaper and found a photo of two people I never thought I’d see together again.”
My eyes roll at the image of me, Cade, and Violet. “Nosy old man.”
“Nope. Just an old man who still reads the newspaper.” He chuckles. “When were you going to tell me you two were talking again?”
Running into Cade at Slim Jim Batting sophomore year was weird. The batting cages had become my solace, and it felt like watching an intruder in my home, acting as if he belonged there. Possessiveness took over as I watched him and Jimmy—my Jimmy—chatting.
Little did I know, Cade and Jimmy weren’t strangers. Jimmy was his former coach and teacher turned mentor. I was the intruder, but they never made me feel that way.
“First of all, we’re not talking. We’re working together.” Each word is emphasized so he realizes this isn’t fun for me. “And I thought you knew.”
“Nope,” Jimmy says. “Haven’t seen or talked to Cade since he left.”
My chest tightens. “What? You haven’t spoken to Cade in almost two years?”
A shadow crosses Jimmy’s usually joyous face. “Pro ball is a different kind of monster. It can be a lot on the young ones, but he’ll come around. I’m sure of it.”
Sadness tears its way through me. For Jimmy. For Cade.
“Jim—”
