Comeback (The Holland Brothers Book 3)

My younger brother, Flynn, got called up from the minors today. It’s a pretty big deal considering he was only drafted this summer. We all thought when he left college early, he’d spend a year or two getting experience at the next level before moving up again.

But the Twins starting pitcher has been struggling during the postseason and Flynn is the answer for them. At least they hope so. I do too.

The Mavericks are in Houston. We got here this afternoon and were able to get on the field for a quick practice. Our game is tomorrow afternoon, which means tonight Brogan and I are down at the hotel bar watching Flynn take the field in the bottom of the fifth inning.

“He looks like a grown ass man,” Brogan says as number eighteen walks to the pitcher’s mound.

“Knox said he grew another inch since the summer.” I don’t take my eyes off the screen as my little brother glances around the stadium of fans. Pride fills my chest. Barely twenty years old and making his major league debut.

“Fuck. I’m so nervous I don’t know if I can watch.” Brogan takes another drink of his beer.

Those same nerves bounce around inside me, but I don’t look away. It’s unreal. I can still remember him playing little league. He was always the most athletic of us. Brogan likes to tease him that all our talents rubbed off on him over the years, but the truth is Flynn is just on another level than the rest of us. The sky is the limit for what he’ll achieve.

If him standing on the pitcher’s mound at a postseason game isn’t proof of that, I don’t know what is.

The first pitch is outside but fast enough that the announcers comment on it.

“Wooweee. That is going to be hard to hit if he can keep it straight,” one says. Then they must pull up his bio because they start talking about him being an Arizona native who played one year of college ball before being drafted by the Twins.

I hear each fact like it isn’t my baby brother and still it fills me with awe.

The catcher tosses the ball back to Flynn, who spins it in his hand as he returns to position. He adjusts his hat and continues palming the ball as he communicates with the catcher. He shakes off the first signal and then nods. He winds up and throws another cannon.

The umpire yells, “Striiike!”

The crowd screams for him and Brogan finally lets out a whoosh of air.

“Fuck yeah, baby Holland.”

“He hates when you call him that,” I say, but a grin tugs at my lips.

“That’s what big brothers are for.”

I chuckle and nod. He’s right. Hendrick and Knox tortured me plenty, but they were always cheering me on too.

Flynn throws for three innings. It’s not a bad start, but when he gives up three base hits in a row and then walks the next batter, he looks rattled for the first time all night.

His next pitch is wild, and the Twins call a timeout. The coach walks out to the mound. Flynn’s gaze is downcast as the coach speaks to him. We all know it’s coming, but it’s still disappointing when they bring out another pitcher.

“Nice job.” Brogan claps for him like Flynn can hear or see him. But fuck it, I join in, and we clap as our youngest brother leaves the field.

We finish watching the game, but it’s not as interesting to us without Flynn. The Twins hang on for a win, tying up the series.

“Think he’ll get another shot?” I ask as we walk up to our rooms.

“Definitely,” Brogan says as he flashes the key card in front of the lock. It beeps and turns green before he pushes it open. “See you in the morning.”

In my own room, I toss my hat on the dresser and remove my shirt. I do the same with my shoes and jeans. As I climb into bed, I fire off another text to the brothers’ chat congratulating Flynn.

I wish I could have been there. Knox made it and that seemed fitting since he was the one that stepped into the father role the most for Flynn. After Mom died, our lives changed a lot. Dad, who was never around that much to start with, came around even less. For a while it was often enough that we could manage in his absence.

But then Hendrick graduated high school and went off to play college ball, and without Dad, or our oldest brother, Knox had to step up.

I was still young enough that I didn’t quite understand then the sacrifices he had to make, but looking back now I’m not sure how he did it without resenting us all.

Our group chat is already blowing up when I pull out my phone. I smile at the newest group name for our brother chat, which is most definitely Brogan’s doing.

Flynn Holland Fan Club

I close out of the group as a notification pops up for our front door at the apartment. I click on it and watch as Sabrina digs out her key. She’s carrying several big grocery bags that nearly cover her face and make it hard for her to let herself in. The sight of her makes me smile. Especially when she lets out a cute growl of frustration.

It’s several minutes before she replies. She’s managed to make it inside so I can’t see her anymore.

A rough chuckle leaves my lips. I have a real vivid picture of her all sudsy, singing along to some girly bop music that makes my smile widen and my dick come to attention. Ever since that kiss, I spend half my time thinking about her and the other half reminding myself I shouldn’t.

I tap a few buttons on my phone and wait. It’s less than thirty seconds before another text pops up.

Before I reply, I switch the playlist to rock.

Chuckling, I turn it back for her.

I’m just about asleep when my phone lights up. I almost don’t look, assuming it’s my brothers still yapping, but something has me grabbing it from the nightstand and opening the text.