Stealing Home

THROUGHOUT THE REST OF THE GAME, I CAN BARELY FOCUS. I can’t help but wonder what the men from Black Keys Entertainment think as they watch our promotions, when they hear the inflated attendance number and know that tonight’s sales were abysmal and notice that there is space on our outfield fence for more signage.

Do they tally all the flaws and count them as reasons not to buy the team? Or do they think they can get the Beavers at a bargain price?

I manage the rest of the promotions without any problems, but when Meredith gives me the names for the postgame press conference, I can’t do it. “Will you get the guys tonight?” I ask Mia as we maneuver the adult-size tricycles into the promo storage closet.

She dings the bell on the one she’s pedaling in, her legs bent at impossible angles, but doesn’t answer.

“They want Ollie and Dominguez,” I say, moving on to the sausage costumes. “And my mom wants to meet Campbell. You might as well get him, too.”

Mia sees right through me. “Won’t they think something is up if you’re not the one to get them?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I drop onto the other trike, which rolls and almost drops me onto the cement floor. A bruised tail-bone would really finish off this day. “What if Ollie showed that picture to the whole team? What if it’s only a matter of time before it gets back to my dad? What do I say to Campbell?”

She throws a stinky chef’s hat at me. It belongs to the Italian sausage, though nothing about it ever looked particularly Italian to me.

“Don’t say anything. Just do your job.” She shrugs. “All this crap will sort itself out because you haven’t broken any rules and you haven’t done anything wrong.”

But I’ve wanted to.

“Plus, I’ll come with you. Like your bouncer.”

The image of Mia in a black suit with an earpiece is almost enough to make me laugh. “You’re not scary enough.”

“I’ve got an older brother. I know how to be scary.”

I CALL THE GUYS OUT, INCLUDING CAMPBELL, AND NO ONE HECKLES me. I don’t know if they’re worried that Campbell will shove them through a window or if they’re high on their victory and aren’t thinking about it.

“Ollie and Dominguez, you’re wanted for the press conference. Campbell, you’re wanted in the owner’s booth.”

Ollie’s eyes shoot in Campbell’s direction as soon as they’re out of the locker room, and I realize it’s probably because he’s expecting someone to get chewed out. Campbell doesn’t even look at me. He’s cold, stoic, as he pulls out his phone on the way to the elevator.

I know he’s faking. We all do. There’s no service under the stadium.

When the doors pop open, I wait outside, letting Campbell and Dominguez get in first. They both slump against the back wall. Mia follows Ollie in, but instead of turning and facing the door like a normal person, she stands toe-to-toe with him and says something in Spanish. Dominguez’s head whips toward them, face shocked. He’s from Puerto Rico, so I’m guessing he understands every word Mia’s whispering.

And it doesn’t take a translator to know it’s not nice. She’s got her finger right below Ollie’s chin. At first, Ollie looks irritated, but the longer she talks—and when he manages to get in a one-word response—his faces morphs to humor.

She raises her hand like she’s going to slap him, but Ollie catches her wrist before she lets it fly. He says a couple of quick sentences, holding on to her arm, and Mia’s bouncer posture melts.

I have no idea what’s happening and wish for the first time since I left Señorita Smith’s second-year Spanish class that I’d studied a little harder.

The doors finally slide open, revealing the press box beyond and the reporters waiting, but Mia doesn’t let Dominguez out until she hisses a few words in his direction that I think mean “Keep your mouth shut.” He holds both palms up like he’s warding off an attack.

“Bye, Mia,” Ollie says, lifting his eyebrows at her like he’s got a secret.

“Have a good night.” Her grin is a little sassier than usual. “Sweet dreams.”

I follow her out of the elevator. “What did you say to Ollie?”

“She said”—Campbell’s mouth is close to my ear—“that she’d cut off his balls and feed them to him if he ever causes problems for you again.”

My mouth drops open.

Mia gives a half laugh. “You catch the rest, Campbell?”

He looks between us and then checks to see how close the rest of the crowd is standing. “I got the gist of it.”

She gives him a light pat on the shoulder before she steps back into the elevator. “Same goes for you.”

“Noted.”

Campbell’s eyes find mine, and the temperature in the room jumps up a million degrees. “Am I in trouble?” he asks.

“Sawyer Campbell!” My mom rushes across the press box to us. She has both palms pressed to her cheeks as she looks into his face. “You look exactly like your momma.”

Mom puts her hands out like she wants to pull him into a hug, but stops and lets them fall to her sides. “You won’t remember me at all, but I held you and your brother when you were tiny babies. In fact, you were the first newborn baby I ever held.

“I can’t believe you’re here and so big,” she continues, laughing at herself. “It is such a pleasure to see you again.”

“You too, ma’am.”

“You must let me take you to dinner tonight. I’m sure you’re hungry.” She loops her arm through mine and tucks me close to her side. “Boys like you are always hungry. Ryan, do you think we can get your dad to let you leave early so we can eat someplace healthy?”

“That’s not necessary, Ms. Russell. I’m—”

“Oh! It’s so late.” She looks at her sparkly watch. “Is there anything nice still open?”

Is she delirious? This is Buckley. “We’ve got two choices: What-A-Burger or Taco Bell. Unless you want to make something.” I throw it out there because the last time she came to the house was to make frosting for my birthday cake in February. She baked the cake in her little apartment in downtown Houston but said the frosting would have melted by the time she drove it out to Buckley. That was back in the day when she and Dad were still trying to make their divorce seem amicable.

“Well …” She hesitates, looking over to where my dad’s talking to one of our sponsors. “I guess I could pick up a few things on my way.”

Campbell and I exchange a look because we both know there’s nothing at the house.

“Let your dad know our plans.” She gives me a significant look, which I take as code for Tell your dad not to act like a jerk when he finds me in the kitchen.

“Does your mom still make that delicious tortellini soup?” Mom asks Campbell. “I haven’t made it in ages, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“That sounds great?” Campbell says it like a question but directs it at me.

I have no response. The last thing I want right now is to be caught anywhere in Campbell’s proximity.

Mom’s already moving toward the back stairs, and I imagine she’s compiling a grocery list as she goes. “You’ll have to ride over with Ryan in the Beavermobile because I’ve got training equipment all over my car. See you at the house in twenty!”

I RUN BACK TO THE OFFICE AND TALK TO MY DAD. HE TELLS ME HE has some work to do and will probably be really late. Code for Don’t expect me to come home while she’s still there. Then I jog down to the stadium tunnels to find Mia and make sure that everything’s ready for tomorrow. The closet is all locked up. One of the stadium janitors tells me she’s in the batting cages.

Why?

Dad lets her use the cages all the time to work on her swing for softball, but she’s always texted me first.

What surprises me even more is that she’s not alone. She’s pitching to Ollie instead of letting the machine do it.

“Hey!” I yell through the nets. “Everything okay?”

“Yep.” She tosses one more at him then faces me. “We’ve come to an understanding.”

“Have we?” Ollie asks, face mischievous.

Mia throws a pitch so far inside that it’s actually behind him. Ollie jumps out of the way so he doesn’t get beaned, but he’s not mad. He’s laughing, and Mia’s smirking like she’s proud of herself.

Ollie lowers his bat and comes closer to where I’m standing. “Mia has made things very clear. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He looks back toward Mia, and she makes a circle with her hand like she’s telling him to keep going. “Look, Campbell’s a nice kid. But I worry about you. You’ve never gotten all …”

“Starstruck,” Mia supplies.

He gives her a dirty look, but continues, “Or whatever you want to call it, by any of the other guys, and I’d hate to see you get hurt by one who’s going to move up so fast.” Ollie’s eyebrows arch, chin tucked down, looking at me like he’s a mentor. Or Yoda. Or the big brother I don’t have. “You know that, right? I’ll be amazed if he’s still here at the end of the month. The Rangers have plans for him.”

I know all this, but the reminder stings. Like I’ve taken one of Mia’s inside pitches to the ribs. “Right. Of course.”

“Good.” He backpedals to his place and points his bat at Mia. “This one’s coming back at you.”

She laughs and puts a little heat on her next toss.

“Have fun,” I say, miming for Mia to call me later.

“Oh, I will.” Mia gives me a grin that I recognize.

When her next pitch is head high, I have a feeling poor Ollie has no idea what he’s in for.

THERE’S A SHADOWY FIGURE SITTING ON THE VAN’S BUMPER WHEN I walk out to the staff parking lot. Last year we had a rabid fan sneak through the sliding gate and wait for one of the major-leaguers who was rehabbing with us. She squatted on the ground next to his car and jumped out at him, wearing only a tiny bikini. Luckily there were plenty of other people in the lot to save him (and call the cops) when her attraction flashed to anger the instant he turned her down.

Until this moment, it was one of my favorite stories to tell when people ask about the wild stuff I see at work. But now, alone in the parking lot with only three other cars, I’m scared. I clench my key between my knuckles, dial 911 without pressing Send, and slink backwards toward the building.

“Ryan.” It’s a whisper–yell, but it’s a voice I recognize.

Campbell’s shadow uncurls to his full height—no crutches—and I laugh out loud, relieved.

And then I remember I’m not supposed to be happy to see him. The situation with Ollie may have blown over, but it served as a perfect reminder of how quickly rumors spread and that everything I’m working for could still collapse.

I check the parking lot again, this time looking for anyone who might witness this late-night meeting. No one has appeared, but I check over my shoulder, expecting to see Pearson grinning like a monster in a pool of darkness.

“Hi,” I say, brusquely, clicking the unlock button so that he can climb in before anyone notices.

As he puts his seat belt on, I’m tempted to tell him to duck down, but that’s maybe a little ridiculous. And impossible.

“Your mom seems nice,” Campbell says, breaking the silence.

I’m not playing this game. “What did everyone say? You know, after you slammed Pearson against a window.”

Campbell cringes like he was on the receiving end of actual violence. “I can explain—”

“What could he have possibly said that made you that mad?”

“Don’t ask.”

Now I’m dying to know, but it doesn’t really matter. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. He doesn’t respect me. I’ve probably lost the entire team’s respect over one stupid hug and—”

“Pearson will never respect you. No matter what you do. He’s the sort of guy who only sees women as toys. Or targets.” Campbell’s hand clenches into a fist. “If I hadn’t been standing closest to him, Red would have done the same thing. Or Ollie. Once he found out what Pearson said.”

“Oh,” I say, feelings jumbled. Mad. Sad. Angry.

“Everyone else likes you. Everyone else thinks you’re amazing at what you do.” He relaxes back in the chair. “But you’re working with guys. No matter how hard you work, no matter how smart you are, there are always going to be a few like Pearson and Jim Stein. I wish there weren’t, but …” His shoulders climb up and drop, a giant I can’t punch them all shrug.

But this is reality. As bad as it all sucks, I’m still a girl, fighting for a position in a male-dominated profession. Was there ever a point when I imagined it wouldn’t be a fight? Maybe someday, but not today.

“I’m sorry it happened,” Campbell says as we pull into the garage. “But I’m not sorry for what I did.”

I lead him into the house without saying anything else. As soon as I open the door, I hear my mom mumble to herself, so I know she’s upset about something.

“Hey, Mom!” I say brightly, trying to overcompensate for the friction between us—both me and mom, and me and Campbell. “We’re here.”

“Great! I’ve got the soup started and a salad under way, but I didn’t realize you’re out of butter.” She gives me a disappointed look. “Ryan, why don’t you take Sawyer into the living room and make him feel at home?”

Do I tell her that for the last ten days this has been his home? Nope. I don’t. That’s one battle I’m going to retreat from tonight.

Campbell drops into what I’ve come to recognize as his corner on the couch. He doesn’t even have to adjust the ottoman because it’s exactly the right distance for his feet. I toss the remote at him, and he automatically turns it to SportsCenter. Somehow this has become our thing.

He pulls out his phone and sends me a message: Does your mom know I’ve been staying here?

No, I mouth, but then I notice the other texts from him that I’d ignored earlier in the day.

I’m sorry.

But Pearson deserved so much worse.

Please don’t be mad.

Hello?

My breath catches at the sweetness of it all, but I forward him the Kiss Cam picture from Ollie.

Campbell responds with a word that would have earned him a mouthful of soap at home.

Exactly.

“Put your phones away! You two should get to know each other.” Mom leans over the edge of the couch between us. “How’s your brother? How are your sisters? I haven’t talked to your mom in ages.”

“You could call her now.” His thumb hits something on his phone and we hear it ring. “Here’s your chance.”

“Oh, don’t wake her up!”

“Marie?”

“Brenda!”

Then the two women are speaking over each other in giddy half sentences. Mom takes the phone out of Campbell’s hand and is laughing and crying. She motions for me to finish dinner while she slips into the office to continue her conversation without ESPN in the background.

As soon as I hear the office door shut, I head to the kitchen with Campbell right behind me. “Black Keys Entertainment was at the game tonight.” I don’t even want to say it out loud because that makes the likelihood of losing the team and the stadium that much more real.

“Did you talk to your mom?” He picks up the knife and finishes dicing the onion for the soup.

“She says she’ll be back on Sunday. We can hash it all out then.”

“Do you want me to leave? So you can talk about it now?”

“That’ll make her more mad.”

We work in silence. At first, it’s strained, but it gets more comfortable as Campbell tosses stuff into the soup pot while I finish the salad. We’ve gotten good at this. Working together. Being together. I push any ideas of doing this again out of my head—especially when he moves behind me to rinse the cabbage and his hand brushes along my back.

Every nerve ending is perfectly aware of where his fingers touched, of how long they lingered. How it was barely short enough to not mean anything, but still felt intentional.

I plunk a ladle into the pot, and he moves to stand beside me where the counters meet at an angle. “Looks like it’s almost done.”

“Since this is apparently your mom’s soup, I guess you should taste test.”

He’s leaning against the drawer where the spoons are. He could slide to the side, but instead he moves a step toward me so that we’re almost chest-to-chest. I tilt my head back to look up at him, and he’s smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing. He thinks he’s being funny.

“Excuse me.” My right arm is against his side on the drawer pull. I could hang on to my anger and huff at him. I could pretend to still be mad about what happened with Pearson, but I suck at holding a grudge. And with him looking down at me, standing so close that I can smell the fabric softener and Wint-O-Green mints on him, it’s really, really hard. I could step away, and ask him to move, but I don’t. I open the drawer and it bumps into him. I shouldn’t be flirting after everything that went down today, but a little banter isn’t bad. Friends banter.

“Am I in your way?” he asks, but stays in the same spot.

“Just a little.” I use my left elbow and box him out like a basketball star.

Campbell gives this laugh, deep in the back of his throat, that makes the skin on my chest prickle. He takes back his spot in the counter’s corner.

I give the soup another swirl, then scoop up a spoonful and blow on it before I raise it up to his chin level. “Careful,” I say, cupping my other hand under the spoon as I offer it to him. “It’s hot.”

His eyes don’t leave mine as he swallows the bite, and something hotter than the soup fires up my belly.

“Not bad.” He reaches behind me, grazing my shoulder with his arm as he grabs the salt. Campbell holds the shaker a little to one side, not quite offering it to me, so I’ll have to come even closer to take it. “Needs salt.”

This is dangerous and we both know it. If my mom came in now, if she saw the way we’re standing, so close that I’m practically pinned between him and the counter, she’d know we’re more than acquaintances. But I think something about that raises the stakes for Campbell, like this is another extension of his competitiveness. And having him this close, smelling so good, pushes the mute button on that nagging voice in my head.

“You’re ridiculous.” The words come out with a breathy laugh. “Give me the salt.”

“Answer a question first.”

Whatever game we were playing has ended. I can tell from the intensity on his face, the way the corners of his mouth are flat instead of turned up, and I’m a little afraid of what he might ask.

“Okay.”

“If I …” He pauses, his arm lowering to hand me the salt even though he hasn’t asked anything yet. “If I was with another team, could things be different between us?”

I turn to face the soup. I know what he’s asking without saying it completely. Could we be together?

My gut-punch response is yes, and that reaction scares me. I know better. Baseball and relationships do not mix well. Even if I set aside my worries about the fraternization policy, about people thinking I’m using Campbell for status, I can’t forget the disasters I’ve witnessed. Meredith’s marriage. My parents’ situation.

And yet I can imagine what it might be like to be with Campbell. Busy days at the ballpark. Cozy nights snuggled up on the couch, watching ESPN, sharing dinner out of the same takeout box when he’s in town, and taking trips to visit him when he’s not.

I shouldn’t picture us together. I should say no. Clear and definite. End whatever this is completely, once and for all. But that feels wrong, too.

Instead, I whisper, “Maybe.”

“Ryan—”

Whatever he is about to say is cut off by the sound of my mom’s voice moving toward us.

“Of course.” Her heels click on the tile in the hallway. “I’ll tell him.”

When she enters the kitchen, I’m salting the soup and Campbell is supervising. Mom is still smiling down at the phone.

“Definitely! We’ll have to get together when you’re here. Send me your itinerary and we’ll send someone to pick you up from the airport. It’s no hassle, I promise. I can’t wait to see you!”

She hands the phone off to Campbell, and he leaves the kitchen to tell his mom good night. I focus on stirring the soup, but I can feel my mom watching me.

I don’t look up. She leans one hip against the counter and taps her fingers on the granite in a quick pattern.

“Funny the things you learn from old friends,” Mom whispers, her Ice Witch voice on at full frost.

“Oh yeah?”

“I had no idea you drove Sawyer all the way to Arlington.” She takes the ladle out of my hand and sets it down with a thump. “Was that your dad’s idea?”

“Umm …” What is the right answer?

“And you and Sawyer had such a fun time staying at the game after.” Her words sound fine, even friendly to someone who doesn’t know her, but they chill me like the rare ice storms that blow through Buckley every couple of winters.

“We weren’t going to make it back in time for the Beavers game anyway, so we figured we’d stay.” I give her a big grin, pretending I’ve missed her tone.

“But it wasn’t too late to make a three-hour drive in the dark from a major metropolis?”

Campbell edges into the kitchen, and the happiness on his face morphs into worry. “That was my idea, Ms. Russell. I thought that since Ryan had never been to a Rangers game and I had such good tickets, it might be nice to stay.”

“Of course.” Mom musters a smile for him, but it’s stiff. More cadaver than kind. “Looks like dinner is done. Why don’t we eat before it gets cold?”

We sit down to what has to be the most uncomfortable meal in the history of the world. Mom’s playing her role well—polite hostess, light small talk—but the undercurrent of anger, of conversations unspoken, floats around the table like moths caught in the stadium lights.

She doesn’t offer dessert when we’re finished with the soup and salad, even though there’s a bag with store-bought brownies next to the fridge. “It sure is getting late. Ryan, why don’t you and I take Sawyer home? Who’d you end up staying with, anyway?”

Campbell’s eyes flit to mine—the first time he’s really looked at me throughout the entire meal—and beg me to field that question. All of his things are in the guest bedroom.

I choke down my last bite of baguette. “He’s living in the Rodrigueses’ pool house, but he stayed with us for the first few days after his injury.” Please forgive me, Ms. Vivi. Mia, please cover for me. “He’s still got some stuff here.”

“Oh.” Mom stands and begins clearing the table.

Campbell excuses himself and disappears into his room as Mom drops her dishes in the sink a little harder than necessary.

I bring a second pile to the counter, and she rounds on me. “No one thought it would be a little inappropriate to have him here. Alone. With you?”

Her voice is soft, but probably not soft enough.

“Mom—”

“Let’s take him to the Rodrigueses’.” She turns back to the sink. “We will discuss this later.”

I MADE A PIT STOP IN THE BATHROOM AND SENT AN EMERGENCY TEXT to Mia. She must have gotten the message because Ms. Vivi didn’t look surprised when she opened her door and found Campbell and his bags on her doorstep.

Mom doesn’t speak on our drive back home. Her silence means her thoughts are distilling, getting sharper and more potent. She’ll drop them like firebombs on Dad as soon as she explodes into the kitchen.

I feel bad for Dad. He has no idea that he’s about to be at the epicenter of Mom’s nuclear detonation. He’s standing next to the sink, soup bowl in hand, shoveling spoonfuls of leftovers into his mouth when she blows into the room. I’m a step behind Mom, and I see the shock on his face.

“Marie—”

“You let Ryan drive to Arlington and back? In the dark? With a boy she barely knows?” She raises her hands to the side of her head like her brain is about to implode. “She’s seventeen. The liability—”

“First, she’s on the insurance. Second, she was the only person available to go on a game day.” He pauses, looking at me for backup. “And third, that boy was Sawyer Campbell. He’s Mike and Brenda’s son.”

“To Arlington. The traffic is insane. The roads between—”

“You act like Ryan is some irresponsible—”

“You’re her father. Not some overgrown roommate. It’s your job to take care of her. I mean, look around. There’s no food in this house!”

They’re talking about me, but I’m not a participant in this conversation. And for the first time in a long while, I’m too tired to try to diffuse the tension, to remind them that I’m here, and that it’s totally inappropriate for them to fight like this in front of me.

My energy is tapped out. Like the kegs at the stadium that don’t even have enough left in the tank to sputter foam. I slip around the island, staying close to the wall, and disappear into my bedroom.

I fall into bed fully clothed, put my headphones on, crank up my music, and try to go to sleep.

My phone buzzes once and I glance at the screen, thinking that one of my parents has noticed my absence, but the message is from Campbell.

Mia and Ms. Vivi must work fast. The pool house was ready for me.

Then: It’s too quiet here. I liked your noise.

I try to come up with the perfect comeback, but I fall asleep before I send it.