“Yeah?” From beneath the brim of my cap, I gave him my meanest stare, the one I used to give batters before throwing a fastball right by them.

He turned his attention to his monitor. “And you’re renting . . . an Elite Luxury SUV for five days? Returning on Sunday?”

“Yeah.” I relaxed a little. This guy didn’t recognize me. He was just doing his job.

“Great. Just give me one minute.”

“No problem.”

His fingers tapped away on his keyboard for about fifteen seconds. And then, “You’re not the pitcher Tyler Shaw, are you?”

“Yeah,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, shit.” The guy shook his head. “I saw you play all the time in high school. I was only in Little League back then, but my brother and I used to go to all your games. You were amazing.”

Were. “Thanks.”

“We just saw that documentary about you. Brutal, man.”

“Can we just finish up with the rental please?”

“Oh, sure. Sure.” He went back to typing again, but kept talking. “It’s just so crazy, you know? One minute you’re, like, one of the greatest pitchers in the game, and the next minute, it’s all gone.”

“Yup.”

“I mean, what happened?”

My hands curled into fists. My left eyelid twitched. “Wish I could tell you, buddy.”

“Seriously, that had to suck so bad.”

Fighting for control of my temper, I took a breath. “Look, do you need me to sign something? I’m in kind of a hurry.” Actually, I wasn’t—I didn’t have to be anywhere until six o’clock and it was barely four, but fuck this guy.

“Yeah, it’s printing now.” He gave his keyboard a final tap and looked at me again. “Did you ever try meditation? That worked for my mom when she kept forgetting where she put her car keys.”

I glowered at him. Steve, his name tag said. “Yes, Steve. I tried meditation. And I tried tapping and hypnosis and psychoanalysis and cognitive behavioral therapy and celibacy and Jesus. Nothing worked. I didn’t forget how to pitch—I just can’t do it anymore. Now, I’m happy for your mom, but right now I’d really like you to mind your own fucking business and give me a set of car keys so I can get the hell out of here!”

Steve looked offended. “Geez. Maybe you should try anger management.”

I backed away from the counter so I wasn’t tempted to throw a punch. “I’ll be outside.”

 

 

“Tyler!”

The second I walked into Hop Lot Brewing Co., I heard my name. I took off my sunglasses and saw my little sister Sadie rushing toward me. When she reached me, she threw her arms around my neck and held on tight.

Although we didn’t see each other often enough, my sister was the most constant presence in my life, the most supportive, the most loyal. She could read me better than anyone, even over the phone, which was both annoying and reassuring. I’d been fiercely protective of her since the day she was born, and she’d idolized me. We’d lost our mom in a car accident while Sadie was still in diapers, and we’d lost our dad to pancreatic cancer eight years ago, so she was the only family I had left.

I hugged her back, lifting her right off the ground. “Hey, you. Long time no see.”

“That’s because you never come home anymore.” On her feet again, she stepped back from me with tears in her eyes. “God, I missed you, you asshole.”

“I missed you too.” I hooked an arm around her neck and ruffled her dark hair the way she’d hated when we were young. “You know, you can always come visit me more often. Planes do fly both ways.”

“Stop it!” Laughing, she tried to swat my hand away. “Don’t make me sorry I invited you to my shotgun wedding.”

“Are you even old enough to get married?”

She rolled her eyes. “Tyler, I’m twenty-eight.”

I pretended to think about it. “No way. That would make me thirty-six.”

“Exactly. You grumpy old man.” She grinned, suddenly looking exactly like the pigtailed, gap-toothed, dirt-under-her-fingernails little girl who used to play in the park on summer afternoons while I was at practice. Before games, she used to give me a shamrock she’d plucked from the ground, telling me it was for good luck. No matter how many times I told her that four-leaf clovers were good luck and shamrocks only had three, she’d insist her gift would be my lucky charm that day and made me promise I’d keep it in my pocket. I always did.

When I left home at eighteen, she’d given me a shoebox full of them as a going-away present. I probably hadn’t cried since elementary school, but that day, I came damn close.

“Come on,” she said, tugging at my hand. “We’ve got a table already. I can’t wait for you to meet Josh.”

I let her drag me toward the back of the place, where her boyfriend—now fiancé—sat at a picnic-style table with long benches on either side. He stood up as I approached, looking a little nervous for a guy with so many tattoos. Then again, I could be pretty intimidating. I might not have had my pitching arm anymore, but I was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, with a menacing glare honed by years of staring down men from sixty feet away. Just to be an asshole, I decided to give Josh here a little taste of it—he was more than likely a perfectly good guy, but he had knocked up my kid sister. I wanted him to know he couldn’t mess with her—or me.

“Tyler, this is Josh. Josh, this is my brother, Tyler.” Sadie looked on anxiously as her fiancé held his hand out and I waited just a second longer than necessary to extend mine.

“Nice to meet you,” Josh said. His grip was firm, his smile tentative but genuine. He met my eyes squarely. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh yeah?” I cocked a brow at my sister, wondering what her stories about me were like.

“All good stuff,” she said, gesturing to the bench across from Josh. “Why don’t you sit there?”

I did as she suggested, and Sadie sat next to Josh, scooting close enough to loop her hands around his heavily inked bicep. She gazed up at him adoringly, and he planted a kiss on her forehead. I was simultaneously grossed out, baffled, and happy for them. I mean, I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to do the whole ’til death do us part shit, but good for them, I guess.

The server came by, and we ordered drinks—beers for Josh and me, water for Sadie—and while those were being poured, we looked over the menu. Josh recommended the tacos, and Sadie loved the turkey club. I decided on a burger and fries, but mostly I just wanted that beer. When it arrived, I tipped it up and took several long, cold swallows.

“So Ty,” my sister said, “there’s something I want to ask you.” She glanced at Josh. “Something we want to ask you.”

“What?”

She took a deep breath. “Will you be the baby’s godfather?”

I froze with the beer glass halfway between my mouth and the table. Then I lifted it again and took another drink. “Me?”

“Of course, you.” Sadie smiled at me and shook her head. “How many big brothers do you think I have?”