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Steiman.”
    “Stay away from them, especially Steiman.”
    “I’m not an idiot.”
    Helene brushed back her hair and gave him her trademark laugh. “You bloodied a kid’s nose out there. No, you’re not an idiot. You’re just a jerk.”
    “Thanks for having my back.”
    “I’m here to save your pretty backside.”
    Her phone summoned her attention, and she left Cory in the silence once more. He liked the banter with Helene a lot more than the solitude and the waiting.
    A little while after that, one of the trainers came up to him with a smile. “We took good care of him, don’t worry.”
    He’d just coldcocked a kid, and yes, it was an accident, and yes, he was trying to tell himself that over and over again. But smiley-guy here was making it seem like everything was fine and he hadn’t been just kicked out of a game they were now losing by seven runs.
    “You should’ve seen the kid. He couldn’t believe he was actually being examined by an official trainer. He was really proud of that.”
    “Yeah, great. Cool.”
    It was already dusk when Cory walked to his car. He’d had a few uncomfortable moments with the manager and gotten cold looks from some of the guys, but that was it. He’d managed to avoid the media. Heaven forbid he came within earshot or eyesight of another Little Leaguer or his mother or perhaps a 350-pound father waving a baseball bat at his head. He wanted to leave without any fanfare or without anything to do with a fan at all.
    He was ready to go home and leave this waste of an afternoon behind. Hopefully the whole thing would blow over by tomorrow.
    As he approached the last remaining vehicle in the players’ lot, a black luxury Porsche SUV, he noticed someone standing by it, waiting. He wasn’t worried, because security was top-notch and not just anybody could get in this lot without clearance.
    But the last person he expected to find waiting there was his baby brother, whom he hadn’t seen in over a year.
    “What’s this, Clay-boy? You should’ve told me you were coming!”
    To be honest, it was a relief to see him.
    The relief lasted about the amount of time it took to drain a beer. The smile on Cory’s face wasn’t coming back from grim-faced Clay.
    “I did.” Clay looked like he’d been knocked in the face.
    Cory tried to remember if they’d spoken about Clay coming even as he grinned and unlocked the car doors.
    “That’s right, that’s right. You know—that’s why I put on the big show out there.”
    “You gotta be kidding me.” Clay glared at Cory. “What happened to you?”
    Cory shook his head. He knew how to deal with Clay. “Aw, it’s just show biz.”
    This was the last thing he needed, his little brother starting in on him. So he didn’t know Clay was coming, and didn’t play the part of the loving brother who met him on the field and introduced him to everybody and promised him a grand slam later in the game.
    Yeah, maybe next time.
    Cory casually tossed his bag into the back.
    Clay’s expression didn’t change. “That was some serious rage out there.”
    “Whatever.” He opened his car door, unwilling to be lectured.
    People didn’t understand the pressure of the game. He could tell Clay this, but he was too tired and too thirsty.
    “Cory, we should talk.”
    Oh no. I don’t like that tone.
    “Talk? ’Bout what?”
    “About—you’ve got a problem.”
    Clay looked so dang earnest, like a judging parent or principal or priest. But the fact was, he was none of those things. Cory didn’t have the time or the energy to be lectured by his kid brother.
    “Okay, I think we’re done here.”
    Cory climbed into the SUV and slammed the door, then watched as Clay opened the passenger door and sat down next to him. Cory ignored him, refusing to start the vehicle, refusing to say another word.
    “I need a ride,” Clay said.
    “Then call a cab. I’m going home.”
    “I need a place to crash too.”
    Cory chuckled in disbelief. “Forget