Trevor pointed down at Raz, laughing. “Raz, you look like a dog! Did you put your head out the window? Did you get a treat?”
“Shut up, Trevor!” Raz called out, climbing out of the car, and just then, Chris thought he heard the telltale clink of a bottle from below. They must’ve been drinking, and he didn’t approve. Alcohol was an X factor he didn’t need right now.
Trevor called back, “Yeah, Raz, you’re a good dog! What tricks can you do? Besides throwing your bat? That was smooth, dude!”
The boys on the balcony burst into laughter, and the players who were inside the apartment came out. “Yo!” they started calling out, “Raz! Evan!” Then they broke into a chant, “Jordan, Jordan, Jordan!”
Chris watched Jordan get out of the car and follow Evan and Raz to the back door, which he’d left open. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Chris said, making his way off the balcony and into the apartment, then opening the front door just as Evan and Jordan reached the top of the stairs with matching grins.
“Hey, Coach Brennan!” they both said in unison, then started shoving each other, Evan saying “Jinx,” and Jordan saying, “What are you, in middle school?”
“Welcome, guys!” Chris clapped them both on the shoulder. “Come in and have something to eat. We’re celebrating. Big home victory!”
“Totally, Coach!” Evan said, crossing into the apartment.
Chris shook Jordan’s hand. “Jordan, you played incredible today. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Great to see your mom there, too.”
“I know, right?” Jordan smiled, shyly. “She never came before.”
“She brought you luck.” Chris could see Raz coming up the stairs but didn’t hurry to acknowledge him. “I introduced myself to her. We had a great talk about you. She was so proud of you.”
Jordan shuddered. “She didn’t say anything embarrassing, did she?”
“Of course she did. She told me what a good boy you were when you were a little baby.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jordan’s eyes flared in mock-alarm.
“I’m kidding. You did terrific today. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Jordan glanced over his shoulder at Raz, who lurched forward.
“Coach, your crib is sick!” Raz pushed past him.
“Hey, Raz.” Chris caught a whiff of beer on Raz’s breath, but not on the other boys. He closed the apartment door, watching as Jordan followed Evan toward the food table.
Raz stopped to look at the gun case. “Whoa, Coach! Are they loaded?”
“No,” Chris answered, going over. “You like?”
“Awesome! Are you a good shot?”
“I’m not bad. How about you?”
“Never tried.” Raz kept looking at the guns, and Chris couldn’t tell if it was to avoid looking at him. Either way, it was time to twist the proverbial knife. There were many kinds of weapons in the world, and words could be the most lethal.
“Raz, I have to say, I was really disappointed when you threw the bat—”
“Sorry,” Raz said, sullen. He raked back his hair, loose to his shoulders.
“I know you have a lot going on with your older brother, but—”
“I don’t have a lot going on,” Raz shot back, shifting his gaze back to the gun collection.
“Okay, then I stand corrected.” Chris had brought it up because he wanted to see how Raz would react. “I’m talking to you, as your coach and as your friend. I’m looking out for you. You can’t have a bad attitude. Between us, my buddy was there today. He saw what you did.”
Raz’s head snapped around, his dark eyes newly troubled. “You mean the guy you sent Jordan’s video to?”
“Yes, but that’s between you and me. I’m not even going to tell Jordan that. You’ve got to do better next time.” Chris patted him on the shoulder, like tough break.
“What if there’s not a next time, Coach?” Raz grimaced.
“I’m sure there will be,” Chris answered, but his tone suggested exactly the opposite.
“But, there’ll be other games. I’ll get in as reliever, won’t I?”
“That’s up to Coach Hardwick, not me. You’re going to have to dig yourself out of a hole.”
“I got a single.”
“True, but that’s not the problem.”
“What’s the problem?”
“An attitude problem is the kiss of death for recruiters.”
“‘The kiss of death?’” Raz’s frown deepened.
“That’s what my friend told me. No school will touch a kid with an attitude problem. They don’t need the aggravation on the field or in the dugout.”
Just then, Evan and Jordan came over holding plates of food, and behind them was Trevor and Dylan. Evan laughed. “Raz, we were just saying, that might’ve been your best pitch ever. Except that you pitched your bat.”
Trevor burst into laughter. “Raz, what do you call that pitch? Was that a fastball? Or fast bat?”
Dylan smiled. “Dude, I think it was more like a curve. Don’t you think it was a curve bat? I thought I saw it curve right before the plate. Or the fence.”
“Or my mom!” Evan joined in, his eyes comically wide. “Raz, you almost cracked my mom’s skull wide open!”
Trevor added, “And his own mom! He almost clocked his own mother! He pitched a curve bat!”
“Trevor, shut the hell up, you meathead!” Raz shouted, shoving Trevor.
“You shut up! Get your hands off me!”
Chris delayed acting for a half second, and just then, Raz shoved Trevor harder, and Trevor shoved Raz back.
“You’re crazy, Raz!” Trevor shouted. “You’re outta your mind!”
“Boys, Raz, stop it!” Chris reached for Raz, but just then, Raz threw a punch, missing Trevor, upending Evan’s plate of food, and connecting with Jordan’s face.
“Arhh!” Jordan jumped backwards, his hand flying to his cheek.
Raz whirled around on Jordan. “Oops, did I hurt you, rock star? You going to get a mark on your face now?”
Jordan recoiled, shaken. Raz’s punch had broken the skin, making a cut that started to bleed, dripping down Jordan’s cheek.