Value and respect? Meh… Another stretch of the truth.
He didn’t exactly look sure whether to believe me or not, but fortunately, I guess I’d frustrated him enough that he looked back behind me to see another player coming. Hallelujah.
“Thanks for answering my questions,” he said, not exactly grateful. But what did he expect? Me to trash talk Kulti?
I’d had people I played with in the past do that to me, and I had sworn to myself a long time ago that I would never be that person. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all, right?
* * *
The German was waiting for me in the parking lot when I pulled in that night.
Impressive.
Until I realized I hadn’t decided whether or not to tell him about Sherlock Junior asking dumb questions after practice. His response could go one way or the other, and I really didn’t know him well enough to predict which one.
By the time I grabbed all of my crap, I hadn’t made a conscious decision.
A minute later after we’d greeted each other with a, “Hi,” and a, “Hello,” on the sidewalk, I was still undecided.
But apparently, my brain had chosen for me. We had barely taken three steps forward when I blurted out, “There was another journalist asking about a supposed drinking problem.” Well it wasn’t so supposed. I wasn’t going to base his drinking off one experience, but I couldn’t forget about it either.
Kulti didn’t jerk or react in any outward way. “Who?”
I rattled off the man’s name.
“What was his question exactly?” he asked.
Word for word, I repeated what the man had asked. Slowly, making sure to watch Kulti’s face, I told him verbatim how I responded. Well, mostly. “I wouldn’t violate your trust or your image in any way.”
Those green-brown eyes looked into my own, making me think of a rusted lime. “I know you wouldn’t.”
What? That easy? He knew I wouldn’t? Nothing was ever that simple, and his easy acceptance made me feel uncertain. “Okay.” I paused. “Good.”
He did that European short nod of agreement that consisted of a chin jerk. “Thank you, Sal.”
There were two parts of that statement that had me stumbling, mentally at least.
The t-word again. Thank you.
But the most shocking in my book was… the Sal. Sal.
Honest to god, I think I said something remarkably close to, “Ermghard.” What the hell did that even mean? I had no idea, but it seemed fitting.
In a split second, I got it together and offered him a tremulous smile. “Thank… you.” Wait. What was I thanking him for? Stupid, stupid, stupid. “For that,” I explained quickly, even though it sounded more like a question than a comment. My face went all warm suddenly at the compliment he’d just paid me.
He’d given me his trust, or at least something close to it.
What do you say after that? I couldn’t think of anything intelligent that didn’t end up with me smiling like a goofball afterward, so I kept my gaze elsewhere as we approached the field.
“You came back!” Marc greeted us, his eyes immediately flashing toward Kulti, with that deer-caught-in the-headlights look. Or maybe he was constipated, both expressions were strangely similar. He’d finally started willingly speaking to me today, when he asked if I was planning on going to softball that night.
“You know I don’t like to lose.” With a smile, I eyed Kulti and tipped my head over to Marc. “Marc, Rey. Rey, Marc, again. Just in case you didn’t remember.”
Extending out his free hand, my brother’s friend shook my coach’s hand and I swear—I swear—I saw Marc eye his palm like he was never going to wash that bad boy again. We were going to need to have a talk, seriously. He was just as bad as my dad.
“Is there room for us?” I asked.
“Yeah, except I’m positive no one is going to agree to let you both be on the same team together.” A familiar arm was thrown over my shoulders. “I want to be on his team this time.”
I groaned and tried to elbow him in the ribs. “Traitor.”
“You ladies ready to play?” Simon called out from where he’d quickly gotten surrounded by multiple people.
To no one’s surprise, Kulti and I were chosen for two separate teams, in a way that told me the captains for the week had planned it, before we arrived. A look passed between the two of us that was a mix of a smirk and a grin. Splitting up into our respective teams—my team was playing defense and I’d been assigned second base—I suddenly felt like we were two boxers circling each other, or two rams about to go head to head.