Gage was on his other side talking animatedly with the third-base coach. “Last time we were here, he was hit on the upper right leg by a line drive for a single in the first inning. I don’t want that happening again.”

More of him. Jesus, he was really tired of himself.

“It’s the only reason we lost,” Gage said. “He was hurting too bad to throw.”

Not true. Well, he had been hurting, but that’s not why they lost. He’d been pitching like shit before the hit. It happened.

Hopefully it wouldn’t happen tonight.

“Hey, that’s mine.” Wade snagged the water from Pace’s hand and tipped it up to his mouth, but it was empty. With a shake of his head, he tossed it aside as the crowd in the visitors’ clubhouse began to thin out. Joe and Henry were nearby, getting ready to go back out for the pregame field practice. Across from them were Mike and Kyle, now flirting with Holly, who looked good enough to gobble up whole. Pace opened his mouth to remind them to get their asses out for warm-up, but he gritted his teeth instead. None of your business, he reminded himself, and bent to tie his shoes-

And split the zipper on his grey away-game uniform pants. His third this season. “Shit.”

Wade turned, took in Pace’s opened fly, and shook his head. “You know, I’ve never seen a guy with less body fat go through more zippers. Maybe you ought to ask for Magnum-sized pants.”

“It’s not the pants.”

“You wish.”

Pace considered Wade’s smug smile. “Have you ever burst your zipper?”

The guys around them cracked up, and Wade rounded on them until they shut up.

“Holly can fix it,” Ty said. “Hey, Holly. Emergency here.”

“What are you doing?” Pace asked him incredulously.

“She used to be a seamstress. Hol, look. Our poor pitcher’s sail is broken at half-mast. Think you can help?”

Holly slid Pace a look, her gaze curiously dropping down the front of him to figure out what Ty was talking about. He knew the exact moment she caught on because her brows shot straight up so far they vanished into her hair.

“That looks . . . problematic,” she ventured.

Ty laughed. “Nationally televised game in one hour? You think?”

“I have an extra pair.” Pace pulled open the locker. “Probably—”

“I can fix it.” Holly pulled her purse off her shoulder and began digging through its mysterious depths with one hand while gesturing to Pace for the pants with her other.

“Seriously,” he said. “I can just . . .” But he trailed off as she came up with a small sewing kit. “You sew?”

“Uh-huh. And I can also own property and vote. Want your pants fixed or not?”