“You?” She shakes her head. “No hope about it.” She remembers the banner across the spring program—“the golden boys”—and can hardly believe that same man is now sitting next to her in the dark, so close she can feel his body shifting. “Whatever’s going on, you’re going to be fine.”

“If you say so.” The two are quiet for a minute, more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tami asks.

He shakes his head. “I just can’t turn it off, you know? I always want to win.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being competitive. That’s why you’re where you are.”

He shrugs. “Exactly. You ever hear of ‘thrill-seeking behavior’?”

She hasn’t, and she tries to imagine what that means. The thrill of stepping up to the plate? Of course he has that, and the batting average to prove it. Or does he mean something more explicit, some thrill more dangerous? It’s not fast cars—he still drives that old Jeep. Is it pushing his body to its limits? He’d get caught if he was doping. Is it women? Is she just the latest lady in some string of calculable risks? “Is that why you’re getting divorced?”

He nods. “Liana—my ex—she finally called me on it. I guess I figured no one would, because, well…”

“You’re you.”

“Yeah.” His hand drifts from her back. Tami waits to feel his fingers again. She closes her eyes, anticipating the touch. Nothing. She opens them: he’s cupping his shoulder in his palm, frowning like it’s bothering him.

“You sore?” she asks.

He keeps rubbing. “Just a little stiff.”

“Maybe you need to loosen it up.” Danny always had to throw on his days off; she caught. She slides off the wall and picks up a stone the size of an apricot. “Try this.”

He throws the rock impossibly far. They finally hear the soft thud of it smacking some cactus.

“Impressive.” She feeds him another. This one he frowns at, winds up, and—crack. The streetlight on the switchback below them goes out with a spark.

“Whoops.”

“Oh, it’s okay. It’ll give the biddies something to worry about tomorrow.” She settles back onto the ledge. But the busted light sends her mind running. “Can you hit that one?” she asks, pointing a finger at the next lamp down the road.

He tosses a third, but it bounces off the top of the lamppost. He shakes his head, disappointed in himself. “I can make that.” It would sound boastful, but she knows the man can throw a strike from the warning track to home plate. She feeds him another stone and this time the light goes dark with a crack. His whole posture changes, his chest rising like he’s the tallest man on earth. And Tami, too: that shaky feeling she had when he asked her about Scottsdale is gone. Now there’s a giddiness under her breastbone. Is this the thrill Jason was talking about?