“So you’ve got baseball genes,” Sierra said, having finally started eating again but looking wrapped up in his story and only half-aware of her food.

“I guess you could say that. We all played little league, played in high school. Mason and Drake played in college. Gabe had interest from colleges but went a different direction.”

“Did you? Have interest from colleges?”

He blew out a breath, that sick feeling doubling back on him. He wanted to scare her off? This was his chance. “From the time I was a freshman in high school, I made varsity. Was one of the starting pitchers.”

“Baseball players are hot,” she said, her brows rising on her forehead. She said it with a lightness, a playfulness in her voice, but Cole was feeling anything but light and playful.

“I got kicked off the team my junior year,” he forced out, and then, maybe to ensure that he erased all the lightness in the room, he added, “That’s what my dad and I fought about the day before he died.”

Chapter Fourteen

Sierra’s features dropped, and she let out a soft sound of sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

Cole shook his head, scowling. “No need to be sorry. My own fault.”

“Why did you get kicked off?”

He’d stopped eating a while back, after only getting down half his burger, and now, he set the plate on the end table next to him. “I was an asshole.” Still was to this day, matter of fact, but she’d figure that out on her own if she hadn’t already.

“I was messed up in the head,” he continued. “I stood out in a bad way because I was smart. I knew early that the kids who wanted me on their team were using me. They weren’t my friends, not real friends. I didn’t really have any real friends. Didn’t seem to fit in anywhere.” He couldn’t help thinking about his mother’s comment the other day about him not fitting in with his brothers. Even in his close-knit family, he was different. “I started getting into trouble in grade school. Got in a couple fights on the playground, disrupted class because I was bored and hated being thought of as teacher’s pet or the golden boy. In middle school, I argued with teachers, was disrespectful, fought some more.” He shook his head, hating the little prick he was describing.

“Defying stereotypes,” Sierra said insightfully.

He nodded, not letting himself think too hard about how well she understood, like no one else had. “Still got good grades. The teachers hated that. Here was this little shit who liked to argue in class and disrupt things, and he was a straight-A student. Teacher’s dream on the one hand. Worst nightmare on the other.” Not for the first time, he felt bad for all the crappy days he must’ve caused for his teachers over the years.