"Oh come on," Steven argued, leaning against Bryce's kitchen counter. "What else would you be doing?"

"On a Saturday morning at 9:00 AM?" I challenged. "I'd be sleeping you idiot."

Bryce chuckled, sipping on his water.

"But instead you get to spend the morning with me!"

Bryce lowered his gaze at him.

"And your boyfriend," Steven added. "What could be better?"

"Getting rid of him," I said, jerking my thumb towards Clayton, who was sitting on the floor, playing tug-of-war with Dawson.

"I'm all for you not coming on Saturday mornings," Clayton called. "Or Sunday afternoons."

"Fuck off!" Bryce called back.

Clayton just flipped him off.

"And getting rid of you," I said to Steven, flashing him a smile.

"Then what would you do?" Steven pressed. "You wouldn't have any entertainment."

"I could think of something," Bryce stated, with a slight smirk.

The smile fell off of Steven's face. "Okay, gross. No."

I chuckled, taking a sip of my Arnold Palmer.

"So when do your practices start up?" Steven asked Bryce.

"Next week," Bryce said, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Mine start this week," Steven said, hopping off the counter. "Looks like my team's ahead of the game."

"Looks like you need the extra practice," Bryce shot back, with a smile.

"If it helps kick your ass in Florida, I'm all for it."

"You guys play each other in the Florida showcase?" I asked.

They both nodded.

"And you come visit me," Clayton added, still in the living room with Dawson.

The smile fell off of Bryce's face, replaced by a slight frown.

"You can come see me kick Bryce's ass," Steven said.

"Keep dreaming," Bryce retorted, finishing off his water.

"Are you going to the Florida showcase?" I asked Bryce.

I knew he had to miss at least two tournaments this summer because they fell on his Chemo cycles, and I could've sworn one of them was Florida.

Bryce nodded, an amused smirk on his face.

I knew that look.

"No," I declined.

"I have to," he argued.

"Wait, what's going on?" Steven asked.

"You made a deal," I reminded him.

"And I'm upholding my end of the deal," he argued. "But I'm not missing the Florida showcase. I can't miss a chance to show up Anderson and visit Clayton."

"I'm pretty badass!" Clayton agreed. "But what are we talking about?"

"Bryce will be on Chemo!" I called back.

"Oh, then you can't go," Clayton declined, standing up from his position in the living room and joining us in the kitchen.

"For the six thousandth time, you're not my mom," Bryce reminded him, a hint of irritation in his voice. "And my doctor already said I could."

"Why don't I believe that?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at him.

"I do," Steven stated.

"See?" Bryce asked. "Don't judge so quickly."

Clayton leaned against the counter. "Why did your doctor say you could?"

"I have a strict pitch count," Bryce stated. "But I can go. And I all I care about is kicking Anderson's ass."

"With you on the bench it won't be an issue," Steven sang, with a smirk.

"You can bet your ass I'll be on the field against you," Bryce sang back.

Steven's phone went off, and Clayton reached for his keys. "Need a ride home?" Clayton asked him.

Steven nodded, checking his texts. "Fields tomorrow afternoon?"

Bryce nodded. "2:00 sharp."

"3:00 it is."

Bryce rolled his eyes and he and Clayton left.

"Why do you put up with him?" I asked, shaking my head after they left.

Bryce just took a sip of my Arnold Palmer, finishing off the last piece of bacon.

"We have this entire house to ourselves," Bryce pointed out, as he munched the bacon.

"And you stink," I pointed out. "Your shirt is sticking to you."

"Should I just take it off?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes."

He smirked, tossing down the bacon and going to pull it off.

"On the way to the shower," I added, giving him a shove.

"Would you like to join me?" he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. "Showering with a friend saves water."

"I'm not your friend."

He placed a hand over his heart. "That hurts Sophie Allen."

"Go take a shower and then we'll talk."

"I'm not interested in talking."

"Me neither."

A smile spread across his face, and I couldn't help but laugh at his amused expression.

"I might need a little motivation. Something to come back to," he stated, with a goofy smile.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my body to his gross, sweaty one.

"You're honestly disgusting right now," I said, as my fingers brushed the sweat-soaked ends of his hair.

He just smiled, bending down to kiss me.

His lips tasted like salt.

He went to deepen the kiss, and I allowed him a few seconds of pleasure before shoving him away from me.

A pout took over his face. "That was a tease."

"Well go take a shower and then come back to me," I said, with a half-smile. "I'll be waiting."

"I need a reminder of what I'm coming back to."

"If you wait too long I might get bored."

He stole one last kiss before jogging back towards the shower. "You better wait for me Sophie Allen!" he called over his shoulder.

"Always Bryce Harrison!" I called back, unable to bite back the smile spreading across my face.

Always and forever.

~*~

"Do I look tanner?" I asked Bryce, holding out my arms.

"Um... Maybe?" he asked, offering me a slight smile.

"So that's a no." I let out a long sigh. "I've come outside with you boys every Sunday and I'm not even the slightest bit tanner over it. This is ridiculous."

He chuckled, leaning against the fence I was perched upon. "Well you're hot."

I gave him a good shove, causing him to crack up.

"Do you mind shagging balls?"

"Of course not. That's what your hot girlfriend is for."

He chuckled again, kissing me on the cheek. "Thanks babe."

"If you're finished!" Clayton called from the dugout. "We're trying to get some practice in before the afternoon's over?"

"Your boyfriend is calling," I said to Bryce, with a half-smile.

He rolled his eyes, jogging over to grab the bucket of balls before taking his spot on the pitcher's mound.

Steven was warming up at home plate, taking a few practice swings.

I let my legs swing down in front of me, letting out a long sigh.

I was here because I was Bryce's ride, and then I basically shagged balls for the boys. I was like the roadie on a tour bus.

As Bryce came to the end of his pitch count, I found my eyes traveling out to the parking lot.

Sunday afternoons was usually just the four of us out here. Sometimes a father-son duo would use one of the other vacant fields, or a Coach would come out with a few of his players for some extra practice. But majority of the time it was just us.

But I noticed another car in the parking lot.

And leaning against the side of the car was a middle-aged man, a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth. He was just simply dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and a pair of sunglasses.

He was quite a distance away, and although I couldn't see his eyes through his sunglasses, we were the only group of people practicing out here.

It was strange that he would just be watching the boys practice.

I watched as Bryce finished up pitching, and I grabbed the few baseballs I hadn't already gathered up before jogging up to the mound to return them to the bucket.

"Hey," I said to Bryce, grabbing his arm.

"Hey," he said, flashing me a smile.

He'd had a good run today, and I'm sure he was feeling pretty good.

"Don't look now, but there's a guy just standing out in the parking lot," I informed him. "And he's been there for a while now. Just like, watching."

"Maybe he's a scout or something," Bryce said, with a shrug.

"He doesn't dress like one. And he's smoking."

Bryce nodded, stealing a glance over his shoulder.

His entire body stiffened.

"Do you know him?" I asked.

Bryce looked back over at me, a clear sense of urgency on his face.

"You do know him."

"I need you to do me a favor," he said, in a low voice.

"Anything."

"Take Clayton home."

That's not what I was expecting him to say.

I looked over at Clayton. He was working on a batting technique with Steven.

"Like right now?" I asked, looking back at Bryce.

"Right now," he agreed.

"But how will you get home?"

"I'll figure it out. Drive Clayton home. Now. Steven and I will stay here and clean up. We'll meet you there."

I nodded, deciding that the questions could wait for later.

Bryce hopped down off the mound, jogging over to Clayton. He pulled Clayton away from Steven, having a short conversation with him.

Clayton's body froze in a similar way Bryce's did, only Clayton didn't look over his shoulder to confirm whatever Bryce was saying.

To see the man that was still standing in the parking lot.

"What's going on?" Steven asked, coming over to me.

"I don't know," I said, with a shrug. "But I'm taking Clayton home."

"He's my ride," Steven pointed out.

"Just go along with it."

And Steven nodded, looking back over where Bryce was practically shoving a frozen Clayton in my direction.

"Go," Bryce said to me.

"Come on," I said to Clayton, as I now practically pulled him out of the baseball fields.

Clayton glanced up towards the parking lot, and he stopped in his tracks, staring at the man that was standing the parking lot.

The man didn't move except to take a drag of his cigarette.

"My car Clayton," I reminded him, giving him a good pull.

Clayton moved almost robotically, opening the passenger seat door and slumping down, placing his forearms on his knees and resting his head down on them.

"I don't know how to get to your house," I reminded him, as I put my car into gear.

He didn't say anything.

Well to get to his house you definitely had to leave the baseball fields first.

I pulled out of the baseball fields, and the man didn't make eye contact with us, staring straight ahead.

Who is he?

I looked over at Clayton, who had now moved so that he was sitting hunched over, his hands pressed to his temples.

Whoever he was, he had an effect on Clayton.

"What's your address?" I pressed.

"Turn right," he said, in a monotone voice.

And so that's how we made it to Clayton's house, him giving me monotone directions every once in a while.

Other than that he stayed stone still, his body frozen.

I pulled into the driveway of a typical suburban house.

It was one-story with a green front lawn and two cars parked in the driveway. It looked like a house you'd pulled out of Better Homes and Gardens or something.

Clayton immediately got out of the car, heading to the front door.

I followed him inside, since Bryce said he'd meet me here.

"Hello honey!" Clayton's mom called.

She was in the kitchen, cooking something. She waved to him with a spatula, an apron hooked around her waist. She was much shorter than Clayton, and even myself. She had Auburn hair that was pulled back into a high ponytail and brown eyes that matched Clayton's. She had high cheekbones, but yet a soft, motherly face.

He stormed past her without a glance in her direction, and a few moments later I heard a door slam.

"Clayton Johnson!" she called after him. "We don't slam doors in this household."

She glanced over at me, and her expression softened. "Hello dear."

"Hello."

She studied me for a moment. "You seem familiar, who're you?"

"Sophie. Sophie Allen."

"Oh of course. Please, take a seat. Can I get you something to drink?" She waved towards a barstool with her spatula. "I've heard so much about you."

She has?

"What do you like? Lemonade? Iced tea? Water? What's your poison?"

"Water is fine."

She made her way over to the refrigerator, offering me a bottle of water. "Bryce speaks very highly of you."

I couldn't help but blush.

"I'm sorry about my son's behavior," she said, with a flick of her wrist. "Did he have a bad practice? That boy and his baseball, one bad practice and it sends him into a WORD."

"Um, no ma'am," I said, glancing back over my shoulder before looking at her again.

"No what?"

"He didn't have a bad practice," I said. "I don't really know what happened."

"He must just be in one of those moods," she said, as she went back to her cooking.

It looked like she was making some sort of pie.

"Teenage boys," she said, with an eye roll. "They're moodier than I ever remember being as a teenager, that's for sure."

"Actually, it was this thing that happened at the field," I explained.

"What thing dear?"

"There was this guy that showed up."

She glanced up from her pie project. "What guy? Like a scout?"

"No ma'am. I don't know who it was. But Bryce had me take Clayton home and he said he'd be here shortly."

She paused, glancing back towards where Clayton had gone and then towards me again. "Bryce had you take Clayton home?"

I nodded.

"What did this man look like?"

"I don't know, he was pretty far away. But he was wearing like a t-shirt and jeans and he was smoking. And Clayton just kind of froze up when he saw him-"

That's all she needed to hear apparently.

"Taylor!" she called out, dropping her spatula down. "Taylor!"

She was already heading back towards Clayton's room. "Clayton Johnson, living room now."

I could hear his voice, but I couldn't hear what he said.

"I don't much care what you think you want, I said living room."

She went mother-status on him.

A man came into the kitchen, a bewildered expression on his face.

He smiled at me. "Hello."

I waved at him.

Yes Sophie, please be as awkward as possible.

A disgruntled looking Clayton appeared in the living room. He'd changed out of his baseball gear and into a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Sit," his mother ordered, practically shoving him onto the couch.

He did as he was told, folding his arms across his chest.

"What's the matter?" the man I presume to be Taylor asked.

"I don't understand why I have to sit here," Clayton pointed out. "I want to be left alone."

"That's exactly why you need a few moments here," Clayton's mother stated. "To clear your head."

Clayton's expression darkened, but he didn't say anything.

"I ask again, what's the matter?" Taylor asked.

"Clayton's dad was at the fields today," Clayton's mother informed him.

Wait, what?

"No," Clayton snapped. "Taylor is my dad."

Taylor placed a hand on Clayton's shoulder.

"I'm sorry honey," Clayton's mom said, with a worried expression. "Clyde was at the fields today."

I heard the front door open, and Bryce came into the kitchen.

"Hello dear," Clayton's mom said, with a small smile.

Clayton didn't acknowledge him.

"Where's Steven?" I asked him.

"I dropped him off."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "You drove?"

Bryce ignored my question.

"What about the restraining order?" Taylor asked Clayton's mom, resuming their conversation before Bryce came in.

"500 feet," Clayton muttered.

"Was he 500 feet Bryce?" Clayton's mom asked.

Bryce nodded.

"Dammit," Taylor cursed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Why?" Clayton's mom asked, her eyes flitting between Clayton and Bryce. "Why was he there?"

"Can I go now?" Clayton asked.

"No," she declined.

He let out a long sigh, his arms still folded across his chest as he stared at the ceiling.

"He was there to do just this," Taylor stated. "To fuck with us."

I looked over at Bryce, who was leaning against the counter next to me, a blank expression on his face.

"Can I go if I take Bryce with me?" Clayton asked.

Taylor exchanged glances with Clayton's mom.

"I suppose," Clayton's mom drew out, looking over at Bryce.

"I'll see you later," I said, giving Bryce a light kiss on the cheek before grabbing my keys to leave.

He pulled me in for a kiss on the lips, offering me a slight smile, before disappearing with Clayton.

"Thank you for bringing him home Sophie," Clayton's mom said, with a small smile.

"Anytime Mrs. Johnson."

~*~

Never in my life had I ever stayed up worrying about Clayton Johnson.

But I found myself sitting in my bed, at 12:36 AM, wondering if he was okay after everything that had happened today.

I don't know anything about Clayton's dad.

I don't know anything about Clayton's past.

But what I do know is the panicked look in his mom's eyes when she realized that it was his dad that had been there. The way she'd made him sit with her, worried that he might do something he might regret.

Clayton Johnson had been two and a half years sober, much longer than Bryce. And yet his mother was still scared to death for his relapse.

I couldn't help but wonder what Clayton's past had been like. To be two and half years sober at the age of 18 meant that he'd had to stop drinking at the age of 15. Which meant that he was an alcoholic before the age of 15.

That was scary, scary thing to think about.

I'd never thought this much about Clayton Johnson in my entire life.

So I called Bryce.

It was only fair. I can't count the number of times he used to call me in the middle of the night, suffering from insomnia and wanting me to suffer with him.

"Sophie Allen calling me in the middle of the night," Bryce's amused voice said. "This is new."

"You're awake?"

"That I am."

"Oh. I was hoping I'd have the privilege of waking you up."

"I can pretend to be asleep and you could call me back?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "I'll pass."

I heard an explosion noise in the background.

"So you're awake in the middle of the night because you're playing video games?" I asked, with a laugh.

Of course.

"Is there any other reason to be awake at... 12:43 AM?"

I can think of one.

"Which reminds me," he continued, "why are you awake?"

"She's developed a secret video game addiction and needs your help getting to the next level," I heard Clayton's voice say in the background.

"You're with Clayton?" I asked.

"Yeah. And if you had developed a secret video game addiction, I don't think you'd be calling for me for help. Seeing as though it wouldn't be so secret anymore."

Well now my phone call was a waste. Bryce wasn't going to talk about Clayton while Clayton was right there.

"So why are you awake?" Bryce pressed.

"I guess I just couldn't sleep."

"And what can I do for you?"

I heard Clayton talking in the background again.

Probably something nasty.

"Are you sure?" I heard Bryce asked.

"Yeah," Clayton agreed.

"If you're up for it," Bryce stated, "you're welcome to make your way over to Clayton's house and join us on our video game and pizza binge."

That's not what I expecting out of this phone call.

"Um... what?"

"We're playing Destiny," Bryce informed me. "And eating pizza. So come over."