Drive You Wild by Jennifer Bernard

Author:Jennifer Bernard
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-06-27T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

SEEING HIS NAME in the paper next to the damning words “assault” and “incarceration” was a special kind of hell for Trevor. He called Nina right away and warned her to be extra alert and cautious. But the danger to her right now was probably minimal. If the gang knew where he was, they’d have no interest in Nina.

He thought long and hard about disappearing before word spread to Detroit. But small town Kilby was a different world. The Wachowskis might never see the obscure sports news item about a minor league player. This time, he had too much to lose, so he decided to wait and see what developed.

In some ways, walking into the clubhouse after the article came out required more guts than it took to face the Wachowskis. Knowing that the guys on his team would look at him differently—as a criminal—cut right to his core.

Brazening it out, he strode in as if nothing was different. As he walked through the clubhouse, the back of his neck prickled with heat and a buzzing sound rang in his ears. Were people looking his way? Fuck, some badass he was. What was he, in third grade? What did he care what the team thought?

So what if he’d come to care about his fellow Catfish? A guy like him couldn’t afford that crap.

As he opened his locker, the ordinary sounds of the clubhouse, the joking and the taunting, the cleat-tying and towel-snapping, quieted. He looked neither right nor left, but kept his focus on his gear. This was a job, nothing more. He was here to play baseball. Hit home runs. Win a championship for Crush Taylor.

He felt an eager presence at his elbow and shot a glance sideways. “Bieberman.”

“What was it like? Juvie? Did you call it juvie? Or is that outdated? I looked it up in Urban Dictionary and it says ‘juvie’ is also a haircut. Or a fictional character who appears when you experience misfortune.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ramirez strolled over and put a hand on Leiberman’s shoulder. “Easy, boy. You ought to know not to mess around with a guy who did hard time.” He winked at Trevor.

Trevor snorted. Judging by Ramirez’s tattoos, he had an interesting past as well.

“Were you on a chain gang? Did you have to pick up trash by the side of the road? Make license plates?” Bieberman’s ridiculous questions kept on flowing. “What about baseball?”

Now there was a question he could answer. “We had a team. A pretty good coach too. Grizz, an old Negro League player, he was about eighty. I think he had one stint on the Tigers before his career ended.”

“Grizz Walker?” T.J. Gates, who was half African-American, had done extensive research into the Negro Leagues. “Great player. Nearly got elected to the Hall of Fame.”

“Yeah, he got robbed.” Trevor shut his locker door. “He was a great scout too, and he volunteered with our team up until his arthritis got too bad. Taught me how to work the count.

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