Behind the Plate (The Boys of Baseball #2) - J. Sterling Page 0,6
hated him for it.
His fiery eyes met mine, daring me to make a move. “Got something to say, Carter? Say it!” he screamed, creating even more of a scene than I’d just done.
I didn’t even have to look around to know the entire bar was watching us and most likely filming on their phones whatever altercation was about to take place.
My teammate Jason’s arm splayed across my chest, holding me in place. “He’s not worth it, man.”
“What’d you say?” Dylan’s chair screeched as he pushed it back to stand, tossing the girl from his lap, who yelped in response as she struggled to stay upright.
“I said, you’re not worth it,” Jason responded, his tone bored. He reached for another fry, put it in his mouth, and chewed it slowly.
“I’ll be worth more than your life after the draft next year,” Dylan said in such a convincing way that I thought he actually believed it.
I started laughing and couldn’t stop.
My laughter continued as the sound of patrons getting back to their food made its way to my ears. I was grateful they had stopped fixating on us. The last thing I wanted to do was get in an actual fight with a teammate in front of the whole town, but this summer had the potential to be explosive. There were too many egos, too close to draft season. Every guy on the team thought they were better than the next. Shit was bound to hit the fan at some point.
“What the hell are you laughing at?” Dylan asked as his face flamed with color.
“You,” I said, staring right at him. “You’re a joke. A delusional fucking joke.” I pushed my chair back, stood tall, and leaned over the table to make sure he could hear me without my having to shout. “You’ll be lucky to get drafted at all with your attitude. Do any of your teammates back home even like you?” It was a low blow, and I knew it, but sometimes, I had a bit of a temper.
It was the one thing I knew I’d gotten from my dad, and I wasn’t sorry about it. That Carter fire came in handy when guys underestimated me. They thought I was chill and laid-back and could use me as a verbal punching bag. But push me too far, and all kindness disappeared.
I distinctly remembered two times when my dad had lost his temper.
The first was when someone had disrespected my mom at dinner. He hit on her when she went to the restroom, waited for her to come out, and then tried his luck again.
My dad had a bit of a possessive streak when it came to my mom, and after hearing all the things they’d been through as a couple, I honestly couldn’t blame him. And even I had to admit that it was nice to see my parents still so in love even if they grossed me out half the time.
When the offending guy stood up at exactly the same time as we did to leave the restaurant, his eyes firmly attached to my mom’s ass, my dad didn’t give him a chance to apologize before he punched him in the jaw and told him to never look at his wife again.
“Breathe in her direction, and it will be the last thing you do. Push me on this. I fucking dare you.”
It was scary as hell, seeing my dad so angry, but I also remembered feeling weirdly proud. My dad was a badass, and my mom loved it. She hung all over him, draping kisses on his cheek as we left, and could barely stay in the passenger seat on the entire drive back home. I’d learned in that moment that the right woman would want you to go to bat for her, so to speak. Or maybe it was just my mom?
The second time my dad had come unglued, his temper like a wild beast, was when a pissant, stupid kid tried dating my sister just because she was Jack Carter’s daughter. My dad overheard him in the pool one day, asking Jacey where her dad was and asking when he could meet him and if she thought he would sign a couple of baseballs for him and his friends. When Jacey asked why he cared so much about her dad and not her, he admitted that his friends were huge fans and that was why he had asked her out in the first place.