“You’re crazy, Raz!” Trevor shouted. “You’re outta your mind!”
“Boys, Raz, stop it!” Chris reached for Raz, but just then, Raz threw a punch, missing Trevor, upending Evan’s plate of food, and connecting with Jordan’s face.
“Arhh!” Jordan jumped backwards, his hand flying to his cheek.
Raz whirled around on Jordan. “Oops, did I hurt you, rock star? You going to get a mark on your face now?”
Jordan recoiled, shaken. Raz’s punch had broken the skin, making a cut that started to bleed, dripping down Jordan’s cheek.
Trevor yelled, “You suck, Raz! You can’t take it! You never coulda pitched the way Jordan did today!”
“I could so!” Raz lunged for Trevor in anger, knocking Evan and Jordan to the side.
“Stop, Raz!” Chris decided this had gone as far as he needed it to go. He grabbed Raz by the shoulders from behind, forced him backwards, and pressed him into a sitting position on the cabinet in front of the gun case, looking the boy in the eye. “Raz, you’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”
“So what!” Raz yelled in Chris’s face, and the boys fell stone silent. Jordan wiped blood from his cut, leaving a pinkish smear on his cheek.
Chris turned to Evan. “Evan, were you drinking, too?”
“No.”
“Are you okay to drive?”
“Yes.”
Chris believed him, only because Raz didn’t call Evan a liar. “I want you to take Raz home.”
“Okay, Coach.”
“Thank you.” Chris took Raz by the arm and lifted him off the cabinet. “Raz, get it together. You’re your own worst enemy.”
“Leave me alone, buddy!”
“Good-bye.” Chris walked Raz toward the door, with Evan behind. When he opened it, Raz wrenched his arm away, stalked out of the apartment, and hurried down the stairs. Chris put a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Take him right home, please. No monkey business, no drinking.”
“Okay, Coach.” Evan motioned to Jordan. “Jordan, you coming?”
Chris interjected, “Evan, I want Jordan to stay. I need to check out his cut and see if he needs to go to the hospital.”
Jordan shook his head, and blood dripped like a red tear down his cheek. “Coach, I don’t need to go to a hospital. It’s nothing.”
“That may be, but I’ll take you home. I’m responsible for you. I met your mom today. You can’t go home and tell her you got injured at my house without her hearing from me. That can’t happen, Jordan.”
“Okay,” Jordan said reluctantly. “Later, Evan.”
“Later.” Evan waved them off, leaving the apartment and going down the stairs.
“Jordan, let’s take a look at that cut.” Chris closed the door, satisfied that he’d accomplished his mission—or Raz had, for him.
And he wouldn’t mind seeing Jordan’s mother again.
Chapter Twenty-one
Chris stood next to Jordan as the boy opened the apartment door, and Heather looked up from her laptop. She was sitting on the couch in a sweatshirt and jeans, with her hair in a ponytail. She had one of those Housewives shows on mute, and her expression morphed from sleepy to shocked when she saw Chris entering with Jordan, who had a fresh wound on his cheek.
“Hey, Mom.” Jordan closed the door behind them. “I’m okay, don’t freak.”
“Oh no, what’s that on your face?” Heather moved the laptop aside, jumped up, and went over to Jordan, peering at his cheek. It had swollen pink, but the bleeding had stopped. “What happened, honey? Chris, what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, Mom. I’m fine.”
“He really is,” Chris added.
“Tell me what happened. Did you fall?” Heather squinted at the cut, gripping Jordan’s arm as if he would otherwise run away. “I hope you don’t need stitches.”
“I don’t think he does,” Chris interjected, speaking from experience, though it wasn’t an experience he could share. “I looked at it carefully, cleaned it up, and left it uncovered so it could get air.”
“I’m totally fine,” Jordan said again. “It’s really nothing,”
“So how did it happen?” Heather looked from Jordan to Chris. “Did it happen at your house? At the party?”
Jordan hesitated, and Chris realized they should’ve discussed this before now. The party had continued after Evan and Raz had gone, and Jordan had hung out, even helping Chris clean up afterwards. They’d talked about other things on the ride here, like the game and pitching mechanics, of course, always mechanics. Chris had been glad to get closer to Jordan at his most vulnerable, and Jordan’s friendship with Raz had to be dead meat after tonight.
“Mom, it doesn’t matter,” Jordan answered, but Heather looked at him like he was crazy.
“It matters to me, Jordan.” Heather wheeled her head back to Chris, her blue eyes so frank that it unsettled him. “What happened, Chris? You tell me, since my son won’t.”
“I’m sorry, but unfortunately, there was an altercation.”
“An altercation?” Heather asked in disbelief. “With you?”
“No, with Raz,” Chris rushed to explain. “I drove Jordan home to apologize to you, because it happened at my house.”
“It wasn’t really an altercation, Mom,” Jordan said, edging away. “It’s not a big deal.”
Heather placed her hands on her hips, turning to Jordan as he backed toward the hallway. “Jordan, if it’s not a big deal, don’t make it one. What’s the big mystery? Did somebody hit you? Tell me.”
“Raz got in a bad mood, is all.”
“Raz hit you? That’s terrible!”
“He didn’t mean to.”
Chris didn’t say anything. He knew that if he made Raz look bad, Jordan would only defend him.
Heather’s eyes had gone wide. “Jordan, what do you mean? How do you unintentionally hit somebody in the face? Are you saying it was an accident? Was it an accident?”
“Mom, no, but it’s not a big thing. It’s fine.”
“Then it was on purpose? He hit you under your eye. He could’ve ruined your vision. Why did he do that? Were you guys fighting?”
“No, not really.” Jordan backed up toward the hallway.
“So then why did he hit you?”
“He had a bad day. You saw, at the game.”
“Hmph! Yes, I did see. I saw him throw a bat. That’s bad sportsmanship, and it’s dangerous.”
Jordan looked at Chris as he left the room. “Coach Brennan, thanks for everything. Good night. Good night, Mom.”
Chris gave him a wave. “No worries, Jordan. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow morning.”
Jordan turned away and headed down the hallway.
“Jordan, we’ll talk later,” Heather called after him, then turned to Chris with an exasperated sigh. “Sheesh! Is he really okay?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
“It was nice of you to take him home.”
“Not a problem.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Or is it too late for you?”