More than the Game by Jenni Bara

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@ESPNNews:hearing some buzz @HotShotDemoda is interviewing with both the @Marlins and @Rockies this week. Where is this GOAT going to end up coaching?

The four-and-a-half-hour trip ended up taking almost six, and it was nearing three o’clock when they drove down the main road leading to the farm. Off to the right sat a small store and a big dirt lot with a few cars. Behind the lot was a Christmas tree farm and an apple orchard, and maybe a peach orchard too. There was a field growing a few different crops to the building’s right, and behind that were two barn-looking structures and some fences for livestock. People were wandering through the fields and around the rails. A creek and woods ran behind the barns, blocking off the view on the other side.

“Keep going down to the dirt road on the right,” Beth said. “This is the public farm.”

The property was enormous, much bigger than Marc had expected. Once you got past the forest, the fields seemed to go on as far as the eye could see. Marc wasn’t sure what Grant grew, but he had a ton of land.

The main house looked exactly like an old farmhouse should. A large white square against the fields surrounding it. The enormous windows were dark, almost black compared to the white shingles. There was a swing on the porch, which wrapped all the way around the house, and four brick chimneys rose into the sky. The house looked inviting. He could almost smell an apple pie baking and hear kids laughing as he looked at it.

“Big house,” Marc said as he drove down the driveway, which was longer than two baseball fields. “I was hoping we might all have to squish.” He smiled as Beth rolled her eyes.

“Mandy and I usually stay downstairs in the room Grant’s grandparents used. Grant stays upstairs in his father’s room. There are also three bunk rooms, three small rooms, and two bathrooms.”

“I’ll take the next best thing,” Marc said, then called over the music into the back, “Steve, you want to bunk above me?”

“Cool!” Steve chirped back happily.

Men began walking out onto the front porch as they got closer, until Marc counted all seven brothers watching their arrival—giants waiting for two kids and one little lady. And him. The dark silhouettes of the men against the white building suddenly made the house look intimidating instead of inviting. It was ridiculous. He knew most of these guys; hell, some of them he would call friends. There was no reason to worry—but driving up to the house with Beth and the kids in the car felt like an audition. And it was one he wanted to go well.

“Uncle Joey and Uncle Nick are already here!” Steve yelled from the back. He was out the door as soon as the car stopped.

Beth reached around the seat and had Mandy unhooked before Marc got around to open the doors for them. Marc lifted Mandy down out of the Jeep, and quickly became chopped liver as the girls raced away to hug the Evans men. He hung back, watching the exchange. Finally, one man he didn’t recognize pulled away from the group and headed Marc’s way.

This man seemed to be the oldest, and that meant it was Nick. But he looked nothing like Marc had expected. He knew Nick was a Navy SEAL, so Marc had pictured a clean-cut military man. Instead, Nick’s jet-black hair was almost to his jaw, and his beard was a few inches long as well. He was wearing all black. Marc would have pegged him as crazy if not for the intense and intelligent gray-blue hawk eyes that met his own.

“Nick Evans.” Nick put his hand out.

“Marc Demoda.” Marc shook it as Nick’s eyes took him in.

“So you’re dating my sister,” he said, and it sounded like an accusation.

“Yes,” Marc said, and cleared his throat. It seemed stupid to be nervous, but something about Nick put him on edge—most likely the killer instinct that poured off him in spades.

“Hmm,” Nick said, leaving Marc wondering what he thought until Beth walked toward them. Nick smiled at her. “I can’t believe you’re dating a pretty boy. I’ve heard he’s not a wimp, though.”

Pretty boy?Through his aviator sunglasses, Marc looked down at his plaid shorts and polo shirt, ending up at his Sperry’s, then back up at Nick. Just because he didn’t look homeless didn’t mean he was a pretty boy.

“Must be why Clayton and Will like him so much,” Nick added, and Beth smirked. Marc looked over to the group of men again. The only two not wearing ripped jeans or sweats and t-shirts were Clayton and Will.

“Birds of a feather,” Beth said, and took Marc’s hand. “Come on, say hi to Luke and Grant.” Beth tugged his arm, heading for the group on the porch.

“You think I’m a pretty boy?” Marc asked.

“I think you’re pretty.” She laughed. “And you’re male. And they put your face and body on billboards, hotshot.”

It was true, but in this group, he didn’t think ‘pretty boy’ was a compliment.

“I like you, anyway,” she added, and he smiled.

The only brother Marc still hadn’t met walked down the porch to greet them. Although Joey was as massive as the other guys, the hunch of his shoulders and the way he kept his eyes cast to the ground made him seem smaller. If Marc hadn’t known that Clayton was the youngest, he would have assumed this brother was.

“Hi,” he said. He didn’t offer Marc his hand; it stayed against his thigh, which his thumb repeatedly tapped against.

“Marc, this is Joey,” Beth said. “He’s not around much because he’s about to get his masters in biochemistry from Stanford,” Beth bragged, but Joey’s jaw tightened like he didn’t enjoy the attention. Marc wanted to put him at ease.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about me from your brothers,” Marc said, and Joey’s eyes flicked up to him. “Do me a favor and only believe what comes from your sister’s mouth.”

Beth snorted, and Joey gave a sharp laugh.

“That’s fair,” he said with a grin, but then he leaned close. “I’ll deny it if you repeat this, but the Jersey guys over there”—Joey’s eyes cut to Will, Danny, and Clayton—“all have a bit of a man-crush going on.”

Now it was Marc’s turn to laugh. He and Joey were going to be fine.

Unlike the last time, when Beth had left him to deal with her brothers alone, this time she stayed with Marc as they said their hellos and unloaded the car. Her presence by his side did more than her ‘be nice’ last time. Luke was as friendly as the other brothers, but Grant was distant.

“Oh,” Grant said when they went into the family room and Beth headed for a bedroom off it, “I moved downstairs.”

“I’m glad,” Beth replied.

Grant rolled his eyes. “It’s convenient,” he said.

“Yip,” Beth said, but she walked over and rubbed his arm in a gesture of comfort.

There seemed to be more to moving downstairs than he understood, but he didn’t ask. Beth turned to follow her brother Nick, who had the kids’ stuff. Marc could only trail behind. He had both bags, so he opted to put his in the room he would share with Clayton and Steve before taking Beth hers.

She stood in the doorway, looking around the room.

“How long have you been coming here?” Marc asked.

Beth turned and took his hand, pulling him out into the hallway. She walked to one of the framed photos. It was an image of the Evans family from years ago sitting on their front porch.

“We take a group photo every year,” Beth said. She pointed out everyone, ending with Clayton as a toddler, sitting on his mother’s lap. “So I guess this is the eighteenth year.”

They moved down the hallway, and Beth told stories about the different summers and Christmases she had come. Sometimes she laughed, and she was serious for others, but the love was clear in her voice in each story. This family loved each other. He had nothing like that. It was strange to realize he was jealous of something he had never wanted.

“What are you guys doing?” Clayton called down the hall.

“Just showing him the family pictures,” Beth said with a smile.

“This one.” Clayton pointed, tapping his finger against a frame. “This is my favorite.” Beth laughed, like she knew which one he was talking about without seeing it.

Marc walked down to look. It was a recent one; Mandy was a baby in Beth’s arms. But right away, it was clear why Clayton liked it. The family was on a picnic table, and Clayton had shoved his brother Nick, who in this picture looked like the clean-cut military man Marc had expected. Nick was in mid-fall, bumping Corey off the bench. Danny and Clayton were both laughing at them instead of looking at the camera.

Marc’s eyes moved to another photo, one that included Bob. He looked a lot like Danny and Clayton, the blond-haired and blue-eyed combination that none of the other brothers had. Marc could see the resemblance to Steve too. Bob looked happy as shit with his arm around Beth, pulling her close. Beth’s head tilted off-center the way it did when she was truly happy. Marc frowned. It was uncomfortable to be jealous of a dead guy, especially since Marc had never heard anyone say a bad thing about him, but his gut didn’t like the idea of Bob’s arm wrapped around Beth.

“Who’s this?” Trying to distract himself, Marc pointed to a young blond-haired woman sitting with the group.

“A cheating fucking bitch,” Clayton sneered.

“Language,” Marc corrected Clayton for the millionth time.

“We’re not at her house. The rule is no cursing in her house,” Clayton complained.

“Semantics. Don’t curse in front of your sister,” Marc reminded him with a slap on the shoulder. Beth snaked her arms around Marc’s waist and hugged him. “So who is she?”

“Grant’s ex-wife,” Beth said, and Marc could hear the distaste in her voice too. It surprised him; Beth rarely disliked people. “She left him.”

That made sense. The Evanses stuck together like glue. This woman had hurt Grant, and none of them would forgive her for that.

“Anyway, I was supposed to make sure nothing was going on up here,” Clayton said and winked at Marc.

“Ha-ha.” Beth rolled her eyes. “We’re coming down.”

Marc looked at the picture again as Beth and Clayton walked away, thinking about his former teammates. The Metros took team pictures, and much like the Evanses, the guys picked on each other and ruined perfectly good shots. Marc missed the camaraderie with the guys on the team; he wanted that back. He wanted—no, needed—to find that again. But for the first time, Marc wondered if finding that trust, that group, didn’t have to be through baseball.