Play Nice (Make the Play Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

determined to do just that.

HAYES
     
    “Hey, Big Guy!”
    I cringe at Grandpa’s words. Normally it doesn’t bother me when he greets me this way. He’s been affectionately calling me “Big Guy” since I was a kid. He doesn’t mean it as a slam, but today it sort of feels like one.
    Still, I won’t take my frustrations out on him. After closing the front door, I walk into the family room. My tennis shoes leave footprints in the newly vacuumed carpet. The room smells faintly of cough drops and coffee. “Hey, Gramps.” I clamp my hand down gently on his bony shoulder. “How was your day?”
    “Eh.” He shrugs from where he rocks in his recliner. His gaze travels to the blaring television across from him. “Same old, same old. Watched a little TV, took a nap, ate some lunch. Nothin’ to write home about.” It’s always the same response.
    I chuckle. “C’mon, Gramps, be honest with me. I know you were out chasing the ladies around town.”
    With a slight smile, he shakes his head. “Oh, no. Not with these bad knees. If I tried they’d be picking me up instead of the other way around.”
    “Sounds like a win to me,” I banter back.
    He waggles his finger. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”
    I laugh, but can’t help feeling a little sadness as my gaze lands on the walker near his chair. When I was younger I thought my grandpa was larger than life. He’s actually the one who taught me how to swing a bat. Baseball had always been Grandpa’s favorite sport. He’d been playing since he was a kid, and he taught me and my brother how to play.
    For a few years he even played in a rec league, and our family used to attend many of his games. I’ll never forget the feeling of pride that welled up in me as I watched him when he was up to bat. I’d liked baseball before that, but it was during those moments that my love for the game took root. It seems odd that the same man who stood at the plate and smashed the ball over the fence for a home run now has to use the aid of a walker to simply walk from his recliner to the restroom a few feet away.
    “Tell me about your day,” Grandpa says, interrupting my thoughts.
    I toss my backpack on the ground and sink down on the couch. For a moment I contemplate lying to him, but I know that’s not smart. He’ll see right through me. Besides, he knows what happened on Friday night. “It wasn’t the best,” I finally answer.
    Reaching forward, he turns the volume down on the TV, and I’m grateful. Now I won’t have to yell over it. When Grandpa first moved in with us a couple of years ago, it took awhile to get used to how loud he had to have everything. His alarm, the television, the radio. My family has even gotten louder. We’ve all upped the volume on our speaking voices. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m not with my grandpa when I’m out in public because I’ve grown accustomed to talking loudly at home. My older brother left for college several months after Grandpa moved in, but he said even in that short time he found himself doing the same thing. Of course that makes sense. Jameson and I are a lot alike. We both like to joke around, we both play baseball. However, I’m the only one who gets called “Big Guy.” But that’s because Jameson is tall and lanky. He got Mom’s genes, while I favor Dad.
    Grandpa leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Is Talia together with that other fella?”
    I love how Grandpa calls Josh the “other fella.” I’m actually tempted to use that now. Lord knows, I’ve called Josh a lot of names, but never that. “No, she’s not.”
    “Well, that’s good, right?”
    “I don’t know.” Sighing, I scratch the back of my neck. “Honestly, I don’t care what she does now as long as she stays far away from me.” It’s crazy to feel this way when last week I couldn’t get enough of her. I can tell Grandpa’s thinking the same thing by the way he’s eyeing me. For months I’ve been parading around