He threw his busted mitt into the dirt and pushed it farther away with his shoe.
Brody Shepherd scoffed, unwrapping the tape around his wrists. “Sure, buddy. The sun—the same sun that’s been here all season?”
Hayes shot him a glare. “You wanna say that again, Shep?”
Brody just grinned at his best friend, always happy to poke the bear. “I’m just saying, if you need me to buy you some sunglasses, just say so.”
“Boys, boys,” Wes drawled, his voice full of mock wisdom as he leaned on his bat. “It was an early season game. Nobody’s getting a championship ring here.”
I shot him a glare. “Yeah, and yet I don’t see you giving up your MVP beer at the Lantern when we do win.”
Wes grinned. “Never.”
Brody snorted. “Oh, don’t act all high and mighty, Wes. You were two seconds away from chucking your glove into the dugout like a toddler when you struck out.”
“A toddler with dignity,” Wes corrected with a scowl.
The best part of our season included celebratory beers at the local dive after the game. Unfortunately for us, tonight they had become consolation beers, but I didn’t mind. I needed a break.
“Anyway, I think we need another player,” Brody said, tossing his mitt into his bag.
He wasn’t wrong. Our team consisted of us four plus a few others, but because of work commitments, most of them were designated subs.
“I could always ask Austin,” Brody offered.
A collective grumble of agreement rippled through the group. Having Brody’s half brother on the team wouldcertainly be an advantage. Austin was young, eager, and athletic.
Maybe he could run his ass into the ground without getting winded.
“Did Austin find an apartment?” I asked, unlacing my cleats and stuffing them into my gym bag.
“He’s still looking,” Brody said, shrugging. “He’s couch surfing until he finds his own place, but I know he’s itching to do something besides work at the marina. He was a decent baseball player in high school.”
Hayes snorted, rubbing his shoulder and moving the arm in a slow circle. “Yeah, so was I. Look how that turned out.”
“Anyway,” Brody dragged out the word. “Beers at the Lantern?”
A round of grunts and nods signaled our agreement. Losing might’ve sucked, but postgame beers were always a win.
The Lady’sLantern wasn’t just a bar; it was a Star Harbor institution.
As we stepped inside, the carved wooden lantern sign flickered, casting a warm glow over the entrance. Inside, it smelled like old wood, whiskey, and history. The walls were plastered with relics of the town’s obsession with the Lady of the Dunes—framed newspaper clippings of supposed sightings, grainy black-and-white photographs of a ghostly figure by the water, and, in one corner, a glass case housing what was allegedly a piece of her original wedding veil.
Tourists ate that shit up.
Even the drink menu played into the legend. TheLady’s Lament—a fancy gin cocktail that Brody once described as “tasting like a perfume bottle.” The Sailor’s Doom—a whiskey drink strong enough to knock out a grown man.
Ask me how I know.
As we slid into a booth, Wes stretched an arm along the back of his seat, looking around the packed bar. “Look at this shit.” He gestured with his bottle to a group huddled around the veil taking selfies. “Never ceases to amaze me.” His attention landed on me, eyebrows bouncing. “When’s the Drifted Spirit finally going to live up to its namesake?”
My eyes flicked to Hayes as he slipped out of the booth to grab another round. Talking about the Lady always seemed to get under his skin.
I took a sip of my beer, the cold liquid cutting through the summer heat still clinging to my skin. “Never. The whole thing is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous or profitable?” Wes asked, tapping the Lady’s Love Lock Fence pamphlet left on the table.
Brody smirked. “You have to admit, the Ghost Run 5K was fun. A bunch of idiots in glow-in-the-dark outfits running from an imaginary dead woman?” His hands spread wide. “Come on. That shit’s funny.”
