The Strike Out

by Quinn, Meghan

  * * *

  I open my front door, my feet aching, my back pulsing with pain, and my head completely scrambled with thoughts of Holt. I spent the rest of my shift trying not to cry, and I had no reason why I wanted to cry.

  It was my gut instinct to just break down and sob in one of our booths. But I held it together, mindlessly worked around the diner, and when my shift was over, I fled as quickly as I could. Needing a shower and my bed, I don’t bother turning on any lights since it’s past eleven, and I head straight for the stairs.

  “Harmony.”

  “Ah,” I scream, and whip my arm ninja-like into the black abyss.

  “Baby, it’s me.” A side lamp turns on and I spot Holt sitting on the couch.

  Hand to heart, I say, “Oh my God, what are you doing sitting in the dark?”

  “Waiting for you. Priya let me in.”

  I look toward the street, not remembering seeing his car parked out there, but then again, I wasn’t paying attention to anything.

  Catching my breath, I ask, “What are you doing here, Holt?”

  “I want to talk to you.” He stands, and there’s a serious tone to his voice. When he steps closer, I see the smile he usually wears is absent. As is his humor. He’s subdued, and it’s startling to see him like this. He takes my hand and asks, “Will you talk with me for a second?”

  “I smell like a diner.” As if that matters, but it’s the only thing I can think of to say.

  “I don’t care. This is important.”

  Taking my hand, he guides me to the couch, where we both sit. He pushes his free hand through his hair, which seems to be sticking up all on end, as if he’s been doing that motion all night.

  “I need you to listen to me.” He looks me in the eyes. “Can you do that for me?”

  I wet my lips, my nerves starting to cripple me and turn my stomach. “Yes.”

  He nods somberly and then says, “I spoke with Priya—”

  “Holt—”

  “I know, I know. But listen, when you shut me out, I have the right to figure out why. I like you, Harmony, a lot. And I’m not about to just let you shut down and ignore me.”

  I’m irritated. Priya isn’t the person he’s trying to date, nor should she be spilling all my information. I know she’s trying to be a friend, but she also needs to show me some loyalty.

  “Don’t go to Priya for information about me,” I say, taking my hand away. “We aren’t in a relationship, Holt. If I decide not to text you, that’s my choice. That doesn’t mean you go running to my loose-lipped best friend.”

  He pulls on the back of his neck, the boulder in his bicep flexing, stretching the sleeve of his T-shirt. “I’m sorry. Fuck . . .” He breathes out heavily and then looks me in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Harmony. I’m fucking this up, and I can feel you slipping away but I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. We had a great fucking date the other night. Our kiss was the best fucking kiss I’ve ever experienced, and then you stop talking to me. I try to do something nice for you and once again I’m pushed away. I don’t get it. Please tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

  “I’m not ready,” I answer automatically, but when I hear the words, they start to make sense in my head. “I’m . . . I’m not ready for this.” I motion between us. “For this all-consuming feeling I feel when I’m around you. It’s powerful, and I just don’t think I can handle it on top of everything right now.”

  “Isn’t it harder to deny?”

  “No,” I answer, even though that feels like a lie.

  He slowly nods and presses his large palms to his legs. “Okay.” He takes a deep breath and says, “Well, I just wanted to say I was sorry, and it wasn’t my intention to make you feel bad in any way. I thought I was helping. Clearly, you didn’t take it that way.” He stands from the couch and starts to walk toward the door, but then stops. Hand in hair, he says, “You know, there are times in life when we need to do things on our own, when we need to prove our worth to this world.” His eyes connect with mine. “And then there are times when we need to be smart and take advantage of our resources so we can continue to succeed on our own. I was trying to lend a hand, not offering charity. My guess is any other friend finding you such a great opportunity would be greeted with thanks.” He continues to walk toward the door. Right before he opens it, he says, “Have a good night, Harmony.”

  And then he’s gone.

  A lump develops in my throat.

  Tears form in my eyes.

  Sorrow hits me hard in the chest.

  His words strike me more intensely than I expected.

  Standing from the couch, I gather myself and head up the stairs to Priya’s room. Without knocking, I open her door and find her in bed, the lights off.

  “Harmony?”

  “Stop talking to Holt about me. Do you understand? I’m your friend. You need to show loyalty to me, not him.”

  I go to shut the door, but she sits up and stops me. “You’re being a dumbass.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She flips on the light next to her bed, illuminating her room. “You’re being a dumbass, Harmony. Maybe you’re right and I’m overstepping a boundary by trying to help him get to know you, but if he was after me and I had doubts but you saw only the good? I’d hope you’d go into bat for me like I am for you. You’re pushing away a man who could be great for you. You’re pushing away an opportunity because you’re worried of how it came about. Stop fucking worrying and live your damn life. I understand pride, but pride also makes you stupid. You think successful people got where they are through hard work alone?” She shakes her head. “They had helping hands along the way. This is your helping hand. Take it. And when it comes to Holt, he’s your guiding light, your fun. You’d be stupid not to get involved with him.”

  The tears welling in my eyes spill down my cheeks. “I’m not ready.”

  “Are we ever ready for the unknown?”

  “There’s too much there, Priya. It’s too strong of a connection.”

  “Ah, yes, so that means you push it aside. That makes sense.” She rolls her eyes.

  “I don’t want to get lost in him.”

  “Do you really think Holt Green is the kind of guy who’s going to let you get lost in him? From what I’ve seen already, he’s the kind of guy who lifts you up, not stuffs you away so he can shine. You’re not being fair. You’re being an idiot, and I’m sure everyone else who knew the situation would agree with me.” She flips off her light, and the comforter rustles as she gets comfortable again. “Do whatever you want, but I’m telling you right now, Holt will be the best thing that ever walks into your life and pushing him away will be your biggest regret. Now get out of here, I need my sleep.”

  Without another word, I shut her door and walk down the hall to my bedroom, where I slink to the floor. From my pocket, I pull out the piece of paper Holt handed me and stare down at the numbers.

  Am I being stupid?

  In the back of my head, I hear . . . YUP.

  Hell.

  * * *

  “Hey, Mom,” I say when she answers the phone.

  “Harmony, I wasn’t expecting a call from you today. It’s so great to hear your voice. How’s the big city?”

  Smiling softly, I say, “It’s great, Mom. Still riddled with people and tourists.”

  “I don’t know how you do it, but good for you. Your father went down to the gas station for the newspaper so he’s not here right now.”

  Every Saturday morning, Dad walks to the gas station, grabs a cup of coffee, the newspaper, and an apple fritter for him and my mom and then walks back home. It’s a tradition that makes him very happy, and I love him for the simplicity of it.

  “I figured. I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Oh? Is everything okay?”

  “Um, I mean, yeah. I guess I’m just confused.”

  “Okay, well, let’s talk it out.” Hearing my mom’s voice has al
ready put me at ease. Even though I don’t want the life they’ve had, the changeless and unvarying routine, I still respect the hell out of my parents. Perhaps it’s because they’re content that makes that possible. So many people aren’t content. Myself included. But I know I want to find that. Somehow.

  Sitting in my studying chair—that’s what I call the comfy chair in the corner of my room—I pull my legs in close to my chest and wrap my arm around them. “So, I kind of met this guy.”

  “Oh, it’s that kind of conversation.”

  “Sort of,” I answer, feeling shy. “He’s a baseball player here at Brentwood. Umm . . . Holt Green. Have you heard of him?”

  “I don’t believe so, but from what you’ve told me about the athletes at Brentwood, they’re not to be considered someone my daughter should be interested in.”

  “I know. I know,” I groan. “And this is going to sound clichéd, but I think Holt is different.”

  Hell, I don’t think—I know he’s different.

  “Different how?”

  “He’s honest, for one. His intentions are true. He wants to get to know me, actually date me. He’s kind and thoughtful. Attentive. Sweet. Annoyingly funny.”

  “Okay.” Mom laughs. “So, what’s the problem? Because from what you’ve said, he seems like a great guy.”

  “That’s the point, Mom. He’s too great. He’s too good. He’s too perfect.”

  “I’m sure there’s a flaw in there somewhere.”

  Yeah, his penis might be too big.

  “We don’t come from the same background. He’s New York City elite.”

  “Opposites do attract, you know,” she counters.

  “And he’s relentless when it comes to wanting to date me.”

  “Perfect for you and interested? Wow, what a hardship.” Mockery drips from her voice.

  “I wasn’t expecting to start a relationship, Mom.”

  “Sometimes the right person comes out of nowhere. When you’re not looking for love is sometimes when you actually find it.”

  “You aren’t being helpful.”

  She laughs. “I don’t know what you want me to say, sweetie. He sounds like a great guy, and you sound like you’re being stubborn.”

  “He found me an internship. A paid one. With a top blog site in New York City. I would work remotely.”

  “Well, damn him all to hell,” Mom says with as much feigned anger as she can muster. “How dare he? I’d file a lawsuit against him. I don’t know what for, but you need to take him to court for such an outrageous action.”

  I chuckle and groan at the same time. “Mom, you don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. It seems as though there’s a nice guy who’s interested in my daughter and who’s offered to help her find an internship she’s spent months looking for. I can’t fathom why this is a problem.”

  “I want to earn this on my own.”

  “You could do that. Or you could take the olive branch and possibly live a happier life. You know I love you, Harmony, and you know I hate that you moved away, but watching you from afar, working your tail off to put yourself through an expensive private college so you can earn a degree that matters to you—that makes me a very proud mother. Don’t go down the bumpy path just to prove a point. There’s no point needing to be proven, not with me, not with your father. You don’t need to prove anything. You’ve put in the hard work, you’ve made the big decisions, and you’re carrying yourself through this next chapter in life. It’s time you allow yourself to look up for a second and experience life. Let the guy woo you. Let him date you. Let him show you what being in your twenties and in college is all about. And for God’s sake, take the internship.”

  I laugh even though tears are streaming down my face. “I don’t have it yet. I have to call a number.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Do you have other opportunities lined up?”

  “No.”

  “Then be smart about this. He clearly wants to help, so let him help. You never know. This could be lifechanging.”

  “I have a feeling that’s exactly what he is.”

  Mom is silent for a few beats, and then she says, “You know, I had big dreams before I met your father. I thought I was going to live in New York City one day and be like Audrey Hepburn.”

  “Really?” I ask. “You never told me that.”

  “Because that dream was replaced when I met your father. He helped me realize exactly what I wanted, and that was to have a small family, in a quaint town, with a wonderfully simple life. Looking back on it, I wouldn’t have been happy in a big city. It wasn’t me; it was what I saw in the movies. My life might be a little too simple for the dreams you have, but without your father, I might have never recognized exactly what I wanted.”

  “Mom, I would never insult your life.”

  “Oh, I know, sweetie. But I want you to know that life throws us roadblocks, and sometimes we have to stop before leaping over them and wonder why exactly this roadblock is here. Holt is a roadblock. Before passing up on the opportunity, give it some thought.”

  I wipe away a stray tear that falls down my cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Of course. Now, I’m on my computer and I searched Holt Green while we were talking. I must say, he’s very handsome, Harmony.”

  I smile to myself. “He is.”

  “Look at that jawline and his eyes. You two would make a beautiful couple.”

  “You don’t think he’s too pretty for me?”

  She laughs. “Never, but if I do happen to ever meet him—which I hope I do—you might find your mom clamming up. Just found a picture of him holding a bat—quite the forearms.”

  “Mom, stop right now.”

  “You know, you’re right. I’m blushing.”

  “Oh my God, I’m hanging up.”

  She laughs. “Before you go . . . Just give it some thought, okay? You deserve someone who’s going to work hard to find ways to care for you. It seems as though Holt is willing and wanting to do just that, even if you’re not ready for a relationship. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  I hang up and drop my phone on my lap. I lay my head back on the chair and close my eyes. Holt, Priya, and my mom are basically saying the same thing. It’s okay to accept a hand when it’s given genuinely. Is it just pride stopping me? And if so, I need to work out why I’m clinging to that so fiercely. It got me to Brentwood. Tick. It helped me get a job at the diner. Tick. It has pushed me to work hard and get damn good grades. Tick. And I have a fantastic best friend and roommate . . . who thinks I’m a dumbass. Tick. And tick.

  Don’t go down the bumpy path just to prove a point.

  Is that what I’m doing?

  I swipe at a tear, hating that the tears are there in the first place, because two people I trust are telling me my determination to succeed only on my own laurels isn’t right in this instance.

  But then I think of the look on Holt’s face, and my heart aches. I hurt him. I’m fucking this up, and I can feel you slipping away but I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. No. He’s wrong. God, I hate he thinks that because of my actions. I’m the one fucking this up. How do I change that? Is it as simple as saying thank you and calling Fifer Parson? Or is it more about opening myself up to two amazing possibilities? Holt Green and an internship at New York, New York?

  Am I ready for either?

  I don’t think so. But, then again, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for someone as generous in spirit, as kind and breathtaking, as Holt Green.

  Chapter Seventeen

  HOLT

  “Dude, slow down,” Knox says, coming up to me. “The faster you go, the faster the back of the line has to go, and you know Jason is struggling today.”

  Disik has us running foul pole to foul pole for fifteen minutes to end practice. There’s a timer on the scoreboard, and every time I look up at it, I swear it’s only been a minute. We had a shitty pr
actice, and I know a lot of that has to do with me. My head hasn’t been in it lately because of Harmony and our last interaction. I never even considered that she’d be insulted by my offer to help her with an internship, and the more I think about it, the more I loathe myself for even taking that initiative. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Harmony, it’s that she’s independent and prideful. She’s not after handouts.

  I fucked up. And I have no idea how to fix it.

  “Seriously, Holt, slow down.” Knox nudges me and I back off on the pace. One of the things Disik is particular about is us all staying in a line. And he always chooses one of the fastest guys to lead the line. Today is my day. When I look over my shoulder, I see Jason struggling to keep up and guilt washes over me.

  “Shit,” I mutter, really bringing down the pace. “Sorry.”

  We spend the next seven minutes going back and forth, back and forth, and when the timer stops, we all plant ourselves in place and catch our breath.

  “Hit the showers and show up tomorrow, or you’re doing foul poles until ten at night,” Disik yells across the field and then disappears with our assistant coaches.

  “Fuck,” Knox says, lying down on the turf. “I shouldn’t have had that burger for lunch.”

  “What the hell, man?” Jason says, hobbling over to me while holding his ass. “You know I have junk in the trunk and it’s harder for me to keep up.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” I lift up my hat and spin it around on my head so it’s facing backwards. “My head wasn’t right today.”

  “You have subjected me to an ice bath.” He points his finger at me. “When my balls are shriveled up and unrecognizable, I’ll be thinking of ways to get you back for this.”