Shit.
Tightening my grip on my gear bag, I brace myself as I head for the gate. Instead of moving aside for me, the men stand their ground, guarding the entrance like they’re some kind of trolls under a bridge. It’s nice how they think that’ll stop me.
I shove my way through.
After dropping my bag in the dugout, I grab my glove and jog to the outfield. Coach takes his usual spot, unfazed by our audience, as I fall into line beside Blake for stretches.
“The hell is goin’ on around here?” he whispers sharply, but now, all I can do is shrug.
The others trickle onto the field one at a time, each with his own glance at me—some proud, some pissed, some who don’t give a damn what happened. Instead of focusing on them, I keep my attention on Coach. He’s watching us begin our stretches, cool and collected, like he didn’t just switch into drill-sergeant mode ten minutes ago. Even as some reporter strides onto the field, calling “Coach Taylor!” with Mr. Joyner at his side, he doesn’t flinch for a second.
He glances over his shoulder, calm as ever before looking back to us. Mr. Joyner and the reporter, who I now recognize as Lincoln Wallace from The Daily Gazette, surround him on either side. “Do you have a moment to chat, Coach Taylor?” Mr. Wallace asks.
Coach remains stone-faced. “I’m trying to run a practice here.”
Mr. Wallace scribbles something before asking, “Do you have a comment regarding the Matt Harris situation?”
Coach shakes his head. “I do not.”
“But Coach Taylor,” the reporter presses, “with less than a month left in your regular season, Harris’s suspension will no doubt cost y’all the playoffs. What do you have to say about that?”
“That’s what backups are for,” he says. “Jason Bradford will do just fine in Matt’s place.”
The reporter’s gaze flashes to me. “Word has it that Matt was suspended from your team after this weekend’s altercation with your starting pitcher, Eric Perry. Why was Harris dropped from your team, but not Perry?”
All of us go still, including Coach. His mouth twists as he stares straight ahead at us, and us alone. And then he claps his hands, walking forward. “All right, fellas,” he shouts to us. “As y’all have clearly heard by now, Matt Harris is no longer welcome on this field. At the beginning of your season, I made it loud and clear that any less-than-appropriate behavior would have you cut from this team so quickly, your heads would spin. Matt forgot that promise. He swung at your starting pitcher. And it was brought to my attention that his behavior behind closed doors was downright despicable.”
If things were still before, now you could hear a whistle from the next town over.
Coach turns to Mr. Wallace and Mr. Joyner, both of whom are gaping at him. “My decision’s been made,” he says. “Use any of that you want. Now I’d kindly appreciate it if you’d get off my field.”
~
Once practice is over, I head home alone, since Bri’s having dinner with her team after their away game in Beaufort. When I walk inside, all I want is food and my bed. Instead, I get my parents and Grace sitting silently on the couch. I push the door closed, eyeing them.
Dad gestures to the end of the couch. “Come sit, Eric.”
They all stare, waiting for me to sit. So I do, beside Grace. “Is this where y’all start off by saying, ‘We’re here because we love you’?”
Momma smiles, shaking her head. “It’s a family meeting, honey. Well, except for Emma. She’s watching VeggieTales in our room.”
“And Brett,” I remind them. “Last I checked, he was part of the family, too.”
“Brett already knows all this,” Dad says. “We talked about it before he went back to school. Now it’s y’all’s turn.”
’Kay. So this sounds slightly terrifying. I yank off my cap and run a hand through my hair, cringing at the sweat.
Dad leans forward and claps his hands together. “Okay,” he says on an exhale. “There’s no way to really ease into this, so I’m just gonna throw it out there: I was offered a new job. At a church in North Carolina.”
Grace and I look at one another. I’m pretty sure my face matches hers: complete and total WTFery. Dad’s been the pastor of First Baptist for all our lives. Hell, I thought my dad would be standing over that pulpit until I had kids.
“I didn’t even know you were looking at other jobs,” I finally say. “When did this happen?”
Dad blows out a breath. “I’ve kept my eyes open for a few months now. The elders at the church in Charlotte invited me up for an interview back in—”
“February. When y’all went for that marriage conference,” I realize.
He nods. “Perfect timing.” He and Momma share a look before he continues. “I’ve been pastoring First Baptist for twenty years, you guys. And pastors should expect to live in glass houses—it comes with the territory. But it’s gotten to a point where the people visiting that glass house are inviting themselves in, rather than peeking inside.”
“Does this have to do with me?” Grace blurts out. “With all the crap people keep talking about me?”
“Or me?” I ask. “Or Brett?”
“It has to do with all of you,” Momma says. “And us. We feel like it’s time to move on. And in North Carolina, we’d be closer to Brett, to your grandparents, and we’d barely be half an hour away from you at Winthrop.”
Brett knew. Brett knew about this when he was here. He knew about it when he gave me his whole speech about being too far away from everyone, about how much it sucks to be away from the people you care about. He was trying to tell me what to do, without telling me what to do.
“So,” Dad drawls. “How do y’all feel about it? Grace, it’s going to be your senior year.”
Grace leans back against the couch, folding her arms. “I’m not crazy about it,” she says. “But I’m not crazy about this place either, so I guess it’s the lesser of two evils. And this place is really freakin’ evil.”
“Eric?” Momma asks. “What do you think?”
I think it would kind of suck, to not have this house to come back to. To the field I’ve spent so much time on, and the chance of never seeing it again.
I hate this place, but it’s the only home I’ve ever known. But maybe the good thing about homes is that you can make another one.
“Don’t you think this is kind of like giving up?” I ask. “Letting them chase us out of town?”
Momma shakes her head. “Not giving up, honey. Moving on. It happens. It’s part of life.”
I nod to Dad. “What about you?” I ask. “Why do you really want to leave?”
Dad sighs heavily, glancing at Momma. “I’m tired, son,” he says. “I can’t stay here anymore. Ever since last year, with your brother, there’s been a divide in our congregation: those who support our family, and those who flat-out don’t. And that’s their prerogative, I suppose, but I don’t have to stand by and watch it happen. I don’t have to listen to them put down our family.
“The church up in North Carolina, they know. They know everything. And they still offered me the position. They offered us the position—all of us. And that’s enough for me.”
Swallowing hard, I nod. Grace nods. Dad grabs Momma’s hand, both of them smiling. And even though their smiles are tired, I can tell they’re relieved that they’re getting out of here. We’re getting out of here. All of us.
~
After dinner, I walk outside, heading for Bri’s house. But not only is her car in the driveway—so is her dad’s truck cab. And now I’m not so sure if I should go knock on their door while my nose is the size of a baseball and my eyes rival a raccoon’s, especially when her dad literally just got home within the past hour. Like, who really wants to see his daughter’s boyfriend when he just got pummeled in a fight? Or even worse, when he doesn’t even know that the guy is his daughter’s boyfriend?
Shit.
But I told Bri I’d come over tonight, and I’m not gonna be made int
o a liar. Straightening my shoulders, I continue on to her house. Knock on the door. Wait.
It swings open, with her dad standing on the other side of the screen door. He remains stone-faced as he says, “Can I help you?”
Charming.
I clear my throat and manage a grin. “Hey, Mr. Johnson. I’m here to see Bri.”
He narrows his eyes at me through the screen, his arms folded. “How’s that busted face feel?”
I could lie and say I should’ve been more responsible, or composed, or whatever. But the truth sets you free, right? “Considering I got it while beating the hell out of Matt Harris for what he did to your daughter, I’m dealing with it just fine.”
He stares. Stares. Stares until I feel like melting into a puddle on his front porch. “Bri!” he shouts, nearly making me jump. He doesn’t take his eyes off me until Bri walks up behind him. “You’ve got company.” He pats her shoulder. “Not too long.”
Her eyebrows scrunch together while he walks away. “Huh. I think you cracked the ice giant,” she says. She pushes the screen door, its creak sounding like wood splintering as she steps onto the porch.
And I can’t stop staring at her.
Soon, she won’t be right next door. Soon, my family won’t even be in the same state as hers. And now I’m sort of relieved that I made the call with Winthrop, with going somewhere that’s less than a couple hours away from where she’ll be. I’ve been right next to her my entire life, and damn if I want that to change anytime soon.
I didn’t choose Winthrop because of her. But she’s a damn good perk.
She takes my outstretched hand and we trail down the steps, my bare feet sinking into the dew-soaked grass. The moon shines brightly, our only light aside from the stars speckled across the sky. And I’m not entirely sure how we ended up this far, but as soon as my feet hit the road, another wave of nostalgia hits me full force. This is the road I learned to drive on. Brett and I played hide-and-seek with Bri and Grace in that field across the road more times than I can count. (Seriously, playing hide-and-seek in a corn field? Freaky as hell.)
But Bri and I walk, and we walk, and we walk down the road, a seemingly endless stretch of pavement leading into the darkness. The road where we’ve lived side by side since she moved out here in third grade, and I was chasing her with frogs and worms.
This is where I met her.
“My family’s moving,” I finally tell her. “To Charlotte, in August.”
She nods, staring straight ahead. “So they’ll actually be closer to you at school. That’s a good thing, right?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Yeah, it is. Just weird that this won’t be home anymore, you know? Really weird.”
She swings our hands between us. “I am going to miss this,” she says quietly. “Our tiny little back road. Fields that go on for miles. A moon that feels like it’s shining just for us.” She stops, looking up at me with a smile that’s so warm, I have no clue how I’m not melting right into the ground. “At the risk of sounding completely and totally selfish, I’m glad you’ll be nearby, at Winthrop. It’ll be like having a piece of home a few miles up the highway.”
I like her way of looking at things.
She lets go of my hand to wrap her arms around my neck. Say no more. Placing my hands on her hips, I bring her against me and kiss the girl with everything I’ve got. And it hits me that maybe we can make more homes—we can make as many as we want. It’s the most cliché saying in the world, but home is wherever your heart is. It can be a place, or it can be a person. It can be a house or a ball field or your family. Sometimes, it can be with the girl next door. And sometimes, it can be all of the above.
Chapter Thirty
Bri
I’ve always been a planner. If something has a time and a place and can fit into the little square of my calendar, my brain instantly settles. So it’s driving me absolutely, positively insane to stand beside Eric’s desk, watching him scribble across the paperwork that should’ve been turned into Winthrop, like, three months ago. Forms and packets are scattered everywhere. Everywhere.
“You do know the deadline is May 1, right?” I ask him.
He glances over his shoulder. “That’s two weeks from now. Plenty of time.”
Eye twitch. I cross the room and plop onto the edge of his unmade bed. Lie back. And immediately wish I never had to get up ever again. It is, quite possibly, the most comfortable patch of mattress in the universe.
It’s Saturday night, and he’s supposed to be babysitting Emma while his parents are on a date, but she suckered him into letting her watch a movie in her room. Even though his door is closed, muffled music from round three of Frozen still pours through the wall.
If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be lying in Eric Perry’s bed, I would’ve kicked you in the shin. But I guess that’s why you never say never.
“Hey,” he says. I shift so I can see him. His hair’s sticking up every which way, with stubble lining his jaw in that annoyingly perfect way. He smiles, his face illuminated by his desk lamp. “You’re not bored out of your mind, are you?”
Complete opposite, actually. I didn’t know that things could be this way. This simple. Easy. I return his smile with one of my own. “Yes. In fact, if I hadn’t been sucked into this bed of yours, I’d be long gone.”
His mouth twists into a half smile. He tosses his pen onto his desk. Crosses the short distance between us. And situates himself right on top of me, his legs on either side of my waist, his hands at my shoulders. That smile of his widens into a full-blown grin as he says, “This bed is pretty magical.”
“Magical?”
He nods, leaning down. “Mmhmm. Magical. Magical things can happen here. Sparks can fly. All that good stuff.”
I do like sparks.
My eyes flutter closed as his lips land on mine, slow at first. And then it builds, faster, deeper, more urgent. He moves to my neck, kissing and teasing his way down to my shoulder, his touch light as a feather, yet somehow—
Magical. Sparks.
Eric Perry doesn’t just kiss you—he consumes you.
“What happens next year?” I catch myself asking, and immediately cringe. Terrible timing is terrible.
He stops. Looks down at me, confusion all across his face as his breathing steadies. It’s a loaded question, and he knows it. I like this new normal we’ve created, our own little version of it. I don’t want it to end. I’m comfortable here. But I’m no idiot—I know that things can change with the snap of our fingers, especially when we mix in new campuses. New friends. New lives.
New girls.
He sits back, taking my hand to pull me up with him. We sit face-to-face, his gaze not leaving mine for a second. “Let’s take this one step at a time. Do you want to go to prom with me?”
While it’s not exactly the answer I was looking for, I nod.
He pulls me closer, urging me onto his lap. “Do you want to do summer with me?”
I can’t help but smile as I settle onto him, my legs on either side. His hands rest on my lower back, teasing the skin there as I say, “I don’t know. That’s three months’ worth of sunshine. Swimming. Hot, hot South Carolina days. Even hotter nights.”
“I am a fan of the hot summer nights.” He wets his lower lip. “You know what I remember? Last summer. You lying out in your front yard with Becca. Nothin’ but a towel and a red bikini. You still have that?”
There’s no possible way he could’ve known. No way he meant to trigger the memory. But that’s the exact same bikini I was wearing the first time a certain someone said my hips were huge. So yes, I do still have it, but it’s stuffed in the back of my closet. Regardless, I nod.
He closes his eyes and drops his head back. “Yes,” he whispers loudly, almost like an answered prayer, and I can’t hold back my laugh.
He grins. Stares me straight in the eye. Shakes his head. “We’ve got all the time in the world, girl. As much time as you’ll give me. We’ll make it work.”
Be still, my heart.
No seriously, be still, please. I’m slightly terrified of heart failure.
He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, one that’s fallen from my braid. I don’t know how he’s done it. I don’t know how he’s softened my heart and helped strengthen it at the same time. I don’t know how he’s made me believe in the impossible, how he’s convinced me that finding pure happiness isn’t the same as chasing a unicorn. But I love it.
And I’m not going to say that I love him, because I’m not entirely sure that I do. But I know that one day, there’s a chance that I could. And the anticipation? I think that’s even more amazing.
Circling my arms around his neck, I kiss him. I kiss him slow, and steady, and gently. Because he’s right—we’ve got all the time in the world.
He lays me back onto the bed, my head sinking into his pillow, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more safe, more right, than I do when I’m with him. He rests his forehead against mine, his thumb trailing across my cheek as he says, “If it’s too much too soon, I’ll back off. Just tell me.”
Yeah, no way. I pull him back to me, kissing him with everything I’ve got. His hands slip down, down, down, his fingers lingering at the top of my jeans, and I smile into his kiss. I don’t know if he wanted me to tell him to stop, but that’s not happening.
We’ve got a lot of time to make up for. We’ve got a lot of time ahead of us. And I’m so, so ready for whatever it brings.
Chapter Thirty-One
Eric
One week before our final game of the season, I arrive at the field long before everyone else. Well, everyone, except Coach. I’m convinced that the man lives here.
I’ve always loved sanctuaries. Call it an effect of being a pastor’s kid, but there’s nothing like ’em. They’re peaceful. Calm. When you’re in a sanctuary, you have this overwhelming sense that everything is gonna be okay. Maybe not right then, maybe not the next day, but somehow, it’ll all work out.
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