by Cindy Miles
In the bathroom, I flipped the light on and shut the door. In the mirror, I stared hard at myself. My face. My eyes. My skin. My long black hair. The older I grew, the more I looked like Mama. I wonder how she’d handle my new situation? For a moment, I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and inhaled. In. Out. And again. Do it again, Memory. You can do this. You did it once before.
Then I opened them, turned on the faucet, threw back the pills, then cupped cool water in my palm and swallowed. I drank until they were both down. Again, I stared at myself in the mirror. Looking almost as if I stared hard enough, I could see something beyond the reflection. Strength? Courage? I wanted to absorb it, if it were there. Willed it to be there. Suck it through the glass and air molecules and into my body and then zip it up. Seal it in tight.
I was going to need it.
Wiping my mouth on the towel hanging by the white porcelain sink Dad had rescued from another 1930s farmhouse, I rejoined my friends in the kitchen.
“Memory,” Brie said as I entered. “We know you don’t have to study, you artsy-fartsy freak—you disgust me—but we all have a big test on Tuesday. So how about once we finish at the library this afternoon we pick you up and go watch a very interesting pre-season baseball game?”
I smiled. You know those annoying-as-hell people who never have to study, but make all A’s? Yeah, I was one of them. Hey—I had to have some credit, right? Some sort of legacy? Brie, Sugar, Claire and I had all started out in the same core classes—until I’d decided to break from the amigos and become an art major instead of a nurse. We were all in our final semester now—them as registered nurses, me as…well, me. Whatever that might be, I’d have a degree behind it. I’d taken a liking to working with metal after my dad had taught me to weld. I might not get rich with my art, but at least I’d enjoy it.
For some reason that made me pause and wonder what ole Straight-Laced Jace the Criminal Justice Law Student would think of that?
Although we no longer took the same classes, the girls and I continued to be on the same side of campus at Winston—which made lunch easy. And we had been best of friends since that first semester. Somewhere along that first semester we’d picked up Crisco, Bentley and Conner. I was going to miss them. Us. “Why is the game so interesting?” I asked.
“It’s a game between the boys’ baseball team and the girls’ softball team,” Claire answered. “Sugar’s pitching against Brax Jenkins. She called. Wants us to come cheer her on.”
“Sweet,” Brie said. “It’s like The Sandlot—but better!”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Nothing’s better than The Sandlot, dope. Unless it’s Stand By Me.”
“Lord, you two and your movies!” Claire said. She and Brie had cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. “So. Bentley is coming to get us. We’ll leave you to your non-studying self, and we’ll pick you back up around four.”
“What are you going to do about your Jeep?” Brie asked.
I shrugged. “Get it to the garage, I suppose.”
The girls got dressed, and I pulled on a Winston U sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants, and then watched as they piled into Bentley’s Silverado, and stared until they disappeared down my drive. A cold, wet nose nuzzled my palm, and I glanced down to see Captain Gregg watching me with his odd, mis-matched colored eyes. I scratched the soft fluff of fur between his ears, and he gave a quiet whine and nuzzled me again.
“How ‘bout it, boy?” I asked. “You wanna go out?”
Captain Gregg placed his paw on my knee and gave a resounding woof! in answer. His blunt nails dug into my skin. And I’m pretty sure he grinned at me.
“Go on,” I said, and pushed the screen door open. He sauntered out and trotted down the steps at his normal jog, a bit slower these days. I watched him until his merle-colored backside disappeared around the corner of the barn, heading off to patrol the perimeter of the farm, I supposed. I needed to feed Little Joe and muck out the stall. I’d quickly go change and start my chores so I could get them finished and have a shower before the guys picked me up for the game.
Just as I closed the door, the first wave of Medicine Side Effects washed over me, and I gripped the knob, squeezed my eyes shut, and breathed.
We were all piled into Conner Colton’s old souped-up Cutlass—except for Bentley and Claire, who’d driven together—and pulling into the sports complex when I noticed the time. Already four thirty p.m. Funny. The day had slipped by.
That was happening a lot lately, and I admit, I wasn’t a fan. Time. Going by too fast for me to keep up.
In the next second Conner swung into a parking spot next to Bentley, and we all climbed out. One of the guys yelled—probably Crisco. He was especially pumped about watching Sugar pitch.
Just as we passed through the gate my cell rang—“Stand By Me,” by the great Ben E. King. It was my dad, so I waved the others on and stepped off to the side to talk.
“Hey, Daddy,” I said, answering. “What’s up?”
“Just checkin’ on my little girl, yeah,” Max Thibodeaux answered. I’d always loved hearing my dad’s voice. Deep, smooth, and tinged with the soft flare of Lafayette, Louisiana Cajun. I’d grown up in Lafayette, so I had it, too, but since I’d been living in Killian for the past four years, it had faded somewhat. But not all the way. “Everythin’ goin’ all right?”
“Yep,” I lied. “Well, my Jeep croaked,” I said. “Had to get a tow the other night from the concert.” From my peripheral I noticed a truck pull into the parking lot, and I watched an old man kill the engine and open the door.
“Well, call Jack,” Max said. “He’ll come over to the house and take a look. His number’s on the wall by the phone in the kitchen.”
I smiled, and kept my eyes on the old man in the parking lot. I didn’t know him. He was alone, as far as I could tell. “Yes, Max. I know where the numbers are on the wall in the kitchen.” The use of his name always clued my dad in that I was teasing, and I think he loved hearing it as much as I loved saying it.
Max’s deep chuckle filled my ear. “Smart-ass. I guess I should’ve left you my truck.” He sighed. “Did you get your MRI results back yet, M-Cat?”
My eyes closed briefly. When I opened them, guilt rushed through my lungs and filled my insides. I couldn’t do this yet. Just…not yet. Soon enough, but not now. The old man in the parking lot was pulling a cane from the cab of his truck, and his wide-brimmed black hat was one step away from a sombrero, it was so wide. “No news is good news, right?” I responded. “Dad, seriously. I’m twenty-two. Not five. I’m not a baby.” I sucked in more guilt. “Don’t worry about me so much. I feel fine.”
The old man was moving slow. More people had pulled into the parking lot—word spread quickly when an unplanned game came together.
“You’re my baby,” Max said softly. “Asking me not to worry is like asking me not to breathe. I can’t help it.”
I felt my skin grow cold. “I know, Dad. And I love you for it. When are you coming home?” The old man was now at the hood of his truck, taking determined, calculated steps with college kids rushing all around him. One girl even ran by and brushed his shoulder.
“Probably in another week,” Max said.
“Hey, Dad?” I said. “I need to go. Can I call you later?”
“Sure, baby,” he answered. “I love you times infinity.”
“I love you times infinity, and beyond,” I replied. It was our signature I Love You that I’d apparently come up with after watching Toy Story a gazillion times as a kid. I hung the phone up and shoved it into the back pocket of my favorite worn-out boyfriend jeans, which were getting noticeably looser. I headed straight for the old guy. If one more person knocked into him, I was going to freaking lose it. Disrespect for old people chapped my ass in a big way.
When I got to him, he looked at me nearly eye-level with a lively, watery blue gaze. I gave him the knickertwister. A smile doubled the wrinkles hugging his eyes.
“Well, now,” he said, and
inspected me thoroughly. “Who might you be?”
My smile widened. “I’m the girl who absolutely hates walking into an event alone.” I stuck my arm out for him to hold onto. “Would you mind?”
“Hot damn,” he chuckled. “It ain’t even my birthday! A purty girl with an accent. Where’re you from? Bayou country?”
I grinned. “Lafayette.”
With his free hand he grasped my bicep, and I tucked my free hand over it. We started for the gate. “I knew it! So, Ms. Lafayette, you like baseball, eh?”
I gave a nod, even though I was pretty sure he didn’t see it. “I adore it. One of my best friends is pitching for the girls’ team.”
“Well,” he answered as we sauntered along together. “That’s pretty interesting, since I’m here rootin’ for that cocky ass Brax Jenkins on the boys’ team.”
I laughed, wondering how this cool old guy knew Brax Jenkins, and when I looked at him, he was looking at me. I wiggled my brows. “Are you up for a little wager?” I inquired slyly.
We made it through the gates and started for the bleachers. He had a limp that was noticeable even with the use of the cane, but he had plenty of sass in his step. I placed him at maybe seventy-five, eighty years old. Still had a lot of fire left in him. I could so tell it. I immediately liked him.
“Hmm, a wager you say?” he repeated. We stopped at the first row of benches. His bushy gray brows closed in on each other as he gave me a mock scowl. “Learned a long time ago to never wager with a Cajun. What sort of wager are you thinkin’ about?”
“No wager,” a voice said behind me.
The voice. The Voice of Butter and Rasp.
I turned to stare directly into a pair of faded-by-the-sun sage eyes. They sort of had a slight sparkle in them. I also noticed he was hatless, with his dark hair cut short but not buzzed. The scruff on his jaw was still present. I smiled.
“Boy, don’t get all bossy with me,” the old guy said. “Sweetheart, what’s your name anyway?” His hand tightened around my bicep.
“This is Memory Thibodeaux,” Jace introduced. His eyes were still on mine. “Memory, this is Jasper McGillis. Old friend of the family.”
“Who you callin’ old, son?” Jasper griped. He looked at me and winked. “Besides. I wager when I want to. Memory, you say?” Jasper let my arm go and held out his hand, and I shook it, and it was remarkably strong. “It’s nice to meet you, young lady. Your parents hippies or something? Never heard a name like that.” I laughed, and he shot a glance at Jace. “I walked her into the complex on the account she don’t like walking into events alone.”
Jace’s expression softened. His lip pulled a little. He was fighting it, though, I could tell. “Is that so?”
I shrugged and held my smile. “It’s a thing I can’t quite seem to get over.” I moved my gaze to Jasper. “Thanks for the escort, handsome. Twenty bucks says my girl out-pitches your boy.”
Jasper winked and shook my hand. “You’re on, girly.”
“Hey, Memory! Up here!”
I turned and shaded my eyes against the late afternoon January sun. Brie and Claire were crammed in between the guys. Crisco had his hat turned around backward. I flipped them a hand then turned back to Jasper. “I’ll meet you at the gate after the game.” Another knickertwister. “To collect my winnings.” I gave a little wave to both him and Jace. “See you later, fellas.” I turned and started up the bleachers, my rubber-soled Converses squeaking against the metal.
“I like that girl,” I heard Jasper say behind me. And that just made me grin even harder. Funny how sometimes you meet a person and have an instant connection. I felt that with Jasper. When I glanced over my shoulder, Jace was watching me. I finished trotting up the bleachers and plopped down next to Crisco. Claire leaned forward.
“Wow, using a helpless old man as bait,” she grinned. “That’s harsh even for you, Mem.”
“Bait?” Crisco said. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of shades, but I know they danced with a goofy shitheadedness that only Crisco could get away with. “What bait?”
My eyes found Jace once more, and he’d taken my place as guide, leading Jasper to a small cluster of people on the bottom row of seats. I recognized his sister, Olivia, as well as Kane McCarthy and Harper Belle. A few others were with them. Just as he helped situate old Jasper into his seat, Jace glanced my way again.
“Memory has her eye on the tow truck guy,” Brie said. “Jace Beaumont. Right down there. Olivia Beaumont’s older brother. Oh, look! He’s staring at you, Mem!”
I knew he was. And I was smiling at him. Just like a bunch of damn high school kids. But I didn’t care. I really, really didn’t. Ole Jace didn’t know what he was up against. That thought alone made me giggle out loud.
“I think she’s going mad,” Conner said. “Listen to her.”
“Nothing new there,” Bentley added.
I stuck my tongue out at them both.
Soon the game kicked up, and the girls were up to bat first. Brax Jenkins was the starting pitcher, and this of course set off a slew of random baseball slurs that only baseball people would know the meaning of. I, being one of them, joined in.
“This guy’s throwing cheese!” I hollered. “Cheddar!”
“Yeah, cheddar!” Crisco joined me. “Throw some cheese!”
Brax’s grin could be seen from the bleachers; wide, bright, and cocky. He spit on the ball, rubbed it in with his fingers, and took his legendary pitching stance: one foot behind, ball hidden in his glove, held even with his chin, and gaze set. With his eyes drawn and locked on the catcher, he gave a short nod, changed up his stance to suit fast pitch softball, gave the batter an intimidating stare, and let the ball sail.
The girl at bat swung and missed. Strike!
Brax’s satisfied yell echoed through the bleachers.
After one more strike, the girl finally got a piece of the ball.
“Get out ball, get out ball!” Bentley yelled.
It fouled twice before she got a double.
Everyone pulling for the girls whooped and whistled.
Finally, after three outs, the girls were on the field, and Sugar took the mound. She whipped a few warm-up pitches to the catcher, Katie Mulligan.
“Holy shit, that girl can throw,” Crisco muttered. “How fast is she now?”
“Last clocked at seventy-eight mph,” I answered, then elbowed him. “Better be careful with her, Richard. She might very well and true knock your lights out.”
He lifted his shades and his eyes danced. “She already has. And don’t call me Richard.”
I could do nothing but laugh.
The innings passed, and when the guys were on the field it was intensely difficult not to admire Brax Jenkins. He was beyond impressive. Which, we already knew, but still. Even under-handed, his God-like arm fired like a rocket. His form truly was amazing, and he was as extreme and wound up as anything I’d ever seen. He was in the middle of hollering good-natured slurs to the girls’ team when my eyes moved from the mound to where Brax’s personal fan group sat. My gaze clashed with Jace’s. For me, on purpose—I was looking for him.
For Jace? I think he’d hoped not to get caught looking.
Our stare hung only momentarily before he returned his attention to the game. He leaned close to Olivia, and she threw back her head and laughed. Jasper elbowed Jace, and Jace must’ve repeated his words to the old guy because he, too, laughed.
Not such a dick after all. Interesting. I’d already had that same thought twice now.
Crisco knocked into me, drawing my attention back to the game. By the end of the ninth inning, I knew Brax had out-pitched Sugar. Not by much, as far as under-handed fast-pitch softball was concerned. Still. I’d just lost my wager and I knew it. I owed Jasper twenty bucks. Once Brax threw his last pitch, and the Brax Fans began yelling and whistling, I leapt up.
“Mem, where’re you going?” Brie asked.
“Yeah, Thibs,” Bentley added, shortening my last name a
s he sometimes did. “Need another tow or something?”
“Up yours, Jameson,” I said smiling. “Meet you chumps in the parking lot.”
As I jogged down the bleachers I noticed the afternoon’s warmth had almost made me too hot beneath my long sleeved shirt. But the sun had descended and now hung just at the skyline above the trees, giving the air a slight chill. Clouds shifted and surged overhead, and I shivered. A storm was coming.
At the gate I waited for Jasper and, sure enough, he arrived with Jace. Just like I’d hoped. I gave them a broad smile.
“Don’t think that pretty little grin is going to get you out of our wager,” Jasper said as they walked up. “I take my bets very serious.”
“Shoot,” I said, reaching into my back pocket. I winked at Jace. “Worth a try, though, don’t you think?” I handed Jasper a twenty, and he grinned as he took it.
“It’d be a downright shame if you didn’t,” Jasper said.
Just then, Brax Jenkins, his arm draped possessively around Olivia Beaumont’s shoulders, swaggered up. The thighs of his uniform were orange from the clay. He’d slid the bases almost every time he took a turn at bat—unusual, since most pitchers weren’t phenomenal hitters. Brax Jenkins seemed to master everything he tried, though. Beside him stood his brother Kane, who had his fingers laced with Harper Belle’s. Brax gave me the once-over, his scarred but unusually attractive face unreadable. He gave a nod. “Memory Thibodeaux, right?”
I nodded. “Decent pitching. I just lost a twenty to Jasper here.”
Brax glanced from me to Jasper, then inclined his head. “Never make a bet with an ex-Ranger.” He gave a cocky grin. “And never bet against my arm. It’s a lose-lose.”
I noticed something in the air—not exactly tense, but more…protective, maybe? Cautious. That’s what it was. Brax, despite the smile and pleasantries, was on the alert. I knew that because I’d been in his shoes before. Funny thing, I knew exactly why he was being cautious.
I had somewhat of a reputation around Winston as being The Party Girl.
