Lennon doesn’t answer Jake, not that I expect her to. I, like everyone else in our small huddle, know exactly why she made that comment. And I don’t think it’s a promising sign all it took was exchanging five words with me for her to feel that way. She heads in the direction of the kitchen, with Cassie right behind her.
I drain the end of my beer. “I’m going to the bathroom.” I stalk down the hallway to the restroom. Miraculously, there’s no line. After I wash my hands, I stare at myself in the mirror for a minute. I’ve never had any issues with confidence when it comes to girls. Because I just . . . was. Confident. But something about Lennon Matthews disarmed me from the very first time I saw her. Maybe it was how she made it clear she didn’t find my smile all that charming or my last name the least bit impressive. Maybe it’s how I never doubted she would dish anything I said right back.
I mean, I’m literally hiding from her right now.
With an impatient sigh, I shove away from the sink and leave the bathroom to head back down the hallway. More people have arrived in my absence, and I have to maneuver my way through them to reach the kitchen for another beer. I finished my first, but that’s not why I’m in here. I’m looking for Lennon. And she’s standing by the sink. Talking to Ryan James, of all people.
I grab another bottle of beer, and then slam the fridge door closed a bit harder than is necessary. My gaze stays fixed on nothing but the condensation dripping down the side of the brown glass as I head back into the living room, taking a seat on the couch to the right of the fireplace. After a couple minutes of solitude, Colt makes his way over.
He sinks down on the soft cushions beside me. “Reunion not all you were hoping for?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, taking a long swig of beer.
“Don’t bother, Winters. It’s pretty fucking obvious how you feel about her.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, drinking more beer.
“You planning to do anything about it?”
I make a purposefully unintelligible sound, and Colt sighs before standing and leaving the living room. It only takes a few seconds for Poppy Tisdale to fill his empty seat. She asks me a few questions about college, and then launches into a long description of the sorority she joined, clearly thrilled to have what appears to be my undivided attention. I’m paying attention, but I’m definitely not focused on her. Especially once Robin Jones joins us on the small couch and starts to jabber away about her own sorority experience.
But I sure act like I’m exclusively focused on them when Lennon enters the room. I’m not proud of it. But my pride is still smarting from watching her in the kitchen with Ryan, and it’s a hell of a lot easier to pretend I’m listening to what Poppy and Robin are saying than having to meet the hazel eyes that always see too much.
By the time I finish my third beer, which Robin helpfully provides, I’m feeling pretty damn good. The turkey sandwich I wolfed down is no longer absorbing much alcohol, if any, and I’ve hit that sweet spot where colors seem a little brighter and jokes a little funnier, before the world turns hazy and anything anyone says sounds amusing. The crowd around me has grown, hanging on to my every word as I describe the slip and slide I set up the first week of classes for the whole baseball team.
About halfway through my story, Jake appears. “Caleb, I need to talk to you. Right now.”
His serious tone would have been enough to get my attention, but his use of my first name ensures it. I stand up immediately and follow Jake into the front hallway. “What’s going on?” I ask urgently.
“Not here,” he replies, veering to the right. Jake slides open a glass door, and steps out onto the back deck that overlooks the expansive backyard. There’s about ten people standing on it, and several more standing on the patio that melds into the covered pool.
“What is it?” I insist.
“I need one more person for pick-up,” Jake responds.
I stare at him for a minute. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.” The serious exterior falls away. “Come on, Winters,” he pleads. “Your fan club will still be around later.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with my fan club,” I reply. “I took a three hour exam this morning and then flew four hours. I don’t want to play baseball right now.”
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice says. “You’re blocking the door.”
I keep my gaze straight ahead, but know the grin spreading across Jake’s face means he’s recognized the voice as well. “Lennon.” He turns to face her. “Any interest in a ball game?”
“You just said there is only one spot,” I point out.
“You just said you weren’t going to play,” Jake shoots back.
Lennon ignores our side commentary. “I’ll pass,” she replies. “I was just leaving.”
“Bummer,” Jake responds. “I seem to recall you enjoying games. Or was it only Truth or Dare?”
I send him a warning glare for that comment, but Lennon beats me to a verbal response. “I’m sure you can convince Caleb to play. Although he doesn’t seem to be very daring tonight.”
I forget about Jake. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Lennon shrugs, and gives me an infuriatingly serene smile. “Awfully easy to just sit on the couch and get fawned over all night.”
“Jealous, Matthews?”
“You wish, Winters,” she scoffs. And I do. I’d love to know she still cares. “I should have known that’s exactly how you’d act. Lapping up the attention.”
“Well, we can’t all be like you, Lennon. Not needing anything. Or anyone.” Yeah . . . that was the wrong thing to say. Lennon’s expression makes it clear she’s veered away from annoyed and is en route to pretty pissed off.
“Come on, Winters. Let’s just head to the field. We can’t play without you.” I’m fairly certain Jake is regretting lulling me out here under false pretenses by this point.
“Maybe I didn’t want to ‘need’ someone who was about to leave for god knows how long,” Lennon retorts.
“Yeah, how dare I go to college,” I reply, no longer bothering to pretend we’re talking about anyone but ourselves.
“That’s not what I—” Lennon starts, but I don’t let her finish.
“You knew exactly where I was going, and for how long. You decided everything else,” I inform her.
“I didn’t decide a damn thing, Caleb. It was just the way things were.” Lennon breaks eye contact with me and looks to Jake. “Actually, I will play.”
I know Jake’s serious expression isn’t faked this time. He looks to me, panicked, and I know Lennon catches it. She snorts, and strides back inside the house.
“Fuck,” I curse. “Let’s go.”
The couple dozen guys Jake already drafted for the game are already waiting on the lawn to head over to the field, but once it becomes clear I’m playing, the house pretty much empties out. It’s only a five minute walk to the high school, and I’m hit with another powerful wave of nostalgia when we arrive at the baseball field. I haven’t been back to Landry High since graduation six months ago, and the groomed stretch of grass and dirt that comprises the baseball field brings back a lot of beatific memories. Not all of them involving the sport.
Jake designates himself as one captain, and I’m offered up as the other. I pick Colt first; Jake picks Luke. Almost everyone I recall being at Luke’s house has made the trek over to the field, and the pool of prospects has grown with the number of spectators. Rather than just old teammates, my team fills out with an eclectic assortment. Jake gives me five chances before he picks Lennon. I’m sure that’s her preference, and I’ve already experienced enough rejection from Lennon Matthews.
We grab equipment from the shed tucked between the bleachers and the school, and then the game begins. My team takes the field first, and it’s fairly obvious to everyone I’ll end up being the pitcher. It’s strange, stepping onto the mound I’ve spent so much time atop. Like coming home, only to realize
it’s a place I’ve outgrown.
Robin Jones is the first one up at bat for the opposing team, her eyes just as wide and inviting as they were on the couch. “I just swing and hit it, right?” she calls to me.
I nod, chewing on the inside of my mouth to hide the smirk that wants to form when I see Lennon roll her eyes.
Robin swings, but she doesn’t hit the ball I send flying her way. Colt is playing catcher, and I know he’s capable of handling anything I throw at him. Literally.
They’re nowhere near what my arm is capable of, but I lob two more pitches fast enough I know Robin won’t be capable of connecting with them. She flashes me a disappointed, yet sultry smile before handing over the bat to Ryan James.
Normally, I’m ambivalent towards Ryan. I’ve always gotten the sense he’s envious of me, and so I generally make a point not to engage with him if I can avoid it. But this time it’s different. I’m jealous of him. I don’t think Lennon is actually interested in Ryan, but I’m not about to pass up the opportunity to make him look like a fool after watching them chatting in the kitchen like old friends earlier.
The first pitch I throw isn’t quite my top gear, but it’s close to it. Much closer than a pick-up game requires. Colt definitely notices, raising one eyebrow before tossing the baseball back to me. Ryan swung two seconds too late on the first throw, and I can tell he’s a bit wary of my next pitch based on the way he takes his time setting up his batting pose. He’s a decent athlete, but I’m better. And we’re playing my game.
Rather than another fastball, I send the curveball I spent junior year perfecting Ryan’s way for the next pitch. His reaction is faster this time, but the angle is wrong. The ball whizzes past the bat and lands in Colt’s glove with a satisfying smack. The most beautiful sound in the world.
Ryan’s angry now. It’s obvious to me. And it’s obvious to everyone else watching. I allow myself a small grin behind the shield of my glove before I toss another fastball his way. Not my top speed, but almost. And more than enough power to ensure he doesn’t have a chance to connect.
“Guess you did earn that scholarship, Winters,” Ryan calls out. His voice is teasing, but there’s a hard note not far underneath any amusement.
I don’t bother to reply to him, because I’m preoccupied by the fact that he’s handing the bat to Lennon. Shit. I was hoping two straight outs would push this back one inning at least. Maybe two. Maybe never, if we grew a commanding enough lead, which I’m certain we will. No one here is going to be able to hit off me.
Right now, I’m quite annoyed with Lennon Matthews. But I still experience a rush of pride as she moves to stand at home plate. Because she adopts a stance identical to the one I taught her during our baseball lessons senior year. She paid attention. She remembered.
Once again, I’m grateful for the cover my glove provides. I don’t have a lot of time to decide how I’m going to play this. People paid close attention to me striking out Ryan, but it was nothing compared to the scrutiny I can feel on me now. This is primetime entertainment. The longer I hesitate, the worse it will get.
I’m irritated with Lennon, but I can’t make myself throw the ball much harder than a gentle toss. It’s a throw Ryan would have knocked a couple hundred yards. That Robin probably would have at least made contact with. Lennon comes close, but she doesn’t tap the baseball. However, she realizes I took it easy on her. I can tell by the way her hazel eyes narrow at me.
Colt tosses the baseball back into my glove, and I falter again. I’ve spent over a decade learning how to send the ball exactly where I want it to. I know I could hurl it whizzing past Lennon before she even batted an eye. But I can’t do it. I want her to have a chance to hit it. And I’m also recalling the sight of blood dripping down her nose three years ago. If she moves abruptly . . . I’m scared of hitting her.
So I lob her another softball, one she doesn’t even attempt to hit. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she yells loud enough for every last outfielder to hear.
That’s all it takes for the two people who weren’t paying attention to us to join the dozens who already were.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I call back. “You can’t hit the ball if you don’t even bother swinging, Matthews.”
“I can’t hit a ball that takes ten minutes to reach home plate, either,” Lennon retorts.
“Here, I can help.” Ryan says loudly as he steps forward and crowds next to Lennon. He whispers something to her as I grind my teeth. She doesn’t encourage him, but she doesn’t push him away either.
Fuck it. I throw the third strike as soon as she looks to me, poised to hit the ball. But unlike the last two, she doesn’t have a prayer of doing so. I don’t check my speed or force, all I bother to do is ensure the ball is as far away from her as possible while remaining in the pocket. The sound of leather hitting leather seems to resonate around the field, and I give Colt an apologetic look. Even with the glove, I doubt his hand is feeling too great right now.
Lennon looks stunned. She asked for it, but I don’t think she expected for me to deliver. And I know she doesn’t understand baseball well enough to grasp the nuance of what I just did. I drop my glove on the mound for the next pitcher, and then walk to what’s become the unofficial bench for my chance to bat. I make a point to skirt the edge of the field, so I don’t encounter anyone on the other team.
“I’m going to have a bruise tomorrow,” Colt mutters to me as we file inside the dugout.
“Sorry. Didn’t meant to throw that hard.”
“Yeah, you did.”
I don’t deny it as our first player heads to hit Jake’s pitch. The game proceeds, but it’s lopsided. The teams are pretty evenly matched, aside from me. No one on the opposing team can manage to hit a single ball I throw, not even Luke or Jake, which means we score run after run, and remain unchallenged.
Luke has had his fill after three innings. “Let Adams pitch, Winters!”
Normally, I would resist being replaced. But right now? I could care less. I lost my pleasant buzz a while ago, and most of the people watching and playing are oblivious to the fact I’m throwing pitches that most college players would have a hard time hitting.
“Fine.” I stride towards home plate, barely pausing to toss the baseball to Colt as we switch places. He stops at the mound, and I hover behind home plate, readjusting to the new vantage point.
“Matthews! You’re up,” Jake yells. She’s not. Robin Jones is next in the order. I glance over at Jake, as he grins at me. I don’t know whether to be grateful or pissed about his interference.
Lennon’s long, denim-clad legs approach me, and I totally forget about Jake’s meddling. She’s close to me. Really close. Closer than we’ve been for six months. And I know she realizes it, too. Lennon’s lips are a terse line and her shoulders are tensed.
She misses Colt’s first two pitches, the second of which is an obvious ball. I call it, and he rolls his eyes.
Lennon readjusts her position, and I can’t help myself. “Drop your right shoulder.”
She does, along with her left. So she can lower the bat and glare at me. “You’re giving me batting instructions?”
“You didn’t seem to mind last time.” Lennon’s cheeks are pink, but I’m not sure if it’s in response to the cold or my comment. It’s just occurring to me, now that the alcohol and adrenaline are wearing off, that it’s fairly chilly out.
“Speak for yourself,” she responds.
“Fine. I didn’t mind how you responded last time.” I stand, abandoning my position so I can move behind her. I shift slowly, giving her time to move away if she wants to. She doesn’t, and it prompts a potent flash of déjà vu as I recall the way she reacted the last time this happened in this very spot. She doesn’t kiss me this time, but she does shiver as I reposition her to hit the ball. And she does. It’s the first time I’ve ever been happy to see an opposing player hit the ball, and I don’t bother to hide the stupid grin on my face watching her jog to first
base.
Despite the other team managing to hit Colt’s pitches, the game winds down pretty quickly after that. It’s late, I don’t know exactly what time, but I fight back a yawn as I massage my right shoulder. I’m going to feel those pitches tomorrow.
People start to depart in waves, but Lennon’s not one of them. She leans against one of the posts of the dugout, not even pretending to talk to anyone. I help Jake return the baseballs, bats, and gloves back to the shed, and then take my time returning to the field, hands in my pockets. The field’s almost empty now, just a few stragglers still here. Mostly my friends. And hers. None of them are oblivious to social cues, and they disappear pretty fast once it becomes clear we’re waiting on purpose.
Even once we’re alone, she still doesn’t say anything.
“It’s nice to see you,” I finally state. Lame, but true. “Been a while.”
“I’m in love with you.” The words are matter of fact.
I have a little sympathy for how Lennon must have felt when I dropped the same declaration on her. I know I surprised her, but surprised doesn’t really cover how I’m feeling right now. I don’t know what I’m feeling.
It takes me at least a minute to regain the ability to speak, and once I do I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, huh?”
“I already felt this way before you left, Caleb.” Another shocker.
“You did?” She nods, then bites her bottom lip. “So . . . ”
I don’t have to finish my thought. “I know you said you were going to come back. I believed that you believed that. But . . . ” She didn’t believe I was coming back. It’s so obvious, the words might as well be scrawled across her face. “You only lived here for four years, Caleb. Your grandfather is gone. Your parents are hardly ever here. You don’t even like horses! There’s nothing pulling you back here.”
The Hard Way Home Page 25
