by Anna Cruise
He grabbed a set of keys off the small table in the corner. “Before we sit down, I thought we could take a quick spin around the campus. That sound alright?”
“Sure.”
We headed back to the elevator and he waved at Christina as we passed her on the way out. The phone was pressed to her ear, but she waved back. We climbed into a red and blue golf cart parked next to the building and for the next forty minutes, he gave me the grand tour of the University of Arizona. He showed me the admissions office, the student center, the dormitories, and several classroom buildings. He pointed out their recreation facilities and took me inside the basketball arena and then their weight room and conditioning facilities. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, but I couldn't hide the fact that I was impressed by all of it.
And I liked Coach Childs. He seemed easygoing, with a good sense of humor. He wasn't asking me a ton of questions and he wasn't prying. In fact, we'd talked very little about baseball. There was no pressure.
When we got back to his office, he reached into a small fridge on the side of his desk, handed me a bottle of water and gestured for me to have a seat on the other side of the desk from him.
He unscrewed the cap on his bottle, took a long swallow and set the bottle on the desk. “So. What'd you think?”
I wasn't going to lie or beat around the bush. “I think it all looks pretty great.”
“It's a good school, West,” he said. “Whether you're playing ball here or not, it's a good school with a good reputation. Whatever the future holds for you, I think the school can help.”
“I believe it.”
He leaned back in his chair. “So let me ask the first uncomfortable question of the morning. What did you hear from the pro scouts?”
I took a drink from the water and then held the bottle in my lap. “Three of them called. I haven't spoken to them yet.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No?”
I shook my head. “No. Voicemails and texts. I haven't responded yet.”
“Can I ask why?”
I shifted in the chair. “Everything happened kinda fast. Until yesterday morning, I wasn't even planning on going to that tryout. So I'm not really prepared for all this. Just a lot to take in right now.”
He nodded like he approved. “Good. That's probably the right approach. Though I'll tell you I'm surprised. Most guys get a call from a scout, they trip over themselves to return the call.”
I shrugged. “Probably. But like I said, this has all happened pretty fast .”
“Sure,” he said. “Absolutely understand. Alright. Here's tough question number two. Are you interested in playing college ball? Because if playing here doesn't hold much interest for you and you're strictly interested in going the pro route, then we probably don't need to go much further.”
I spun the water bottle between my hands. “I'm absolutely interested in playing college ball.”
He smiled. “That's what I was hoping you were going to say. So, now here's the million dollar question. Are you interested in playing college ball here at Arizona?”
“I'm interested in playing ball at any school that might want me,” I answered.
“Well, I don't want you talking to any other schools, West,” he said, smiling. “I don't want you playing for any school that wants you. I want you playing for Arizona.”
My stomach jumped. Arizona wanted me to play for them. I could play again. For a big time program. My thoughts rocketed back to the end of my junior year when the offer came in from Stanford. The excitement I'd felt that summer, the belief that my future had officially been secured—I was gonna play ball and get a great education to fall back on. And then it had all gone to shit.
I came back to reality in a hurry. My scholarship at Stanford had been partial. I'd lost any hope of paying for tuition when my dad had gone down with the gambling/embezzlement fiasco. Two years later, I was no closer to having saved enough money to pay for any kind of tuition at any school. Including Arizona.
I swallowed hard. “Okay,” I said. “I'm not really sure what to say here, Coach. Because I want to be honest with you. My scholarship at Stanford didn't happen because it was partial and I wasn't able to come up with the remaining tuition. Right now, I'm working part-time at a baseball academy and I'm going to school full-time. I haven't saved enough money to cover any school expenses. Yet. I'm hoping that in a year...”
Coach Childs held up a hand and I closed my mouth.
“West, I'm sorry,” he said, still smiling. “I wasn't clear. If you can tell me that you'll ignore those pro scouts and not take visits to any other schools, I'm prepared to offer you a full scholarship.”
I stared blankly at Coach Childs, my mouth open.
“That's tuition, books, living expenses, the whole deal,” Childs said, leaning on the desk. “Full ride, no strings.” He smiled. “Other than you come here and mash that ball like you did yesterday.”
I tried to clear my throat so I could speak but my mouth was dry. I coughed and finally managed to speak. “Full ride?”
He nodded. “Full ride, West. Arizona wants you and we're offering you a full ride.”
SEVENTEEN
Abby wasn't in the casita when I returned.
But Annika was. She was stretched out on the couch again, a paperback romance in her hands. She wore a white bikini top and denim shorts that seemed to expose more than they covered.
“Did Casper go with you?” she asked.
I ignored her and dropped the car keys on the dining room table. I fished my phone out of my pocket to text Abby.
“You're as white as a sheet,” Annika continued. “Again.”
I didn't doubt it. I'd driven home from the university in a daze, trying to comprehend what Coach Childs had told me, trying to get a grip on just how quickly everything had changed. I'd come to Arizona for a vacation with my girlfriend's family and somehow it had morphed into the opportunity of a lifetime. The opportunity to get a four-year degree from a good school and play ball for a great college team. After that? Who knew? But I was pretty sure, based on the texts and phone calls that kept coming in—and that I kept refusing to answer—that I had a future playing ball. Professional ball. But I wasn't sure it was an opportunity I was willing to take.
Because of Abby.
My phone vibrated. It was Abby, texting me back.
I'm at the pool.
I walked back to the bedroom, peeling the polo shirt off as I walked. I swung the door shut and stripped out of my shorts, reaching for my swim trunks. I had one foot in when the door flew open.
Annika grinned and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh. Sorry.”
I turned so my ass was facing her. “Jesus, Annika. Knock much?” I pulled the trunks up and tied the drawstring.
“Not like I haven't seen it before.” She paused, then smiled seductively. “Or tasted it.”
My temper flared and I spun around and marched toward her. Everything I was feeling—about school, about baseball, about Abby—exploded and she was the closest outlet. Her eyes widened as she backed up against the wall.
“What the fuck do you want?” I asked. “You want to fuck your sister's boyfriend? Is that it?” I braced both arms against the wall, trapping her.
She bit her lip and looked at me but said nothing.
“Well, guess what?” I sneered. “I'm not interested. Not now. Not ever. So stop fucking following me around. Stop getting in my way and throwing yourself at me. Because I'll drag your ass down to that pool and make you tell Abby—and your parents—just what you've been doing. Again.”
“I don't want you,” she said, spitting the words at me.
“Then stop parading yourself around and acting like you do.” I looked her up and down with contempt. “It's embarrassing. And pathetic.” I dropped my arms and walked out of the bedroom, not bothering to look back.
“I don't want you, West Montgomery,” she called, her voice angry.
I turned around and stared at her. “No
? Then what is this, Annika? Tell me. What the hell are you trying to do here?”
“I don't know what you're talking about--”
But I didn't let her finish. “You waltz around half-naked. You get in the way of me and Abby. And then you waltz in on me, naked.What the hell am I supposed to think?”
She stood in the doorway of the bedroom she was sharing with Abby—the same bedroom I'd slept in when we'd first gotten there—and stared at me. There was that look on her face again, the same look she'd worn when I'd first confronted her on the sidewalk outside of the pool.
“What?” I snapped.
“I don't know how to be,” she said, her voice soft.
I folded my arms across my chest and stared hard at her.
“I don't know how to be,” she repeated. “I'm trying.”
“Trying to do what?” I asked. “Piss me off? Get me to sleep with you? Convince your sister to forget the truce and go back to hating your guts? You've got two out of three pretty much nailed. And fucking me isn't one of them.”
She winced. “That's not what I meant.” She sighed and brought her finger to her mouth. Absently, she began to chew on her nail. “I don't want Abby to hate me. Or you.”
“No?” I laughed harshly. “You're not doing a very good job in that department.”
Before she could say anything else, I stormed out. She didn't say anything and she didn't follow me. I inhaled deeply as I stepped outside, the heat of the day slamming into me. I'd been a complete and total asshole to Abby's sister. Again. Not that she didn't deserve it but I knew the real reason I'd lashed out at her. And it had nothing to do with her probing questions or her walking in on me naked. I could handle Annika.
What I couldn't handle was the conversation I'd just had with Coach Childs.
My steps, painfully slow, didn't match my breathing as I headed toward the pool. The sun beat down on me, the breeze nonexistent. I could hear people at the pool—kids splashing and shrieking in the water, the low murmur of other voices. I knew it would be packed down there. And I knew Abby would want a full report of my meeting. Her parents, too.
I tried to take a couple of deep breaths, get myself under control, but it didn't help. All I could think about was what I was being offered. And what was at stake. Take the offer from Arizona and play ball, be in a good position to move to playing professionally after graduating. But leave Abby. Turn down Coach Childs and head back to San Diego, back to fucking Mesa and coaching kids at the Academy. But stay with Abby.
There were other variables to consider but, when push came to shove, that was pretty much what it boiled down to. I gulped more air and swallowed it down, trying to calm my racing pulse.
I knew what my heart wanted.
I just wasn't sure my head was in full agreement.
EIGHTEEN
“It's a no-brainer, West.”
We were back in the casita, sitting across from each other at the dining room table. Abby was munching on chips and salsa her mom had set out, drinking a diet Coke. Mine sat unopened in front of me.
I'd filled her in on my meeting with Coach Childs. Her parents had asked how it had gone and I'd been purposefully vague with them because I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I'd just said the meeting had gone okay. They either accepted that or sensed that I didn't want to talk about it because they hadn't asked me anything else about it.
Abby, however, did not follow their lead and was all over it.
She grabbed a chip and dunked it in the bowl of salsa. “This is what you've been wanting,” she said. “What you should have had two years ago. And yeah, it's not the same school as before, but still. It'll give you the opportunity you deserve.”
She was saying all of the right things, all of the things I'd expect her to say. But I could hear the words she wasn't speaking. It was all there. In her eyes, in her expression, hell, even in the tone of her voice.
She didn't want me to go.
“I can't believe they're going to pay for everything.” She took a sip of her soda. “I mean, that is incredible.”
I played with the tab on the soda, barely lifting it with my thumb nail.
“West.”
I didn't look up.
“West.”
Abby was staring at me.
“What?”
“I've been talking for, I don't know, an hour? You haven't said a single word.”
“It's been five minutes.”
“Well, it feels like an hour.” She smiled. “Talk to me.”
I shrugged. “I don't have anything to say.”
Abby frowned. “What do you mean, you don't have anything to say?”
I spun the can of soda on the table, the beads of moisture making it slide easily across the wooden surface. “I mean that I've told you everything. There's nothing new to say.”
She sighed and reached her hand across the table, covering mine, bringing the spinning can to a stand still. “There's a lot to say. I want to know what you're going to do. When all of this is going to happen. Do you move here immediately? Like, next week? Or later in the summer?”
I pulled my hand away. “I never said I was taking it.”
She stared at me blankly. “What?”
I finally popped open the can and took a long drink. The bubbles burned my dry throat. “You heard me.”
She opened her mouth to respond, her eyes wide, but the door to her parents bedroom opened and both her mom and dad emerged. They'd changed out of their swim suits and were both wearing shorts and polos, red for her dad, a light purple for her mom.
“We're going to grab some lunch,” her mom said.
She'd pulled her hair into a ponytail and, with a fresh tan and little make-up, she looked like a slightly older version of her daughters. I stared at her, probably a little longer than I should have. Not because I had the hots for her but because it was like looking into the future with Abby. But it was a future that suddenly didn't seem quite so certain.
Her dad grabbed his visor and settled it on his head. “You guys want to come? We're headed to that salad place.” He patted his stomach. “Need to watch what I'm eating.”
His wife leaned against him and kissed his cheek. “No you don't,” she told him. “You're perfect.”
He turned into her and kissed her swiftly on the lips. “No. You are.”
Annika strolled into the kitchen, a ridiculous straw hat perched on top of her head. “I don't know if I can stand any more PDAs.”
Her dad shot her a look and then grabbed his wife, kissing her again.
Annika rolled her eyes. “Awesome. Not.” She pulled a pack of gum from her matching straw purse and unwrapped a piece. “Are we doing lunch or not?”
“We are,” her mom said, pulling away and straightening her shirt. She looked at me and Abby. “You two want to join us?”
I immediately shook my head no. The last thing I wanted was to sit at a table with the four of them and field more questions about next fall. And I certainly didn't want Annika barging in on the conversation.
Annika smirked. “I'm pretty sure I know what's on their agenda this afternoon...”
Abby's cheeks flamed red.
“They have a lot to talk about,” Mr. Sellers said, his voice firm. He stared hard at his daughter. Annika, not Abby. “Let's go.” Then he turned to me and said, “I don't think I have to tell you what I do—and don't—expect from you while we're gone.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Abby and I both watched as the three of them gathered wallets and purses and cell phones. Annika was the last to file through the front door, her short white skirt swaying as she walked. She turned around and smiled sweetly at us. “Have fun talking.”
The door closed and Abby picked up immediately where she'd left off. “Tell me.”
I shifted in my chair, my fingers drumming on the table. “I never said I was taking it,” I repeated.
“Why wouldn't you? We've already established that this is an amazing opportunity.
It's not something you walk away from.”
“I know.”
She picked up a chip, studied it, then dropped it back in the bowl. “Is this because of me?”
I didn't answer right away.
Abby cleared her throat. “You can't walk away from this because of me.” Her voice was even, controlled. But it didn't matter. She couldn't hide what she was feeling, what she was thinking. Not from me. “Tucson isn't that far from San Diego. We can make it work. If you want to.”
I shook my head. “If I want to?” I glared at her. “You're the only thing I want, Abby.”
“That's not true,” she said. She picked up the can of soda but didn't drink it. “You want to play baseball. You've wanted to for a long time. You need to give it a shot, West. See what happens.” She hesitated. “I want you to do it.”
“No, you don't.”
Her eyes shot to mine and I could tell she was pissed. “Don't tell me what I do or don't want.”
“I know you,” I said, my voice low. “I hear what you're telling me. But it's not what you're saying. I can see it in your eyes. Hear it in your voice. Tell by the way you're sitting there. It's not what you want.” It was my turn to reach across the table for her hand. “And it's not what I want, either.”
