by Teagan Kade
Like you got off any lighter.
The Hellcats were on track for a fourth championship, but even now, watching them, I see a team torn apart. It’s a close comp this year. There’s no way they’re going to pull it off without Leon and I. It sounds arrogant, but it’s true.
What the fuck happened? I ask myself. Everything was going so well. I had it all… only to piss it away because I let Leon get to me.
I sit there shaking my head, trying in some strange, physical way to bring sense back into it. All it does is give me a headache.
I slink around campus like a fucking ghost. I skip classes, not that I was big on attendance before, but this is different. I let her do this to me, turn me into something I swore I’d never be again.
Weak.
You know that’s not true.
Do I? The small sliver of sense I do have tells me that little voice is right. I took it too far. I let my frustration given what Leon told me boil over, and I took that frustration and anger out on the one person who deserved it the least.
What I told Willow was true. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. The bile poured right on out, my caustic words tearing her apart, and the worst part? I was enjoying it, enjoying the power I lacked growing up, the power I so desperately wanted.
And what’s it brought you, huh?
Pain and fucking misery. I’m back to square one, worse now I can’t play and train.
The more I think about, the more I realize how immature my actions were. Willow did nothing wrong. There was no good reason to lash out at her like that. Hell, or Leon. The guy was drunk as a fucking ship’s cat, probably high, too. I let him get under my skin. True, I didn’t know about him and Willow, but who the fuck cares? That was the past. So what she didn’t tell me? She was under no obligation to.
I sit here and consider everything in the same seat she sat in weeks ago. She probably thought I couldn’t see her all the way up here, but she was hard to miss, even at this distance, her copper hair floating in the breeze.
Clearly, I need to do something. I need to claw back some semblance of the life I had, but how? I doubt she’ll take my calls, and face-to-face? That wouldn’t work. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe the thing she needs the most is distance—distance and time.
But Leon? I take a deep breath. I don’t know if I can do it, but I do know I can’t let what happened between us be the end of it. We’ve been through a lot together. I should at least offer him the chance to explain.
Start with him, I tell myself. Start with him and go from there.
*
It’s not hard to track Leon down. Any time he needs to get away, he goes to one place.
The batting cages are right at the back of campus, a rarely used area surrounded by trees and foliage on every side. It’s a kind of secret baseball glen few know about except local kids and town teenagers looking for a quiet place to get into each other’s pants.
A couple of kids are playing in one cage, barely old big enough to swing a bat. Leon’s in the other with a bucket of balls, pitching them one by one into the rear of the cage where they strike with a psht against the metal.
He’s suspended. He shouldn’t be on campus grounds at all, but I’m not going to do anything about it. Not today.
Sensing my presence, he turns, ball in hand. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
I nod down at the bucket of balls. “Practicing your fastball?”
He pitches the ball in his hand and selects another. “I’ve got to do something. Fucking soup kitchen is driving me insane. I’m never going to pick up another ladle in my life after this.”
He goes to pitch and stops, looking to me. His eyes are still ringed black from the fight. Even the shadow of the cap he’s wearing doesn’t hide it. “Look, if you’ve come to here to start something, you can fuck right off.”
I grip the fencing, watching him through it. “Actually, I came here to apologize.”
He laughs, tossing the ball up into the air. “Really?”
“Really. The way I reacted…”
Leon catches the ball and lets it fall from his hand into the bucket. He crosses his arms. “I may have provoked you.” He pinches his fingers together. “Just a little. I was fucked up, man. It’s no excuse, but I was tripping hard. I would have fought a fucking bear.”
I smile. “I fixed your nose up at least.”
He smiles back. “You’re a fucking prick.”
“Says the biggest jerk-off on campus. I think we can agree it wasn’t our best hour, though what you said about Willow…”
Leon grips the fence and looks down at his shoes. “Six shots of tequila and a couple of lines will do that to you, loosen your tongue so much the shit slips right on out. Fuck. I don’t even know why I brought it up.” He looks up. “You want the truth?”
“No, I want you to lie to me.”
He smirks. “I’m jealous.”
I let go of the mesh and stand back. “Jealous?”
He shakes his head, staring sideways into the distance. “I don’t know. She’s a catch, always has been. I certainly didn’t treat her right.”
“But what you said was true?”
“Yeah, but who cares? That was years ago. Everyone’s allowed to change.”
I shake my head back. “Leon Hunter speaking sense. Who would have thought it?”
Leon nods to the back of the cage. “You going to get in here or am I going to have to keep pitching fastballs at the fence?”
I come around to the front of the cage. “Hey, kid.”
A boy standing at the back of the cage beside us turns, his eyes lighting up when he sees me. “Holy shit! Its Asher Slade.”
I lift my cap up a little. “The one and only. Mind if I borrow one of your bats there. How about the Easton?”
The other two boys in the cage are now watching.
“Sure,” the boy nods.
I take the bat and head to the back of the cage, setting myself up for Leon’s fastball.
The boys stop what they’re doing and gather around, watching with gleeful faces.
Leon pitches. It’s fast—real fucking fast. It slips off the end of the bat and spirals up into the roof of the cage behind me.
I blow out. “Okay. I’ll let you have that one.”
He pitches again. This time I’m ready. I drive it home hard, almost nailing him in the process.
He laughs. “There are easier ways to take me out.”
I bring my bat up again. “But none quite so fitting.”
He pitches and I send it into the side of the cage, the boys jumping back with a wondrous “Whoa!”.
It feels good to have a bat in my hand again.
“What was she like, really, back then?” I ask. I don’t know why I am. Perhaps I’m looking for an in, a way to put things right with her.
Leon stops. “I’ve given you the worst of it, but you should know she didn’t leave town right away. Her parents had to sell up first. It took a couple of weeks. She barely left the house, became real lonely and closed off-like. We kind of spoke, on and off. I didn’t want anyone to know, but I felt shitty for what happened between us, and for the party thing. Like I said, I could have treated her better.”
I lift my bat, but the next pitch is way off, barely within striking distance. It sails into the side of the cage.
“You know the funny thing?” continues Leon. “Her parents got her this fucking teddy bear to cheer her up—a giant, ugly-as-fuck green thing she named Mr. Slimey. I kid you not.”
“Mr. Slimey?” I query.
Leon shrugs. “Don’t ask me, but yeah. She sent me a picture of it, loved the damn thing from what I remember. She lost it right before they moved, was really cut about it.”
An idea occurs to me. “You still have the picture?”
“Of the teddy?” He lifts an eyebrow, juggling the ball. “Yeah, I guess.” He pulls out his cell and starts thumbing through the screen. “Here. I can’t believe I still have it.”
/>
I come forward and take the cell with one hand. Willow looks younger in the picture, but there’s no question it’s her. She’s in her PJs hugging what is indeed an ugly-ass teddy bear with an evil, nightmare-clown grin and overly beady eyes. I forward the pic to myself.
I pass the cell back and head back down to the rear of the cage, bringing up the bat.
“What are you going to do?” asks Leon.
“Embarrass you with this next swing, that’s what.”
Leon sniggers, looking to the boys for support. “Hear that, boys? That’s the sound of a desperate man, but you asked for it…”
He draws back, but I know every one of his pitches inside out. I brace a moment before he fires.
I collect the ball so hard the bat splits in two, splinters of it flying off into the sides of the cage.
A shocked gasp goes up from the boys.
“Jesus,” stammers Leon.
I come forward, the boys running in.
The boy who was batting runs forward to collect what’s left of his bat. He doesn’t look angry. In fact, he’s quite the opposite, staring down at the splintered wood in wonder. I pass it over and take out my wallet, thumbing him out a couple of hundreds. “Buy yourself something nice, a DeMarini, yeah?”
He can’t speak, simply nodding and dashing off with his friends presumably to the nearest sports store.
I stand in front of Leon, hands in my pockets. “Are we good?”
He nods. “We’re good.”
“You’ve got to give up dealing,” I tell him. “Even you’ve got to admit that was a close fucking call.”
He nods. “I know, brother. I know, but it’s the only way.”
I lean against the cage. “What are you talking about?”
He looks to the sky again. “I mean, Dad’s been done for fraud and my family’s fucking broke. The money I get from dealing is the only thing allowing me to stay in this shithole.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”
Leon shakes his head. “I don’t want charity. It’s not the Hunter way. It doesn’t matter anyhow. I’m suspended. Things are fucked.”
“You’re suspended, not expelled. Get a job. It’s not the end of the world, and for fuck’s sake promise me you’ll give up dealing before you wind up in a different kind of cage.”
He seems to take it in, but whether he’ll act on my advice is questionable. “I’ll stick to the booze. It’s cheaper.”
“But no more tequila, I presume?”
He smiles. “Never. Fucking. Again.”
“That’s what you said about vodka,” I remind him.
“And Scotch,” he smiles back.
“And bourbon.”
He stands there nodding, no more words required.
“You think Coach misses us?” he asks.
“Misses us?” I laugh. “Hell yes he does. Like a fat kid misses fucking cake.”
*
Back home, cell in hand, I start to search online. I soon discover Mr. Slimey is indeed one slippery character. Only six hours and three beers later do I find what I’m looking for.
I tap the screen. “Gotcha.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WILLOW
I yawn, deathly tired after a string of labs. Medical this and that swims around in my already overcrowded head. I can’t say I really understand how anyone makes it through pre-med given the mountain of information you’re expected to remember. Once more, my scholarship seems to hang in the balance.
It’s an hour before sunset, the low light turning the sandstone buildings around the quad golden.
I see Amy walking towards me. “Heading out?” I ask, hoping to have the room to myself again tonight.
“If everything goes to plan,” she winks, continuing to walk on.
Weirdo.
The dorm’s emptying out as people gear up for extra-curricular activities, but not me, no. I intend to have a quiet night in with a miniature tub of cookies-and-cream and a one Mr. Husain A. Sattar, author of the wonderfully engaging tome Fundamentals of Pathology.
Joy.
I notice the door to my room is slightly ajar. Damn Amy. This is the third time she’s done this in as many months.
I push the door open and immediately notice two things out of place.
One, there is a giant green teddy on my bed that bears a striking resemblance to my beloved, and long lost, Mr. Slimey. Two, a guy who bears a striking resemblance to Asher is holding said teddy. The juxtaposition between the two is so comical I almost crack up laughing until I remind myself how mad I am.
“Welcome,” says Asher. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.” He pats Mr. Slimey on the head. “We were just getting better acquainted.”
There’s a cut above Asher’s left eye, but otherwise he seems pretty unscathed.
I put my bag down but remain standing by the door. “Did you send Amy away?”
He nods. “Cost me fifty bucks. It seems I’m bleeding money lately.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nevermind.”
Cautiously, I come forward and pick up Mr. Slimey. Just the texture of him brings back so many memories—simultaneously cruel and comforting. “How did you know about…?”
“Mr. Slimey?” Asher finishes. “I really want to hear the story behind that name, by the way, but to answer your question, it was Leon.”
“Leon?” I question, bemused.
“We made up, buried the hatchet, so to speak.”
This is the last thing I expected. “You did?”
He nods again, sincere. “It wasn’t easy, nor was finding your friend here. It seems his kind have become something of a collector’s item.”
“Is it…?”
“The actual Mr. Slimey?” He lifts his shoulders. “I don’t know, but I thought it might help, a small token to get me through the door.”
“So you can have another go at me? Tell me how I’m just another girl who you screwed over, another big brag.”
He puts his hands up, standing. “I’ve thought long and hard about that night and I want you to know I didn’t mean what I said in the slightest. I was angry, but not at you. I was angry at myself. I took it out on you and I hope, somehow, some way, you can forgive me.”
“Why should I?”
He comes forward. “Because you mean the world to me, Willow. It’s like I can’t fucking breathe without you.”
“Words, Asher. Just words.”
He takes hold of Mr. Slimey, pulling the bear in front of himself and speaking in a baby voice. “Please forgive us?”
I almost break into a smile at the absurdity of it. I want to, but I remain firm. “That’s not fair. Besides, do you know how hurtful what you said was? Never in my life…”
He places Mr. Slimey aside and reaches for me. “I want to be with you, Willow. That’s all I know, and I fucked up, yes. I fucked up bad and I don’t know if I can repair that, but I want to try. Let me try, please. I’m begging you.”
A hot tear runs down my cheek. Maybe it’s from seeing Mr. Slimey again, maybe it’s all the bottled up emotion overflowing, but I can’t bring myself to look up, to look into his eyes.
“Please,” he begs.
Now he’s here, the tirade I had planned is lost. “Where did you find him?”
Asher follows my eyes. “Mr. Slimey? Kansas.”
“Kansas?” I stammer. “That’s got to be a…”
“Nine-hour drive, yes. I got back this morning.”
“You drove to Kansas for Mr. Slimey?”
He nods. “I did, and I’d do it again. I’d drive to the damn Moon and back just to see you smile again.”
Curse you, Asher Slade. I’m slipping.
“I bought it off this cute four-foot nanna type. We sat out on her porch drinking milk and eating cookies. I kid you not. Once I told her I played baseball, well… ‘My son played baseball, my nephew this, my friend Gladice’s husband’… I’m sure you can fill in the rest. I’ll
tell you one thing, though. For an innocent old lady, Grandma sure knew how to drive a hard bargain. She wouldn’t let Mr. Slimey here go for anything less than four figures.”
I’m exploding with laughter inside. I let the smallest of smiles slip. “Four figures? So you’ll be living off bread and water for the next few weeks then, I take it?”
He smiles back, rubbing my arms. “Something like that.”
I’ve missed his touch. I’ve missed this Asher. “Why? Why should I?”
“Because you know we’re not done. I was a fucking idiot. I admit that freely, but don’t let one night determine the rest of our lives.”
Now, I laugh. “Are you proposing?”
He gets down on one knee. “If that’s what it takes. Fuck it. Mr. Slimey can be best man.”
I laugh in full, the tension easing. I pull him up. “Okay, okay.”
“Is that a yes?” he beams, lifting me up and spinning us around.
He stops to look at Mr. Slimey. “I don’t know how I feel about letting him watch, though.”
I play with the bottom of Asher’s shirt, his jeans tented out below with an obvious erection. “Don’t worry. He knows there’s only room for one man in my life.”
*
It doesn’t take long for us to find our groove again. Sadly, our impending afternoon romp is interrupted by Amy, who had forgotten her purse. When she sees Asher standing there, in no way trying to hide his hard-on, I think she might have had some kind of an epileptic fit, complete with twitchy eye.
The mood dims somewhat when she leaves, so we decide to visit the home instead, catch up with the kids. It’s Asher’s idea.
The second Asher is through the door, the kids go crazy. They pile onto him into a giant stack of little arms and legs, Asher trapped somewhere underneath, a smile of such overwhelming joy on his face you’d think he’d just been made a Major League MVP.
“Where have you been, Ash-ah?” asks Tyler, looking resplendent today in a Spiderman tee and matching tutu. I love how kids are gender neutral. In my experience, boys Tyler’s age are just as happy playing with Barbie dolls as they are with Hot Wheels. They really don’t care.
Asher crouches down to his level, glancing at me smiling before turning his attention back to Tyler. “I got into a fight.”
