Play On

by Michelle Smith

  Brett steadies his stance, prepared for the next pitch. Wind up. Release. Brett slices nothing but air. He’s our lead-off man for a reason. He can do better than this. Mental blockage is a batter’s worst enemy.

  Wind up. Release. The ball cuts sharp inside. Brett dodges, but the pitch still catches him on the elbow. He drops the bat, his face clenched. I cringe. I’ve had that happen before. It hurts like nobody’s business. The crowd boos as he takes his base, and I’m pretty sure Jay’s about to combust next to me.

  “He’ll be all right,” I say. “He’s good.”

  There’s fire in Jay’s eyes as he glares at the field. “That shit was on purpose. Look at the pitcher.”

  I do.

  The bastard winks.

  Damn it to hell.

  This is pretty much the worst our team’s ever played. By the top of the fourth, no one’s managed more than a base hit. We’re already back to the beginning of the batting order. It’s embarrassing as hell. We were state champions last year, for Christ’s sake.

  Jay, Eric, and I line up along the fence with the rest of the team as Brett steps up to the plate again. Good ol’ Super Douche looks primed and ready. He didn’t try any funny business with Jay; he’s got his eyes set on Brett, for whatever reason. Everyone else has noticed, so I don’t know why his coach is keeping him in the game. He just better keep it clean this time.

  The first pitch shoots straight by the nuts. I grab Jay’s shoulder to keep him from charging out there, but he shakes me off and smacks the fence. Eric isn’t much better. Brett aims his bat at the pitcher, who just shrugs when the ump yells out a warning for both of them.

  “Watch him, Perry,” Coach shouts. He moves just outside the dugout’s opening, arms crossed. “He’s dirty. Eyes open.”

  Brett raises his bat, ready and waiting. The pitcher studies him for a minute before going into his windup. Release. Brett turns, but the pitch nails him right smack in the shoulder.

  And now he’s charging the damn mound.

  “Fucking hell,” Eric says as I mutter, “Shit.”

  We follow Coach in a dash to the mound just as Barton’s dugout clears and piles on the field. Brett lowers his shoulder and rams into the pitcher, sending them to the dirt. Both of them are yellin’ and punchin’ and scramblin’ and I have no clue who’s hurt what, but I grab Brett’s elbow, trying to yank him off. The dude’s turned into the freakin’ Hulk. Coach grabs his other arm and helps me pull him off the pitcher, whose nose and mouth are both bloody messes.

  Jay snatches Brett’s arm from my grip, slinging it across his shoulder to help Coach guide him off the field. Brett cringes and swears, leaning his weight against Jay.

  “I got you,” Jay says. “I’m right here, babe. Breathe.”

  Coach’s eyes widen, right along with Eric’s. Neither says anything as Jay helps Brett hobble to the bench. The other guys file back to their dugout as Barton’s coach pulls the pitcher to his feet.

  “Learn your lesson?” I ask. Don’t spit in his face. Don’t do it.

  He sneers. “What’s it matter to you? You a fag, too?”

  That’s it. I step forward and his coach moves between us, but I’m not going to hit the bastard. Brett did well enough on his own. “It doesn’t matter if I am,” I say. “But when you mess with one of us, you get all of us. Remember that.”

  His coach shoves him on toward the dugout, and I turn to ours, my pulse pounding like a jackhammer. The crowd’s all standing, most of them with their phones up and at the ready. Vultures probably just recorded every second of what happened. But when my eyes land on a pretty brunette standing off to the side with her parents, the crowd disappears.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. She waves. I want nothing more than to run up to her, hug her, kiss her, tell her that I’ve been going nuts without her, but now’s not the time for that. I tip my cap to her and head for the dugout, where the trainer’s inspecting Brett’s shoulder. Randy passes me on his way to the plate. He better line-drive that sucker out of the park.

  Jay and Eric hover behind Brett, Jay chewing his nail as he watches the trainer’s every move. “How bad is it?” I ask as I come up beside him.

  “It’s probably dislocated,” he says, not breaking his gaze for a second. “May need the ER.”

  Letting out a heavy breath, I lean over the back of the bench. “Bro, you did a number on that prick,” I tell Brett. “Did a number on yourself, too. Worth it?”

  He winces, but says, “Worth breakin’ every bone in my body.”

  “Better not be every bone in that body,” Coach says. “Even though I’m tempted to break ’em myself after what y’all just pulled, actin’ like a bunch of damn kids.” He slaps my glove against my chest. “Eric’s out so he can take Brett to the hospital. I need a closing pitcher and a third baseman. You want to take over the mound?”

  I cringe. “I haven’t warmed up at all. I’ll have to take third.”

  Coach sighs and waves over Lance, the sophomore left-handed pitcher. He sucks. But it’s better to have someone who sucks than someone who hasn’t warmed up. Sorry, guys.

  Randy trots back to the dugout after striking out, shaking his head as he tosses his helmet onto the bench. Coach would usually chew his ass out for that, but I guess he figures we all need some leeway right about now. Sliding on my glove, I follow the rest of the guys onto the field. I scan the bleachers and the fence, hoping to get a glimpse of Marisa before finishing this hell of a game.

  She’s right there, at the fence, watching me. Waiting for me.

  chapter twenty-three

  As the hosting team, all of us are supposed to stay by the field, being supportive of the other guys participating in the tournament once our game’s up (or maybe I should say, once we lost miserably). But I’m pretty sure that rule’s meant to be broken in times like these. There are extenuating circumstances here.

  I find Marisa behind the bleachers at the edge of the parking lot. She fidgets with her hands as I walk toward her. Rocks back on her heels. Tugs the brim of her Braves cap over her face. Thank God she’s nervous, too. Double-thank God she’s still got my cap. That’s a good sign.

  “That was a heck of a fight,” she says. “Is Brett okay?”

  Coach will make sure we pay for that fight. I see a lot of laps in our team’s future. “They think he dislocated his shoulder. Eric took him to the hospital. You should see the other guy.” Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my uniform, I say, “You didn’t call me.”

  She shakes her head. “I didn’t call you.”

  I lift my shoulders. “Why?”

  She tilts her head, signaling for me to come closer. She sits in the grass, facing the parking lot. As soon as I sit beside her, she reaches over and grabs my hand, like she’s been waiting two weeks to do just that.

  “I needed to be away, I think,” she says. “Those spirals, those crashes, are draining. I needed to just breathe. Reconnect.”

  “With?”

  “Myself. My family.” She stretches out her legs and crosses them. “Do you know the last time my family and I did anything together? Like, together-together?”

  Not a clue. I shake my head.

  “Me neither. But while we were gone, my dad and I went to the Orioles’ opening day and pigged out on hot dogs and nachos. My mom and I spent two days planting a flower garden with my grandma.” She smiles a tiny half-smile. “It was kind of perfect.” She nudges me. “I was serious when I told you to take that time to think, you know.”

  “And I was serious when I told you that you were worth it. There was nothing to think about.” Glancing down at our hands, I rub my thumb across her knuckles. “Marisa, I’m in this. I want you. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.”

  “It won’t be easy.”

  “I don’t want easy. I want you.”

  She hangs her head and giggles, which turns into a laugh and, finally, a snort. Looking over at her, I grin, my shoulders shaking as I laugh along with her. It�
��s so good to see her smile. I was scared I’d never get to see that smile again.

  “I needed the time to think,” she says softly. “That’s why I didn’t call.” Her gaze moves to the parking lot, where people are already starting to call it a day. “There’s something I thought about a lot while I was gone.” She looks back to me. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. The whole ‘I’m okay’ thing just kind of flows out. A way of making people not worry about me, because that’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to be a burden, you know? Putting up with me has to be a pain.”

  I wonder if that’s how Dad felt. If he didn’t want to bother us with his problems, or if he thought that he’d be some kind of burden. And I don’t know if I’m on to something or way off base, but not talking about his problems might have had a lot to do with why he gave up.

  My heart races as I hold Marisa’s gaze. Confusion wrinkles her forehead. I never told her exactly how Dad died. I don’t know if now’s the right time—probably not, actually. But I do know that not having her here, having her give up, would gut me.

  And now my heart’s raced right into my throat.

  “My dad—” I swallow. Get back in my chest. “His car accident. He drove off the bridge on purpose,” I tell her. “And I don’t know why. I don’t know if he was depressed or if something else was going on. I’ll never know, obviously.”

  Her eyes widen. Her mouth drops open. “Austin, I—”

  “I hated him for a long time,” I continue, looking at the grass. She keeps her hand on mine, squeezing it a little tighter. “Mostly because I didn’t understand why, I guess? I hated him for leaving us. And he left us this letter.” My voice cracks. I study the grass, counting the sharp blades. I get to twenty-three before I’m positive I won’t lose it in front of anyone who happens to look our way. “There was this thing he used to say all the time: ‘All my love, all my promises, all my swears.’ It was his way of telling us that we meant everything to him. And I’ll never know why the hell he made those his last words to us when he knew he was leaving.”

  Leaving. It sounds so temporary. It doesn’t even brush the surface of someone being flat-out gone. Forever.

  “Can I take a shot at it?” Marisa asks carefully. I shrug, signaling for her to go on. “It may have been his way of saying that, even in those final moments, even though he was in the darkest of dark places, he was thinking of you. That he loved you guys more than anything. That you still meant everything to him. He wanted you to remember that.”

  That sounds good. It sounds like a nice, sugar-coated explanation, one that Momma would’ve given me if I were, say, five. But it doesn’t make sense. “If he loved us so much,” I say, “wouldn’t he have fought for that? Isn’t that worth fighting for?”

  Her face falls. And now I’m a total asshole, but years of pent-up confusion is bubbling in my stomach. I’m doing the best I can here.

  “Do you win every fight you get into, Austin?” she finally says. “Do you win every game?”

  My shoulders drop. She smiles, a sad smile. “For years, I’ve fought a war in my head, so I may be a little biased here,” she continues. “It’s hard to bring people into that war, even if they’re willing allies who want to help. And when you fight alone, sometimes…” She pauses. “It’s hard to win a battle you’re fighting alone.”

  Thinking back to the days before Dad died, I can’t remember a single time when he seemed anything less than happy. He always had a grin on his face. He never missed a game. He kissed Momma like the sun shined just for her. He patted me on the back after every loss, stayed up with me every night I wanted to talk stats and teams and colleges. Never once did he ask for help. Never once did I ever think he was less than perfect. If he was depressed, if he needed to talk, I wish he’d known Momma and I were right there, ready to listen.

  I look back to Marisa, giving her a shaky smile. “I’m gonna say this, and then I think we need to change the subject before I start cryin’ in front of half the town. We don’t ‘put up’ with the people we care about, Marisa. We don’t ‘deal’ with them. We’re just there because we lo—” I clear my throat. “Because we care. I care. I’ve got your back, girl. So for the love of all that’s holy, promise me you won’t try fighting alone.”

  She swallows audibly, gripping my hand even tighter. It’s unimaginable that two weeks ago, she looked at me with more disdain than I could have fathomed. It broke my damn heart. Now, she’s looking at me with the same gaze as her first day working in the shop. She’s looking at me like I’m everything and the only thing that matters, which is fine because right now, she’s my everything.

  “I’ll promise if you make me a deal,” she says. “When I say that I’m okay, I want you to look in my eyes, really look. And if you know I’m lying, tell me. Don’t let me lie to you again.”

  I nod. “You’ve got a deal.”

  And she kisses me. I close my eyes, letting go of her hand to wrap my arm around her shoulders. As she pulls away, my lips tingle, already missing her. She stares at me for a while, like she’s searching for something. She must find what she’s looking for because she smiles.

  “What?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s crazy. You’ll think I’m downright certifiable.”

  She kisses me again, moving onto my lap and straddling me. Not entirely sure where that came from, but there are some things you just don’t question. My pulse pounds as I hold her close. And when she pulls away this time, her smile’s still in place, still as perfect, still as gorgeous.

  As she rests her forehead against mine, I grab onto her hips loosely. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For being here. For being terrified and for not running away for good.”

  It’s my turn to smile. “Part of being your boyfriend is being a friend. It’s kind of key. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

  “I know that now.” Her lips ghost mine, sending shocks to every nerve in my body. “Should we get out of the grass? I’m sure we’ve got an audience by now. Baptist News Network and all that.”

  No damn way. Tightening my arms around her, I shake my head. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, remember?”

  I don’t care if they’re watching. Nothing else matters but the way my heart is about to crash through my chest and the fact that I’m going to combust if I go one more second without kissing this girl. So I do, because I’m not a fan of combustion.

  Screw the Baptist News Network.

  Someone behind us clears his throat. Marisa’s lips disappear, and I turn, ready to lay into whoever’s interrupting my reunion, dang it.

  But it’s her dad. And her momma. And my momma. Two of the three are smiling. One’s doing the exact opposite, and his daughter’s still sitting in my lap.

  I grin. “Hey, Dr. Marlowe.”

  He flashes the most effective “you’re so screwed” smirk I’ve ever seen. “Hey, Austin.”

  Please don’t kill me.

  Momma just shakes her head, still smiling. “I invited the Marlowes to our house for an early dinner.”

  Okay.

  She lifts her eyebrows. “So,” she drawls, “you might want to get out of the grass.”

  “Getting my daughter off your lap would be a good start, too,” Dr. Marlowe adds.

  Dear God, he’s going to kill me.

  Marisa chokes back a laugh, but stands. I should probably look away from her dad. Actually, I really should, but I’m pretty sure he’s hypnotizing me with that stare.

  Marisa grabs my hand and yanks me to my feet. “I’ll ride with Austin,” she says, tugging me toward the lot. “See you there!”

  At least one of us has some sense. I stumble after her, waving to our parents.

  The parking lot’s nearly empty as we head to my truck. She swings our hands between us, not letting go for a second. I really, really like having her back already.

  I open her door for her. “Tell me more about Maryland. Or was it all Orioles games and flowers?”

  “Mostly Orioles games and f
lowers.” She leans back against the truck, her lips twisting into a tiny smirk. “But there was a pretty interesting grocery store visit.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  She nods. “I ran into a couple of my old softball buddies.”

  Oh. That sucks. I lean against the truck, too, just to be next to her. “I’m guessing they said somethin’?”

  Instead of faltering, her smirk grows into a grin. “They cornered me in the ice cream aisle. First of all, major foul for blocking my ice cream. That was their biggest mistake. But then they thought they were being cute by saying, ‘Welcome home, runaway.’ Who even says that?”

  My eyebrows scrunch together. Their trash talk is about as bad as Bastard Pitcher’s from today. “Really? That was their best line?”

  I toss my keys, which she swipes mid-air. “Right?” she says. “I just said, ‘Bless your hearts,’ grabbed my ice cream, and walked away. I wanted to dump the ice cream on their heads, but, you know, maturity and all that.”

  I snort. “You do know ‘bless your heart’ is basically Southern girl code for ‘screw you,’ right?”

  “Um, yeah. Which is exactly why I said it.” She tosses the keys back to me. “Hanging out with Hannah and Bri at your games has its perks.”

  This girl would make Hannah proud. Heck, I’m proud. I move aside, giving her room to climb up. But instead of closing the door, all I can do is stare, unable to rip my gaze from her. For a while, I was terrified she would never even talk to me again. But now she’s here, and she’s smiling at me, and she’s looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind, which I kind of have. But I’m okay with that.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” I tell her.

  Her smile widens. “So am I.”

  chapter twenty-four

  I’ve never been much of a whiner. At least, I don’t think I have, but if I have to hear one more thing about acids and bases, my brain will explode. I don’t care if I have a test tomorrow, and I don’t care if Marisa’s voice is my absolute favorite sound in the world. One more word, and I’m talking brain guts splattered all over her room.