Rounding Third

by Michelle Lynn

  “Who are you?”

  As his beady eyes try to daunt me, I get an up close look at him. I can see why El might have fallen for him. He’s a safe bet. Probably riding the coattails of his family’s money, paving his way with his arrogant little bitch frat brothers. It only assures me of one thing. I don’t have to fight him for El. This guy wouldn’t start a fight if I fucked her right in the middle of his bed. El is just a trophy to him. He doesn’t love her like I do.

  “I’m just an old friend. We have a long history together.” I glance at him from the corner of my eye, offering him a quick wink.

  His knuckles whiten as he clenches his pen. It couldn’t be more satisfying, knowing I’m getting under his skin.

  His annoyed expression tells me that Ella hasn’t been so open about her life and her past. This guy doesn’t have a shot.

  “She’s taken, so keep your hands to yourself.”

  A few heads flip around after his voice heightens.

  Not needing a professor to hate me on day one, I lean in closer to whisper in his ear, “I can’t make any promises. It’s nothing personal, believe me, but technically, she’s always been mine.” I ease back against my chair right as the professor’s eyes catch mine.

  Liam’s head whips around, and I wait for him to ask me to take our discussion outside. But he cowers, like I knew he would.

  “Try to steal her away from me, and see what happens,” he says.

  “I’m not going to have to try hard. Your time with her was over the moment she saw me.”

  The professor forcefully clears her throat, eyeing us. If we don’t end this conversation soon, we’ll both be kicked out.

  “Don’t be so cocky, asshole. The fact that I don’t know anything about you, and the fact that she’s never mentioned your name, show what she really thinks of you.”

  “You two”—the professor points, and a hundred pairs of eyes turn in our direction—“since you’re so chatty, maybe you should be conducting the lecture this morning?” She crosses her arms over her purple blouse and waits for our answer.

  “Sorry, Professor Knight,” Douche Bag says.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  She nods and starts the lecture back up again, her eyes continuing to linger on us.

  He slides over to his original seat.

  I strike my earlier thought. I have no idea what El sees in this weak shithead.

  I lean over the now vacant chair, testing my luck one final time. “Don’t worry. I’ll be around. We can continue this conversation soon.”

  He scoffs me off, shaking his head. His fingers start tapping on the keys of his laptop as he accepts his defeat for this round.

  “Lynch!” Coach Lipton yells into the locker room.

  Every player stops mid movement. I swear the man could scare Big Foot right off of his hairy ass.

  “Yeah, Coach?” I scream back, tying my cleat.

  “I need to see you.”

  “Sure thing.” I stand, grabbing my sunglasses, hat, and glove.

  “First day, and you fucked up already?” Oliver asks from the locker next to mine.

  “Shit, I hope not,” I murmur.

  I leave my half-dressed teammates, crossing my fingers that Professor Knight didn’t narc me out to Coach about my disruption in class.

  Getting called into a coach’s office is either really good or really bad, but never in between.

  With his reading glasses on the tip of his nose, Coach is sitting in his chair, the sports section of the newspaper opened on his desk.

  I knock on his open door.

  “Come in, Lynch.”

  I slide into the nearest seat, placing my stuff on the chair next to me. the tapping of my cleats on the concrete floor echoes in the corners of the room from my uncontrollable shaking leg.

  “So, I wanted to talk to you really quick about a few things.” He takes off his glasses and tosses them on the newspaper before his thumb and forefinger press on the bridge of his nose.

  Surely, my interruption in class this morning wouldn’t spur this reaction. A knot forms in my stomach.

  “Yes, Coach?”

  “The school newspaper wants to do an article on you.” He rolls his eyes and releases a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not even sure how it all came about, but they heard about your story.”

  My leg stops shaking and I strengthen my back as the uneasiness washes over me. Ridgemont was my fresh start. I mean, the accident made front pages on the Beltline Press, but it didn’t hit national news. Another newspaper article for all to judge me again? No thanks.

  “What happens if I say no?”

  He shakes his head. “My guess is, they’ll write it anyway—without your side of it.”

  I lean back in the hard wooden chair and lock my fingers together in front of me. “So, I’m pretty much screwed?”

  “I don’t think it’s some rehashing of the accident. They wanted to feature both you and Brax. Friends reunited. The decision is yours, but I’d rather have your voice in the article.

  “I can’t do it.”

  I stand, and Coach does the same. His hands resting on the top of his strained stomach.

  “I’m not sure you have a choice, Crosby. I can’t control the newspaper. They can say and do whatever they like.”

  The leather of my glove squeaks as my fists tighten around it, the urge to rip it in half growing stronger.

  “Then, they can. I’m not doing an interview about my past because it’s exactly that—my past. If they care to do a story about how I plan on locking down third base or breaking the school home run record they can call me.” I put my hat on and wait for him to release me.

  “Think about it,” he counters.

  “Does my position on the team have anything to do with the article?” I ask the only question that might change my mind on the subject.

  “No, but I worry the problems—”

  “Then, my answer is no.”

  “Lynch,” he sighs.

  “May I go.”

  He lets out a long release of breath and his hands fall to the top of his desk. “Yes.”

  I hightail it out of his office as fast as my cleats will allow.

  I rush out of the locker room, ignoring the razzing from Oliver and Tyler. Once I reach the hallway, my back leans against the wall, and I slam my glove onto the concrete floor. When will I ever be free of it?

  A small voice inside me answers. When you face it. I push that voice aside because I’m not convinced me rehashing the accident would fix the brokenness I feel every morning when I wake up.

  The locker room door clicks open and shuts quietly. There’s only one person who it could be.

  “I heard,” Brax says.

  There he is.

  “I can’t talk to you about it.” I pick up my glove and head toward the field.

  “Then, who are you going to talk about it to? Come on, man, I used to be one of your best friends!” he screams out.

  My footsteps stop right at the edge of the field.

  “Noah was my friend, too,” he continues.

  “I know.” I push open the doors to the field, allowing them to slam shut behind me.

  Once practice starts, I’m thankful for the distraction of baseball. Hitting drills is easy. My anger helps me smash the shit out of the ball, earning me a few catcalls from the guys. When we practice drills on third, that’s where I fuck up. The ball flies by me for the third time, and I hear the groans of my fellow teammates. They aren’t used to me missing the ball.

  “Lynch, go to the outfield,” Coach says after my throw to first base drops ten feet in front of Oliver.

  I jog out to the grass and mildly redeem myself when I catch a few fly balls. My mind is a clusterfuck, and there’s only one way I can clear it—beat the shit out of my muscles.

  After practice is over and the guys head over to the tutoring session at the library, I stay back in the weight room.

  My gray T-shirt is dark with
sweat, and my muscles are on fire, but I’m not ready to stop punishing myself, I’m doing bicep curls when the radio turns off.

  I drop the dumbbell, ready for Coach to lecture me on wearing myself out, but it’s not the beer-bellied man with a scowl on his face. It’s a beautiful girl with a scowl.

  “You’re going to hurt yourself.” Ella saunters through the weight room and sits down on the bench across from me.

  “Why are you here?” I pick up the dumbbell and curl my arm, more sweat dripping off my forehead and onto the foam mat at my feet.

  “When you weren’t at tutoring, Brax told me you skipped. He figured I’d find you here.”

  My eyes divert to her crossed legs covered in tight yoga pants. If I could do one thing right now, it’d be to uncross them and bury my face between them right before I took her on the bench. She’d be a better mind-number than weight lifting.

  “Old habits die hard,” I say.

  Back in high school, every time the baseball team lost or a fight broke out, I’d hole myself up in the weight room. My method of therapy is how my biceps grew three inches in the last two years.

  “Crosby, you need to talk to someone. Whether it’s Brax, Spencer, or me. Just someone.” She brings her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

  I wipe my sweaty face with a towel. “I could move forward if people would just let me.” Already antsy from sitting, I stand and grab a heavier dumbbell.

  “That’s not true.”

  From the mirror, I see her approaching me, and I should step away because she’ll never let this issue die. Her hand rests on my shoulder, and the weight drops from my grasp, pounding on the floor.

  “We both know that,” she says.

  Tears prick my eyes, but I sure as shit won’t cry and definitely not in front of her. Might as well put me on that pussy trophy, like her boyfriend.

  “People will think what Beltline does—that I was drunk or high or texting. They’ll think I’m a—”

  Her hands grip my biceps, and her forehead falls against my back. “Murderer?” Her shallow voice shreds my heart, like the claws of a lion. After two years, she still knows me better than anyone, even Spencer.

  “Well…”

  “You were a hero, Crosby. You saved me.” Her hands move around my body, tightening around my stomach. Her body is like a warm blanket pressed against me. “You’ll always be my hero.”

  Unable not to touch her, my hands cover hers, and for a moment, I let the fight loose within me. She needs to know the truth.

  “On the spectrum, I’m more toward the murderer side than the hero side, believe me.”

  I feel her head shaking back and forth on my back.

  “Don’t say that. We’ll do the article together. The girl called me this afternoon for an interview,” she divulges.

  She tries to let go of me, but I release her only long enough to twist around and face her. As I lock my hands behind her back, our eyes soak in each other.

  All the time lost between us was for what? I’m still the mess of a guy as the one on the hill that night.

  “I should have stayed far away from here,” I say.

  Her hand skims along my skin, goose bumps waking in her path. “No. You’re exactly where you should be.”

  Her palm cups my cheek, and for a brief moment, I almost crack.

  A lone tear spills down her cheek, and I wipe it with the pad of my thumb.

  “I’m causing you pain again. That’s why I stayed away.”

  “You’re living, Crosby. We made a mistake.” Her voice breaks.

  I step out of the warmth she’s offering. “Don’t say that.” I didn’t go through two years of hell only to regret our decision.

  “Don’t you see? We’re right where we were that night. Our pain still rules how we live our lives.”

  “Except you have a boyfriend,” I sneer, ripping open my chest to show her the pain I bear from the fact that she’s been able to move on when I can’t.

  “Don’t do that. I’ll be there with you, and so will Brax, if you let him. We’ll do the newspaper article together, and then maybe you’ll be able to move on.”

  I pick up the weight and start doing bicep curls again, sweat immediately pouring off my face. Whether it’s the exertion or the panic from possibly sharing my story, I’m not sure.

  Her hand rests on my forearm, and I slowly drop the dumbbell to the ground.

  I sit on the bench, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. This is the deciding moment. I have my position back, and the girl is within my grasp, but it’s time for me to step up to the plate and swing, no matter if I hit or miss. I’m the one in control.

  “I have to talk to Spencer.”

  “Yeah, and I need to talk to Ariel. Want to go over to their dorm now?”

  “Now?” I question, my eyebrows rising in the air.

  “There’s no better time.” Her lips tick up because she never lets things be.

  “Okay. I need to shower.”

  I can guarantee her breathing halts for a moment and I assume she’s thinking of me naked under a stream of water.

  “Yeah, sure. Of course,” she stutters.

  I suck in my lips to push back my smile. “You could join me, if you’d like?”

  She squares her shoulders, not amused by my humor. “Crosby,” she says my name with weakness.

  “Wash me up, and help me with those hard to reach areas?”

  “Crosby.”

  I place my hands up in the air. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

  Twenty minutes later, I’m showered, and Ella’s mindlessly singing along with the radio in the passenger seat of my truck. We park outside Musselman Hall and the scent of her perfume floats over to me from the light breeze on this late summer night.

  Ella calls Ariel, but she doesn’t answer. Luckily, another student is coming out of the dorm when we reach the doors, so I rush to grab ahold of one, and she squeezes through the opening.

  “I’m going to head to Spencer’s room.”

  “Meet you back here.” She smiles.

  We each go to the gender-assigned wings.

  Doors are open with music spilling out of the small rooms as I make my way to the fourth room on the right. I knock, and no one comes to the door, but I hear music playing—sultry, romantic music.

  When I knock again, a kid from the room next door peeks his head out. “You looking for Spencer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s indisposed at the moment.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

  I draw back because I swear that my little brother has never made it to second base.

  Then, Ella opens up the wing door and walks toward me.

  “She’s not home. Her roommate said she’s with her boyfriend. I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend. School only started three days ago.” She’s as perplexed as I am.

  “Well, at least she isn’t screwing her boyfriend. According to this guy, Spencer’s ‘indisposed’ in there with some girl.” I thumb toward the kid currently admiring Ella.

  He appears in front of her before I glance back, holding his hand out. “Hi, I’m Caden.”

  Ella shakes his hand while her eyes move from me to him and back to me. I bite back a smile.

  “Ella.”

  “Well, Ella, are you free on Friday night?”

  Ella laughs, and I’ll never grow tired of that sound.

  “Um, I have a boyfriend.”

  He glances to me, and I hold my hands up.

  “This guy? What does he have that I don’t?” he asks.

  I shake my head, pushing back my laughter. I could make a list, but I don’t want to shatter this kid’s ego.

  “I’m not her boyfriend,” I comment.

  Ella’s eyes switch from amused to sad.

  I feel the same way, baby. You’re mine.

  Spencer’s music turns off, and giggling commences from inside. Ella ignores Caden’s advances, placing her ear closer to the door. There’s mor
e giggling and Spencer chuckling.

  “Oh my God.” Ella’s eyes peer over to me with a look that conveys, You’ll be shitting in your pants any moment.

  The door springs open, and there stands a bare-chested Spencer with a brunette in his arms.

  “Ariel!” Ella screams.

  My mouth hangs open.

  “El.” The girl’s panicked eyes glance to me. “Crosby.”

  I tuck my hands in my pockets and lean against the opposite wall. He’s about to get his ass handed to him by Ella and I can’t wait to witness it.

  Caden gets in Ella’s face again. “You know Ariel?”

  “She’s my sister,” Ella bites out, her eyes zoned in on Ariel like a judgmental mother.

  “No wonder you look familiar. Man, you’re both knockouts. How about a Caden sandwich? There’s more than enough of me.”

  “Shut up,” the girls say in unison.

  He places his hands up in the air and backs up toward his room.

  “What are you doing?” Ella asks her sister, grabbing her hand and thrusting her out of Spencer’s arms and into the hallway.

  “Whoa, Ella. You know exactly what I’m doing.” She stares over to Spencer.

  My little brother hasn’t looked at me once during this exchange, only Ariel. Looks like we each love a Keaton girl.

  “Not with Spencer. He’s Crosby’s little brother.” She tries to whisper, but we all hear her. Hell, the kid wearing the Beats headphones down the hall probably heard her.

  “So what?”

  “So…” Ella fights to find a legit reason the two shouldn’t be together. “He’s Crosby’s little brother,” she repeats.

  The laughter that’s been burning in me pours out.

  Her head whips around and she narrows her eyes at me. “A little help?”

  “What? I think it’s great.”

  Ariel looks over with a proud smile. “Thanks, Crosby.” She removes her wrist from her sister’s grasp and saunters over to me. Rising onto her tiptoes, she wraps her arms around my neck. “It’s good to see you.”

  I hug her in a tight embrace. The little girl I remember grew up and now has a thing for my brother. “You, too.”

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispers in my ear. “So has El.”