Rounding Third

by Michelle Lynn

  My stomach flips as I think about making those notebooks from junior high ring true. Mrs. Crosby Lynch.

  He stands, tucking his chair into the table. “I have more chores, and you need to get your butt back up to school to practice.” He eyes Crosby.

  I take a deep breath.

  There’s nothing we can’t get through together.

  I stand and rush over to my father, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Thank you, Dad. I love you,” I whisper.

  He lightly pats my back in more of a motion to stop showing affection. “Love you, too, Sweet Ella. I’m not happy that you went against what we agreed on, but no matter what, I don’t have it in me to keep you from something you want.”

  I look over at Crosby, and instead of seeing a happy guy who got the approval from my dad, he’s looking at his phone with a scowl on his face.

  What now?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Crosby

  “What?” Ella asks.

  I’ve piqued the interests of Mr. and Mrs. Keaton as to what I’m staring at on my phone.

  Fucking bullshit, that’s what.

  “Nothing. Ollie is asking me to grab his bag. He’s hung up at the library,” I lie. I tuck my phone into my pocket and stand to thank Mr. Keaton for the blessing to date his daughter. “Thank you for giving me another chance.”

  I hold out my shaky hand, and he clasps it with his.

  “It wasn’t about you. It was the two of you together. You both have a hard road ahead of you.” He doesn’t smile. Then, he kisses Ella on the cheek. Right before he fully exits the house, he screams back, “Get your ass up to practice, Crosby! You don’t need to ruin that opportunity!”

  I glance at Ella, who rushes in saying good-bye to her mother with a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. Ella bypasses me toward the front door, and I follow her but not before Mrs. Keaton stops me with her hand on my forearm. I turn, and she only bears the softest of smiles.

  “Welcome home, Crosby.” She hugs me tight, as though she’s missed me as much as I’ve missed all of them.

  I swallow the lump occupying my throat.

  Mr. and Mrs. Keaton are like a second set of parents to me.

  My own are far too busy with helping others. I never felt neglected, but many times, Spencer and I would be left to find our own dinner. My dad would have dinner meetings and counseling sessions at night, and my mom would have bible study and women’s groups, so my brother and I would fend for ourselves. I don’t fault them—they are selfless people—but a little more attention to Spencer and I wouldn’t have been bad either. After the accident, their need to help others only heightened.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Keaton.”

  She smoothes her hand down the center of my back. “Please…take care of her. She holds scars, too.”

  Ella walks back, stopping in the doorway. “Oh, Ma,” she sighs. “Two days ago, you weren’t even happy about Crosby’s return.”

  Her mom backs up, wiping a few tears. “I was scared, but I had a hand in breaking your heart once. I won’t do it again.” She rushes into the kitchen, exiting with another apple pie wrapped in foil. “Here, take this up with you.” She hands the pie to Ella, and her hand gently brushes a strand of Ella’s chestnut hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Go now.”

  As fast as Mrs. Keaton’s emotions were hung out on a laundry line for all of us to witness, she takes them down, like a storm has darkened the clouds above.

  “Thanks, Ma,” Ella says, kissing her on the cheek and waiting for me to say my good-bye.

  “Bye, Mrs. Keaton.”

  She waves us out, airing her hand toward the door. I let Ella in the truck, noticing her dad has disappeared into the barn. Mrs. Keaton stands and watches us the entire time from the screen door.

  We drive down Route 12.

  “Man…” Ella fidgets, bringing her leg up and under her body, looking over at me.

  Relief floods both of our faces.

  “I never would have guessed that it would go down like that with my parents.”

  “Me neither.” My hands tighten and then loosen on the steering wheel. “I’m in utter shock. In the barn, when your dad saw me, he was pissed. His face was beet red with anger in a second. I thought he was going to use a pickaxe on me.”

  She laughs. “What changed his mind?”

  “You think he’d really hurt me?”

  “Yeah. The way his face looked, coming out of the barn, I had visions of me running away from my family in a white dress and veil. We’d be telling our grandchildren some great love story.”

  My heart has no room for more happiness in this moment. She would have risked losing her family for me.

  “What?” Her voice calms, and she places her hand on my bicep. “You look serene.”

  I glance to her and then back to the road. “You’re a self-esteem booster, that’s all,” I say.

  She smiles bright.

  “All those girls who fawn over you and post pictures of you on Instagram should boost that ego a little more,” she says whimsically.

  I have no reason to sense that she’d ever be jealous of other girls. Since we were fifteen, she’s known that there’s absolutely no one else I’d ever be interested in.

  We’ve never talked about our two years apart. There have been girls—I can’t lie—but none of them panned out, and from the start, I knew they wouldn’t. My heart belonged to Ella Keaton well before I ever had control over it.

  I pull the truck into a parking lot at an abandoned fast-food restaurant.

  “What are you doing?” She glances at the clock on the dash. “You’re going to be late already.”

  I say nothing as I turn off the ignition and face her. I stare long and hard into her vibrant blue eyes, the same eyes that give me encouragement, love, and support. I grab both of her hands, bringing them up to my lips.

  “You are the only one. You know that, right? The girls who come up to me and take pictures, I’m not interested in any of them.”

  She glances down, releasing one hand and nibbling on her fingertips.

  “You’re hiding something,” I say.

  Her eyes fly up to me.

  “I know that nervous habit, Ella.”

  “I know.” She releases her other hand from my grasp and swivels in her seat. “I do know, deep down, but sometimes, it’s hard.”

  “Never doubt me.”

  “I try not to, and I know the pictures are bullshit, but earlier today, in the Student Center, I saw the two girls walking in with you.”

  I rack my brain. If Ella observed me all day, she’d see that I turn down every girl that approaches me

  “The ones who wanted to buy my lunch?” I ask.

  She scoffs. “Seriously? What is wrong with these whores?” Her voice is angry.

  The jealousy is nice to see; however, I never want Ella to be unhappy, but the girls are something I have no control over.

  I chuckle, and she shoots me the evil eye.

  “I accepted and told them my girlfriend would appreciate me saving money, so I could buy her a nice dinner.”

  Her slow smile spurs my own smile.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I’ll always tell someone who I belong to, and that’s you, Ella Keaton. I belong to you. My heart isn’t mine. It’s yours. Always has been and always will be.”

  She unclicks her seat belt and crawls over to my side. My hand falls to my seat controls, and I slide it back, giving us room.

  “Tell me,” she says.

  My hands fall to her ass, pushing her into me more.

  “I like you,” I answer.

  She shakes her head. She’s replaying the way I told her I loved her the first time. I let it slip out and took it back immediately so as not to seem like a douche who confessed his love too quickly. Ella though pushed until I confessed again.

  “Tell me,” she continues.

  Instead of the terrifying feeling that took over me the first time around, I’m enjoying this
one.

  “I like you a lot.”

  “Crosby.”

  “Ella.”

  “Tell me.” Her voice is growing more demanding, which only results in hardening my dick.

  “Do you want me to tell you that I love you?”

  Her shoulders fall, and a dreamy, lovesick look flashes in her eyes. Without a word spoken, she nods, those teeth nibbling on that bottom lip.

  “Ella Keaton”—I move my hands up to her cheeks, and I watch her chest rise and fall with a deep breath—“I not only love you, but I have also fallen in love with you.”

  Her blue eyes hide behind her eyelids for the briefest of seconds, and when they slide open, they bear contentment and happiness.

  “Crosby Lynch.”

  My palms press firmer on her cheeks. As I wait to hear these words again, my heart pounds like I’m on top of the first hill of the tallest roller coaster, ready to plunge down.

  “Yeah?”

  “You are my prince. Just when I’d accepted I’d lost you, you found me and saved me. I love you more than my Skittles.”

  I bust out laughing, and Ella’s head falls to my shoulder as she is in her own fit of laughter.

  Ella would never share her Skittles at the movies—or any other time. It was a running joke that she might have loved me but never more than her Skittles.

  She pulls back, resting her forehead on mine. Her hands graze along my cheeks. “I love you.” Her voice is tender, laced with the love she’s proclaiming. “I never want to be apart from you again.”

  She smashes her lips to mine, and my hands entwine in her long dark hair as I deepen the kiss.

  “Never. I’ll never leave,” I murmur through the rush of kisses to her mouth.

  “We should go,” she says, her hands inching up my stomach.

  “We should.” My own fingers explore up her T-shirt, cupping her breasts through her lacy bra.

  She arches her back. They are still the most sensitive part of her body.

  She breaks the kiss, and her lips move down my jaw, sprinkling the shortest kisses to my skin.

  “Crosby,” she purrs.

  I really wish we could continue this, but there’s a little Coach Lipton screaming on my shoulder.

  Her hand travels down my abs before cupping my balls and then rubbing down the length of me.

  Shit, Coach Lipton needs to bother someone else.

  My eyes close, and my head falls back to the headrest as I relish having her hand on me.

  I cover her hand with mine, only resulting in a groan from me as the pressure is already building. “I need to make it to practice.”

  Her whole body collapses on top of me. “I know.”

  “I’d rather stay in this truck with you, but if I’m late, he won’t let me start the scrimmage game this week.”

  “Always a ballplayer,” she teases before sucking my earlobe into her mouth. She lets it out with a pop. “I’ll be waiting for you afterward.”

  “No, no. You’re coming to practice with me. Remember how hot you used to get from watching me play?”

  “Used to?” She climbs off my lap, situating her shirt and bra into position. “Still,” she confirms.

  Now, there’s no choice.

  “It’s settled then. You’re coming.”

  I move the seat back up and turn the key in the ignition. “After practice, I’ll be carrying you up to my room.”

  Her whole body shivers. “You won’t have to carry, I’ll beat you up those stairs.”

  By the time I pull into the field, I grab my bag, kiss Ella, and run off to the locker room.

  “Ten minutes.” Coach Deacon, our third base coach, taps his watch. “If you’re late, you’re benched.”

  Brax eyes me and then Ella, raising his eyebrows in question. “Aw, Coach, give him a break. He finally got some,” Brax says.

  I pick up a ball that must have gotten away from one of them and throw it directly at him. He catches it right before it breaks his nose, and he laughs at my attempt.

  I run into the locker room, stripping on the way down the hallway. Changing my clothes in record time, I pull out my bat bag and head back to the field, meeting Coach Lipton in the hallway as he’s on his way out the doors.

  “Lynch,” he says, “cutting it close.”

  I nod, lowering my hat. “Sorry, sir.”

  “As long as you beat me to that field, you have nothing to be sorry for. But I’m glad I ran into you because I received a call today.”

  “Yeah, I got the reminder about the newspaper article.”

  He places his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “This is something else.”

  “What?”

  “From the coach at Bradley. They want to do a charity game.”

  “Sounds good. Bradley’s pretty good, and it will give us more practice.”

  Why he wanted to talk to me about this, I’m clueless.

  He leans against the wall, propping one foot up. “There’s more. The reason I wanted to talk to you about it was, it’s for the baseball team in your hometown, Beltline.”

  My heart drops to my stomach. If I went back there and played, the town would crucify me for sure.

  “Why?”

  “I guess a few of their players came from Beltline, and he figured you and Braxton would like to be a part of it. He’s trying to get money for medical expenses. He’s related to your old coach, Dean Weathers.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now, Lynch, if you don’t want to play, you don’t have to. I talked to Brax about it earlier, and he’s game, for obvious reasons, but I’ll give you a pass.”

  A pass to look like a selfish pussy? No, thanks.

  “I’ll do it.” I barely swallow the baseball-sized lump in my throat, envisioning standing on third with piles of nacho containers, popcorn buckets, and plastic cups sprinkled at my feet, courtesy of my hometown.

  A smile emerges on his face, and he claps me on the shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it. The coach from Bradley had his doubts, but I knew I pegged you right. A stand-up man.”

  Stand-up man, my ass. I ran from that town last time, and I’d be lying if I said my toes weren’t itching now.

  “Now, go out there, so I don’t lose face. I’ll wait a minute.”

  I rush to the doors and am about to push them open when he calls out, “It’s in a month, Crosby. Don’t forget the newspaper article, too.”

  “I won’t.”

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I jog out to the field, my bag swinging back and forth. Brax is throwing with Derek King. The two of them side-glance me as I pass them to get to Coach Deacon.

  “About time. What took you so long, Sally?” Brax asks.

  I eye him for a second. A silent conversation transpires between the two of us.

  He stands from squatting, holding his hand up to halt Derek. “You good?” he asks.

  I never slow my legs, nodding at him.

  We both know I’m not, but we pretend different.

  For the entire practice, Ella sits in the dugout. Her feet are propped up on the wall as she pops a piece of gum in her mouth, showing how good she is with her tongue by blowing bubbles. Damn, I keep having to shift my stance. Each time I have a break, our eyes meet with a singe of fire burning between us.

  “Seriously, stop eye-fucking your girlfriend.” Ollie throws the ball, hitting me square in the arm.

  I pick it up, rocketing it back to him a little harder than I usually do.

  “Don’t play,” he warns.

  I raise my eyebrows in the air. “Do you think I can’t back it up?” I ask, ready for the challenge he’s sure to throw at me.

  Ollie’s one of those guys who can’t turn down a challenge even if it were something that would harm his position on the team.

  “Coach!” he screams.

  I shake my head.

  “Can Lynch and I play?”

  Seriously, he sounds like we’re seven—strike that, three.

  “It’s
in the bull pen.” Coach Deacon gives us his blessing.

  We don’t even have to get the damn cutout because Saucey runs back there, positioning it in center field.

  “Here she is, in all her glory,” Saucey says, admiring the pinup-model cutout like it’s Jen.

  “Don’t drool too much. This one can’t suck your dick.” Ollie tosses a ball in the air. “You’ve got three holes, Third Base. Let’s see what you got.”

  I glance to Ella in the dugout, who’s clearly appalled by the naked girl who has holes cut out where her tits and pussy would be with a sign that says, Nail me three times, and you’re the winner. She knows better than to come out to the field though because Coach would then make her go to the bleachers.

  Ollie laughs next to me. “Seems the girlfriend doesn’t approve.”

  Saucey joins in the laughter as I watch Ella shaking her head in disbelief.

  “What do I get for this? I’ve already claimed the master room for second semester.” I eye Saucey, who flips me off.

  “How you got her to fall for you in a week, I’ll never know,” Saucey says.

  “It’s all faith, my young lad,” I joke, slapping him on the back. “Try monogamy sometime, and you’ll see.”

  “Fuck that shit.” Saucey circles behind me.

  “You’re missing out.” I look toward Ella again and wink, earning me a wave and a thumbs-up. “See? She wants me to kick Ollie’s ass even if I am throwing balls into a girl’s pussy.”

  “Okay, okay. Shit, what should we bet?” Ollie looks up at the blue sky with a few clouds scattered above us.

  “Dishes? Cooking? Laundry?” I name off a few things. I don’t expect to lose.

  “We are planning the party after the scrimmage this weekend. How about loser is the cocktail waitress?” Ollie says.

  Saucey practically chokes on his gum, pointing his finger at Ollie like he’s fucking Albert Einstein.

  “Sliding shorts and nothing else, especially no cup,” I add.

  Ollie nods a confident agreement.

  “Hey, baby? Will you let me prance around in my underwear at our next party?” I call out to Ella.

  She narrows her eyes at Ollie before a smile morphs her look of anger. “No, but I’ll be sure not to touch Ollie.” Her coy smile pisses Ollie off.