by Hazel Grace
Because Sawyer Boyd was nothing special.
Nothing sacred.
And nothing I should want.
Present day
The baseball field we’re required to play looks like it hasn’t seen maintenance in God knows how long. The grass hasn’t been cut, there are no baselines, the gravel is pitted out, and second base is missing.
How the hell these guys play like this, I have no clue. I’m about to find out the hard way, apparently.
With the amount of beer in the dugout, I’m assuming that’s how they get to the point of not giving a shit, and it’s more than likely going to show in their playing as well. So when Ben tosses me my #24 jersey, I’m a little irritated that I fought so hard for this.
“A little different from the golden years, right?” Ben chortles next to me, pulling his bats out of his bag.
“Yeah,” I mumble, glancing over the field again. “I thought this town loved baseball.”
“They do, it’s just that the maintenance guy is on vacation, hence the shitty field.”
“So, there isn’t another one?”
“Nope.” My God, this town. Was it such a concept to have a backup? “He’ll be back next week, then it’ll be up to standards.” He slaps my shoulder blade. “Let me introduce you to the guys.”
He calls off the names of my now new teammates, some of them I remember, and I’m greeted warmly. Ben must have bragged about my playing because some of the older men slap my back and say they need some more young blood on the team. And once they were done, several guys crack open beers and chug away. I expected something different from this team, maybe more professional and serious because this town bled baseball, but I’ll play anywhere I can get the game time in.
A few guys go out on the field, warming up their arms by tossing the ball around, and as I’m about to join them, Ben stops me. “I want you to meet the other new guy.”
I peer over my shoulder to watch a guy dressed in our Renegades T-shirt and baseball cap enter the dugout. After he sets his gear down, he looks up from the bench, and I recognize him immediately.
The fucking doctor that Sawyer was with at the coffee shop.
“Col, this is Myles Trava, the new doc in Wakefield,” Ben offers. “Myles, Colson Hayes, Freemont High’s baseball legend.” The doc doesn’t hold out his hand to shake mine, confirming he remembers me, and I fight back my smirk.
“We’ve met,” Myles consents mildly, readjusting his baseball glove on one of his hands.
Ben looks between the two of us, piqued by curiosity. “Okay...Myles, you still good at playing third base?” I raise a brow while he nods.
“Yeah, just need a few practice throws.”
“Well, I hope you’re as fast with your hands on the field as you are at the hospital, doc,” I allude. “Because I’m the pitcher and third base is my go-to for an easy out.” Myles squares his shoulders, using his three inches of height on me to make some sort of point.
Thing is, no one intimidates me on this field or any other for that matter. I own every single one I step on, and if he blows at third, Ben’s getting me a replacement.
“Grab a ball,” Myles offers, shoving his hand into his mitt. “I’ll show you how quick and easy it is for Sawyer to see what a real man is.” I bite my tongue, the corner of my lips uplifting at his lame attempt to piss me off.
Sawyer’s pussy-whipped puppy found a fucking backbone, and he thinks he’s going to use it to ward me off. It’s cute.
I can’t wait to break it.
“What the hell was all that?” Ben notes when Myles leaves the dugout. “What did you do?”
I shoot him an innocent stare. “What makes you think I did something?” His forehead puckers, he knows me.
He knows everything.
He was the last one I spoke to before leaving this town and told him I was never coming back. That everything in this town was dead to me. Ben begged me to stay, that what I discovered didn’t sound right, but I know what I saw and I know what I heard. It twisted my heart and squeezed it to death every time I thought about it.
“Because it has something to do with Sawyer fucking Boyd, that’s why,” Ben snarks.
“That’s ancient history,” I retort, snatching my mitt off the bench and striding out of toward the field. “And don’t worry about it.”
Approaching the field, I stretch my arms while walking and watch as Myles does some weird jogging-jumping jacks thing on the dirt.
I’m betting this dumbass has never played, let alone watched, a baseball game in his life.
We warm up on the field, and I purposely throw my fastest balls at Myles so he feels the sting in his palm. And, being what looks to be a man but I beg to differ so far, he does the same to me just not with the same added effect.
His aim is off, his arm is weak, and the guy is going to pull a damn muscle if he doesn’t chill. But what do I know, he’s a damn doctor.
The benches outside of the field start filling up with people, reminding me that this town did, in fact, love their all-American sport. Even food trucks still showed up along the parking lot, opening up their doors immediately for the growing crowd.
When the other team arrives, we clear the field to let them warm up, and I pull a Gatorade out of my bag, almost choking on it when I hear that sing-song tone of Sawyer’s.
Why in the fuck is she always the hell around?
I follow the tone behind the dugout, her arms are wrapped around Myles’ neck as he picks her up and spins her around.
Her laughter hits my chest, warming it slightly, but then it turns to bitterness at the remembrance of her showing up at my games when she didn’t have one.
And when her green eyes hit me, I realize she didn’t know I was going to be here, which grates at me. Baseball was my fucking outlet from all the shit in this town, and now one of my reasons for said outlet was here to watch another man play.
I turn my back on them, not wanting to watch or imprint to memory her legs wrapped around his giraffe-like body, or any other thoughts that might drift into my head about a similar scenario.
Sawyer fucking Boyd dating not just one guy but two? How the timid has risen into harlot little tendencies.
“Myles, we have a few things for you to sign so that you don’t sue us if you get hurt,” Ben hollers from home plate. Seconds later, I hear him jog over, and Sawyer appears by my side in the dugout. I don’t even need to look.
I can sense her everywhere.
“Fans aren’t allowed in the dugout,” I gripe like she doesn’t already know. Coach Gordon used to bitch at the girls for bringing their boyfriends in to make out during innings.
Sawyer lets out a soft chuckle. “Oh, Colson, you know that we always snuck our boyfriends in for good luck.”
You didn’t have any boyfriends, as in the plural form, at one time.
Does she forget I know who she is, or should I say who she was?
“He’s gonna need it,” I retort, tossing my sports drink in my bag, keeping my eyes averted from her.
“We’ll see,” she deadpans. Roger steps into the dugout, and when his gaze lands on her, he drops everything in his hands—balls, mitts, three baseball bats, and his clipboard.
“Holy shit...Sawyer Boyd?” He rushes over to her, giving her a hug, her sweet giggle hits my eardrums again, and I swear I’ve never heard anything so fucking annoying.
Well, besides her sister’s voice.
“How’ve you been, Roger? Still working over at your grandpa’s place?” Sawyer asks.
“Yeah, he’s working me like a damn dog, but things are good. Hey, my mama wanted to ask you about selling her house, she wants to downsize, can you help an old buddy?”
“Of course, I can. Take down my number.” Roger pulls out his cell, and my eyes inadvertently glance over at her.
What. The. Fuck.
The number “24” is on the back of her shirt. My fucking shirt. The one she surprised me in all those years ago. The school colors
of black and yellow are slightly cracked around the edges of the appliqué, probably from being washed over the years but there’s no mistaking it. I’ve seen her wear it on several occasions.
How many fucking times has she worn it in the last ten years?
My cock stirs, my breathing quickening. I’m ten seconds away from grabbing the waistband of her jeans and jerking her ass into my groin just to show her how much I like that she’s wearing my shit.
That she just stroked my ego and let me in on everything I needed to know over the years. She never threw anything away, and I wonder if she ever wore it to bed, against her naked skin, after I left.
I meet Roger’s gaze and jerk my head to the side, telling him to split. He tells Sawyer he’ll call her about his mom, picks up all his shit, then steps back out onto the field with it.
That’s when I eliminate the space between us.
“Nice shirt,” I comment, tracing the numbers with my finger to remind her.
I’d do it every time she wore my number like I was signing my name away to her, letting her own me.
Love me.
She stiffens under my touch but doesn’t turn around to face me, probably because her cheeks are flush. “Don’t read too much into it, you’ll hurt your feelings.”
“What feelings?” I murmur, close to her. She smells like fresh magnolias and poison ivy to my nostrils.
Poison Ivy at her finest because one fucking kiss from her and your life is fucked. But like an idiot, I’m drawn to going back and playing in that same field again.
Sawyer lets out a mirthless laugh. “Don’t worry, Hayes, I already know you don’t have any. You’ve done nothing but make my life a living hell since you decided to grace this town with your presence again.”
My hand slides down her back, and I want to fist her shirt and rip it over her head. To slam her against this fence and breath in the same air she does. My body aches to be flush with hers so I can revisit every inch of her body again.
“This is my town,” I remind her, hooking my index finger into her short’s belt loop. “And my game.”
“Not everything is a game,” she replies.
“Hm, I think it is. This little cat and mouse game we’ve done before. I chased, you ran until I cornered you into melting into me. With me. For me. You’ll never belong —“ Her elbow jabs me in the stomach, but it doesn’t deter me as my body cowers over slightly.
A sharp pain sifers through my empty stomach, and that’s when Sawyer turns around, our eyes lock together, perfectly aligned.
“Too soon?” I ground out, trying to breath through the sharp pain in my gut or kidney.
Or both.
“You got A’s in school, figure it out,” she belts.
“Fuck, I love when you get pissed.” And I do because her eyes burn with an intensity that I’ve always wanted to see when she was underneath me, filled with my cock.
“I’m pissed about quite a fucking bit, Colson,” she snaps.
I attempt to straighten my spine. “I’m assuming one is your sister?”
She folds her arms along her chest. “And Veronica was that forgettable?”
Oh shit, yeah her.
“Kinda, yeah.” She suddenly moves, to hit me again, I’m sure, but I hold up a palm.
The thing is, she doesn’t know that I fucked her assistant while thinking of her the whole time, hence why the lights were off. Since being here, she is all I think about.
Well, fucking her is mostly all I think about.
“You’re an asshole, a huge asshole,” Sawyer sneers. “Stay the hell out of my life and out of the people’s around me.” She checks her shoulder into mine, stalking out of the dugout, but I can’t stop the smug look that I know is on my face right now.
That’d be a hell no.
Adapting back into a life where I wasn’t so resentful toward the redhead who drives me fucking nuts was going to be a challenge, for both of us. I can’t seem to stop fucking with her, and she won’t stop feeding into it. There was really only one thing to do.
Fuck her and get it out of my system.
And if I had to consort to some shady ass shit, then so be it. My conscious wasn’t a strong one, I assassinated that thing a long time ago.
Shortly after Sawyer’s assault on my shoulder, we start the game. I thought it would be a blowout, but the other team showed up with men well into their fifties. The beer must’ve helped their skills, however, because we were tied by the fourth inning. And by the sixth, we were in the lead, Sawyer cheering in the stands with a beer in one hand and a hot dog in the other. During the seventh, I got to watch her feed Dr. Pussy Whipped some of her food, smiling and giggling when she brushed mustard on his lip.
I swear to God, if she would’ve licked it off of him, Dr. Pussy-whipped would be joining the morgue tonight.
After the game ended, our team headed over to one of the small bars in town. It's your typical hole in the wall with aged ad posters and neon signs with beer logos that are no longer around. Red and white checkered tablecloths were on each table, giving it a homey, “get drunk here when you’ve had a bad day” feel. The guys slide a few empty tables together while a young waitress brings over peanuts and pretzels. I don’t feel like being here, but I didn’t want to look like the social outcast that I’m known to be, so I suck it up.
Sitting next to Ben, we start bullshitting about the game, who needs to work on what and the possibility of setting up a game with my high school team for them to get some more practice in. I also mention that I’m going to have him come by the school so I can introduce him to the athletics director, so hopefully, he can get hired on to be my assistant.
The way he reacted, you would’ve thought I bought him a house and a brand-new truck. But I’m happy to help him, Ben was always a good guy. He had a girlfriend, didn’t fuck around, and went to college to be a mechanic. Now, he owns his own shop with his brother, and the two are doing well for themselves.
“So, what’s going on with you and Boyd over there?” Ben inclines his head down the table where her and Dr. Pussy Whipped are sitting.
“We hate each other,” I deadpan, taking a much-needed chug of my beer. It’s a strong word, but when you’ve spent well over a decade with full-blown thoughts of getting back at someone, hate is really the only word you can use.
“I see that.” He crushes a peanut on the table. “But they say where there is hate, other feelings lie masked underneath.”
I raise a brow. “Who the hell said that?”
“I don’t fucking know, you’re asking the guy who almost failed English class because it was mundane as fuck.” He tosses the shell of the peanut on the floor and grabs another. “Just don’t let it consume you, Hayes. She’s just a girl who made a mistake.”
“You’re so kind,” I mock. “That one chick you were dating in high school never did that shit to you.”
He smirks. “Which one?”
I scoff with a laugh. “Get the fuck out of here. You had, what, two girlfriends and a bunch of one night stands?” He nods, sipping from his tall glass.
“I did, but you’re not the only one who got fucked over by Gavin.” My brows furrow.
Even after the whole shit storm happened between Gavin and I, which occurred multiple times, he and Ben always stayed cool. I never asked him to choose a side or be an asshole to him. I respected him too much to do that.
“What do you mean?”
“Remember that pretty blonde, Slyvia?” Ben asks, and I nod. “He got her drunk at Moonlight Ridge...damn, what was her last name?” My feet start to fidget underneath the table like a straight shot of adrenaline had been injected into my veins. I remember that party, and I remember what didn’t happen as well.
She chose to kiss Gavin over me.
“What happened?”
“He fucked her while I was smoking a blunt. Thing was, he thought she’d shut the hell up about it so that she wouldn’t lose me. But she sang like a canary when I drove her home
, guilt-stricken about it.” He slides his empty glass across the table for a refill, watching it stop short of the side. “So, when Gavin sees something he wants, he’ll do whatever it takes to get it. He knew you liked that girl in high school, didn’t want you to have her and tried to get Sawyer back. He didn’t succeed, dude, I saw the way she looked at you from day one.”
“He did succeed,” I reply, focusing on the bubbles rising in my beer. “She must’ve missed him, and I just forced my way in.” I give a half shrug. “I don’t know why, he was such a piece of shit, but that didn’t change how she felt.”
“Well, you’re about to,” Ben chimes, leaning back in his chair and blowing out a heavy breath.
“How so?”
He ducks his head into his chest. “Didn’t you say you fucked her sister before you knew who she was?”
This again...
“Yeah.” Ben leans back in his chair again, lifting two of the legs off the hardwood floors.
“Well, that little sister is here, hugging Sawyer and looking straight at you.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now.
No. She wouldn’t...
“Could be a coincidence,” I drawl, not feeling so certain that it is. I keep my gaze deflected from that side of the table. If I look at Skylar, it’ll be an unsolicited invitation to come over here.
And I swear to God if Sawyer called her to come to the bar, I’m going to fuck her so hard she isn’t going to be able to see for days.
“Not with what she’s wearing,” Ben drones, inconspicuously looking over at the other side of the table where the bane of my existence and her annoying-as-fuck little sister are standing.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Short skirt, red lipstick, and her hair is down. She came here alone but plans on fucking you tonight.”
I raise a brow. “Is that in a girl code book or something?” I stew in irritation that he’s right. I know he is because I’ve seen it, lived it, and fucked it.
“Hey, Colson.” Skylar’s voice grates behind me. “Hello, Benjamin.”
“It’s just Ben,” he advises with humor in his tone. “Nice to see you, Skylar. What brings you here today?”
