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This felt like when she left, she’d gut me, snatch my heart out of my chest, and fly it to the other side of the world.
I didn’t even know if I’d see her again.
The thought was a knife to the belly, starting the cut for her.
As much as I loved her body and all the time I got to spend in her, that wasn’t even in the top five things I’d miss about her. I wanted her sitting in my kitchen with Dolly on while I cooked. I wanted her in the bucket seat next to me, laughing as she tried to keep her untethered hair out of her face. I wanted her sitting right there in the stands, looking at me like she was. I wanted?—
Crack.
By the time I turned to the sound, a ball was sailing just over my head, and some motherfucker was sprinting up the line in my direction.
I missed a catch that should have been an easy out, to the tune of a couple hundred people bitching me out—Coach the loudest—but recovered, zipping it to Tate at second to hold the runner. My gaze was on the dirt, hands on my hips as I headed back to first, shaking my head.
“Do I need to pull you?” Coach snapped.
“I’m good.”
“You sure? ‘Cause you look like shit.”
“I said I’m good,” I shot back, turning to the game.
I put Jessa as far from my mind as I could, which was not very far at all, turns out. When the inning was over, I even thought about putting her panties away, but in the end, I couldn’t do it. My mistake was indulging myself between plays and at bat with thoughts of her. Because once the tail-chasing started, there was no stopping until it was too late.
I was taking my swings on deck when Grayson pulled up next to me and spit in the dirt, eyes narrowed.
“Is this about that girl?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I swung the bat, pretending to be unfazed.
“Don’t bullshit me. Is her being here fucking you up?”
“Why would that fuck me up?”
“Don’t play dumb either. What needs to happen for you to lock in?”
I considered as I swung again and inspected the bat like I had something to look for. What needed to happen was her sticking around for a little while. What needed to happen was she should be back at my place every night instead of in that mansion with her mom. What needed to happen was?—
“Hey!” Coach snapped his fingers. “What in the fuck, man. You’ve got it bad.”
“Tell me about it.” Swing.
“Figure it out or you’re going to lose us this game.”
With that, he stalked back to the dugout, and Tate hit a line drive past first that got him to second base.
And then it was my turn.
Inside the batter’s box, I found the peace I’d been looking for. Nothing existed except me and my bat, the pitcher and his ball. The noise of the crowed muffled, the sound of my heartbeat loud in my ears, my breath even and measured as I waited for the pitch.
When he let it loose, I swung.
Crack. Sail.
No thunk, because that motherfucker went over the fence.
Tate and I trotted around the diamond, the crowd on their feet and cheering. I had been redeemed, and so I was smug, smirking and waving and celebrating with my team when I made it back to the dugout.
“Told you I was fine,” I shot at Gray with an asshole smile still on my face.
