Page 4 of Saving The Shortstop

He’s doing a good job showing that, that’s for damn sure. He’s yelled at Noah more times than he has at all of us.

Combined.

I’m still getting used to this team. Last year, I attended Florida East University and played there for the season. I think part of me hoped that going back to my home state would somehow tie up any loose ends inside me that have been holding onto the past. I was wrong though.

In fact, it made old wounds reopen, and honestly, I hated every second I was there. It had been years since I had nightmares of my childhood, but within the first few weeks of being back, they returned, haunting me more nights than not.

Between the past creeping in on me, and my adoptive parents, Memphis and Lane, being all the way in New England, it made sense to transfer to New England University. Especially since my dad’s best friend, Mason King, had been appointed as head coach, and he’d wanted me to play for him since I was fifteen years old.

Though, as bad as I’ve sucked today, he’s probably rethinking that.

We all stand here, waiting for him to yell at us—anything, really. And when I see Coach’s daughter, Haven, jogging up toward the field, wearing her softball uniform, I’m almost relieved. Because if anyone can put Coach in a better mood, it will be Haven.

The relief comes with another feeling though too. A feeling of anger when a defenseman, Tabor Timmons, calls out to her. “Looking good, babe!”

Maybe it’s because I’ve never looked at Haven as just a family friend. Or because we kissed once when I was sixteen, and even though that kiss changed my fucking brain chemistry, I took the coward’s way out and pretended the next day not to remember anything from the night before, claiming I blacked out.

I had a few beers, sure. But I wasn’t drunk enough to forget what her lips felt like and how she tasted. I’m not sure any amount of alcohol could do that to me. But she’s wholesome sunshine. She doesn’t have an ounce of darkness inside her.

Me? I’m filled with it. Lane and Memphis may have saved my life, but before they came along, I was living in a hell that still haunts me to this day. I knew that I’d ruin her if I ever let her get close enough to me. So all these years, I’ve kept her at arm’s length—admiring her from a distance, even when it fucking kills me.

I think that’s part of why I went to Florida East too. Because being that close to her was torture, and I needed to get away.

Timmons yells something else out, followed by a whistle, and Coach luckily has had enough.

“That’s enough, Timmons!” Coach growls quickly, and even with sunglasses on, I know he’s glaring hard at Tabor, who is seeing Haven but is also a complete tool bag, though he’s different when she’s around—but it’s an act, I know.

Finally, he tears his eyes from Timmons. “So, I’ll make you all a deal. Haven here is going to record you idiots on her phone and post it online. That means, if you suck, everyone’s going to see.” He smirks. “Plus, you’ll all look like fools in front of her, and she’ll get a good laugh.”

He’s not kidding either. I’ve known Haven since I was eleven years old. She will laugh. Especially since her brother’s on the field.

“Let’s get it right!” Noah yells, slipping his mouthguard in.

Those two are just under two years apart in age, and I don’t think they could be any more competitive with each other if they tried. The last thing Noah will want to do is fuck up so that his big sister has ammo to use to make fun of him.

I also would prefer not to look like a moron in front of Haven King …

HAVEN

“You’re kind of mean, you know,” I mutter to my dad, giving him a side-hug before I pull my phone out. “You really want me to post this if they screw it up?”

“Yep. You can tag ’em too, if you want,” he answers instantly. “Don’t tell me you stopped in to see Timmons. Guy’s a meathead.”

“Yes, and you’ve told me that the past few months.” I pat his arm. “So, I think we have it covered.”

“Well if I’ve told you so many times, why are you still hanging out with him?” he asks before shaking his head. “You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Just record the play.”

I’m thankful that he dropped it. I can’t tell my dad the truth. The truth being that everything with Tabor and me is just fun and easy. Meaningless hookups.

Do I see myself marrying a dude like Tabor Timmons? Hell no. But Harley is attached at the hip to Cane, Isla is with Hendrix, and everyone else is busy with their own shit. Which means, other than softball and classes, I get bored. And sometimes, when I’m bored, I do stupid shit.

Like hook up with boys I probably shouldn’t hook up with because they are kind of assholes to everyone around them.

“All right, fellas,” I say, whirling my finger around with my free hand. “Do your thang.”

My eyes are immediately drawn to Dallas Rivers, and it’s not just because he’s the quarterback who’s about to control this play.

Ever since I was twelve years old, he’s been around. In a way, he’s like family. But even I can’t deny that our eyes often linger on each other’s a little too long. Not to mention the one time he pulled me into a dark room at a party and kissed me. But when he didn’t remember anything about that night before the next morning, I was too proud to bring it back up then.