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Left? For where?

Coach grilled all of us about it, but no one had heard from him. Guilt knotted up my stomach, twisting it tighter with every new stretch. Even after joining some of the others in center field, my secondary position, I still felt like I needed to puke.

The only thing that kept me somewhat grounded was the idea that maybe I could see Eliza later. I hadn’t heard from her since the carnival, but I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that was a bad sign. I had enough of those already.

Just as I was about to secretly send another text to Ben in the dugout, he finally showed up after Coach started batting practice.

Christ. He looked like hell.

His practice uniform was wrinkled, like he had slept in it, and his eyes were bloodshot, a bruise forming underneath one.

I cursed under my breath as he shuffled his feet into the dugout.

Coach Monaco left home plate and stomped over to Ben. I couldn’t hear what he said, but from how his hands moved, I could tell he wasn’t happy.

I should’ve gone over to Brett’s last night. Brought Ben back home with me. Looked after him the way he’d looked after me time and time again.

A minute later, Ben chucked his glove toward the dugout, ripped off his chest protector and shin guards, and jogged out of the stadium.

“Bet coach has him runnin’ the cross-country route,” Cameron said from right field, which was his secondary position. “He needs to get his head on straight. We need him for PFPs later.”

Coach hit a pop fly to left field. Nick caught it on a run and threw it to our cutoff man.

“He’ll be okay,” I said, more for myself than for Cameron. He has to be.

“He’d better be.” Cameron hit his glove a few times. “After that close call with that bunt the last game, Coach will be pissed if he isn’t back in time today.”

Ben missed the PFPs.

He also didn’t make it back to see Dominic nail a sweet backhanded catch and flip. Total Jeter moment.

When the turtle was rolled out and set up behind home plate, Ben walked back up to the field. He dripped with sweat and looked greener than I had ever seen him as he dropped onto the bench several feet away from me. He guzzled almost an entire bottle of water.

“You okay?” I asked.

He stared straight ahead.

Oh, come on. “Hello?” I waved my hand in front of his face.

He stood up and slid on his batting gloves. Coach Monaco began throwing from the mound toward the turtle. The top of our lineup and our first baseman, Alejandro, stood at the plate.

“So what, you gonna ignore me the rest of the season?” I asked.

He spat, stepped out of the dugout, and muttered a few things before he whirled around. “It would be easier for both of us if I did.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” I hit the inside of my glove. “Come back to the farm. We’ve got season three of Stranger Things to start now—”

“I don’t like season three.”

I frowned. “But you said it’s Hopper’s best season…”

“I changed my mind.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

Coach Roeper yelled from the outfield. “Let’s go, Fulton! Footwork drills start in two.”

“On my way!” I yelled back before turning to Ben. “Look, I’m sorry that you had to give up the showcase to be here, and I’m sorry about fucking up the pact.”

“Let’s be honest here, Fulton. This is about more than just the showcase and that damn pact.”