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Coach makes a trip to the pitcher’s mound and calls for relief. But that’s not all he calls for. I inwardly groan when I see Jason jogging from the dugout. A double switch. Just fucking great.
Jason smirks as he nods at me. I can’t believe Coach is taking me out. I get to the dugout and throw my glove against the wall. The Gatorade cooler sits there mocking me. Okay, it’s just sitting there filled with electrolytes and hydration, but anything is the enemy as rage pours out of me. I knock it over, and the fluid splashes everyone in the vicinity.
“Dalton!” Coach yells. “Get into the locker room and get dressed.”
I don’t say a word and exit.
Fuck this shit.
Chapter Eleven
CASSIE
“Areyou going to be okay here by yourself?” Dad asks as he grabs his car keys off the kitchen counter. “I have to run back to the hospital.”
Masking my irritation with indifference, I shift my gaze from the book I’m pretending to read and look across the living room to Dad. I’ve never noticed how suffocating his overprotectiveness was until now. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
His jaw works back and forth as if trying to control his temper. “I didn’t send you to college to develop an attitude. I think you’ve forgotten your place.”
That’s right. Women are subservient. How could that fact slip my mind?
My hands grip the book tighter as I shift to sit straighter. I know it’s rude not to ask about Mr. Barley, but staying home alone shouldn’t be questionable. I should just comply so I can get to Dalton. I need to find out why he threw a fit in the dugout last night. Something must be eating at him. I’m hoping that reason isn’t finding out about Bobby. “I’m sorry, but, Dad, I’m twenty-one. I’m capable of being alone.”
Our stare down is like a test of wills with neither one wanting to cave. So much for conceding. I never talk back to Dad,ever, but he better loosen this imaginary lasso wrapped around me soon. I can’t take much more.
Dad must sense he pushed too far and breaks away first. Small win, but I’ll take whatever ones I can. But then he ruins the moment by glancing toward the hallway with narrowed eyes. “You’re not exactly alone.”
Cue my anger.
I clamp my mouth shut, suppressing the string of curse words itching to escape. Yes, actual curse words. That’s how angry I am. Dad’s blatant disapproval of Dalton couldn’t be more displaced. He isn’t a bad guy. I don’t know what actions caused him to be placed under Dad’s supervision, but this preconceived idea of him isn’t fair. I don’t believe in magic—not the genie-in-the-bottle kind—so I’ve never desired to own a magic lamp. The church teaches anything dealing with magic, horoscopes, or tarot cards is sinister and evil. Still, if genies were a reality, I’d use my one wish to open Dad’s eyes to the sweet and thoughtful guy residing inside Dalton. That side of him hasn’t appeared yet, especially after the fit he threw in the dugout last night, but I know that guy is in there. I witnessed his sweetness back in Bellow Bay.
“I’ll be fine,” I say finally. “Besides, he hardly leaves his room.”
Dad grunts, but he knows it’s the truth. Dalton has been a recluse since day one. If he isn’t running or at practice, he’s tucked inside his bedroom. Dad doesn’t know my plan to talk to said hermit the moment he leaves. Dalton and I haven’t been alone since Bobby interrupted us. Even if I had seen him, he certainly wasn’t approachable after his display last night. But I owe Dalton more than an apology for not mentioning Bobby sooner. I owe him an explanation. It’s just I’m not sure his reason for staying hidden is because he doesn’t want to run into Dad or me.
“It’s a good thing he stays in there. After last night, I don’t trust him.”
Dad makes Dalton out to be some loose cannon. Sure, he was angry, but there must’ve been a reason.
“Something had to be bothering him because his entire game was off. Did you even ask?”
Dad’s expression remains stoic as he studies me, no doubt wondering how I picked up on those cues, but I got to him. I see the wheels churning inside his head. Dad may pride himself on preaching to his congregation, but he knows God’s work is best served to people outside the church community. Isn’t that the true calling? To help others when there’s a need? Funny how that gets overlooked.
“Call if you need anything,” he says through a grumble.
“I will.”
The moment Dad leaves, I bite my bottom lip and wonder if he saw through my lies. I’ve never been good at hiding the truth. Maybe that’s why he was so reluctant to leave? Ugh, why is this so hard? I should be able to talk to anyone I want.
But I find myself holding my breath while listening for the truck to back out of the driveway. Placing the book on the couch, I let another minute pass as I contemplate the best way to approach Dalton. I can’t come out and ask what’s bothering him. That line of questioning will put him on the defense. I also don’t want to admit Bobby isn’t my boyfriend. I need to keep the ruse going until after the welcome home party. It will be harder to stay away if I tell him now. The more time we spend together will deepen this attraction. And I can’t be attracted to him. I won’t be the reason his career ends.
When it’s apparent Dad won’t be coming back, I spring from the couch and dart down the hallway.
The thrumming in my chest does nothing to calm me as I stand in front of the white, wooden door. Holy moly, why am I so nervous to talk to him? I can do this. I’ve spoken to plenty of guys at college. I’ve worked beside them in the lab.But I never actually liked any of them.
I drum up encouragement and knock on the door. My breath escapes when the tall, broody man swings the door open, and those dark brown eyes stare into mine.
“Bobby isn’t my boyfriend.”
