I shake my head no. She huffs and rolls her eyes. If only she’d find some manners back there in her thick skull we might actually end this conversation before it has the chance to get any worse.
“Hunter Alexander! The catcher.”
I know who she is talking about but her attitude has me completely thrown.
“Just so you know,” she leans in and I hear yelling in the stands making me know a play has just been made, and it isn’t the one everyone was hoping for. “I was here long before he pulled you out of whatever dumpster he found you hiding in,” she looks me up and down with disgust before continuing. “And I will be here long after he gets tired of you and throws you out like all the others.”
I shake my head, trying to keep up with this conversation, her insults, and why someone like me could make her feel the way she evidently does. Like a threat just blew in, and she is hell-bent on making it leave the way it came.
“I’ve warmed his bed many nights. I know what he likes, and how he likes it. And hell if I will stand around long enough to see a tramp like you take what is mine.”
“Tiffany,” one of her friends shouts. She turns and her friend gives us a motion like it is time to leave. I look back out at the field and notice the stands are emptying, the game was lost, and the players have left the field.
Glancing back Tiffany’s way, I sit up a little taller, take a deep breath, and say, “I think it’s time you leave.”
She laughs, before coming a step closer and pointing her perfectly manicured nail in my face. “Don’t think this is over, trash.”
“My name’s Rochelle.”
She gives me a sinister smile before backing away.
“Tiffany.” She laughs. “Remember that when he screams my name while he’s fucking you. I’ll always win, Rochelle. It would take a whole lot more than some girl from the wrong side of the tracks to make me lose what’s mine. And he is mine.”
She turns to leave and my heart breaks. It’s just like I feared, I don’t belong here. I never will. It’s better if Hunter understands that now before anything else is done or said. Tears prick the back of my eyes. I will not break. Not here. Not now. But it’s a battle I lose, as one tear slowly falls. Just like I fear I’ll lose the battle when it comes to Hunter and my heart.
* * *
I am not sure how long I’ve been sitting here. The room is empty. The stadium is clear. Sitting with my thoughts, I stare out at the open field and keep my eyes locked on the bright lights as I attempt to block out all that was just said.
Determined to never feel this way again, I rise from my seat and turn to make my way towards the door. I stop dead in my tracks when I see someone in the shadows. Adrenaline races through my veins until the figure comes into the light. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t say a word. He walks a few steps forward as if he knows everything I am feeling and our connection will be all I need to erase it.
I back away at first. Needing space. It has been a long time since someone made me feel the way that girl just did. Getting bullied was a normal occurrence in my youth, especially right after we moved, but it has been a few years since then. As I started to put myself through school, I purposely avoided people so I never had to feel the way she made me feel.
As a matter of fact, I don’t think anyone has ever made me feel worse.
When I start to take another step back, Hunter shakes his head, and I stop. My eyes well up with tears, but just before my face falls to the floor his hand cups my chin and makes me hold his stare.
“You don’t get to feel like this ever again, Angel.” He whispers as he stares into my soul. “You’re mine, and I protect what’s mine.”
“But…” I go to rebuttal but he shakes his head.
“And I’m yours,” he says, bringing our hands up and lacing them together over his chest. “Only yours.” His free hand lifts and brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Wouldn’t you protect what is yours?”
I think back to what Tiffany said and worry I am getting in over my head. My breathing quickens as he comes a step closer until we are toe to toe.
“One of the guys told me where I’d find you.”
I glance away, afraid he’ll see too much. The fear, sadness, hesitance in me to trust him and whatever this is building between us.
I start to say, “I’m sorry about the game…,” but he cuts me off.
“He also told me what she said.”
A tear falls down my cheek. What she said? She only said what we all know is true. We can’t ignore facts any longer.
“I don’t like to feel that way,” I confess, as I slowly open up to him, allow him to see me vulnerable and stripped down to nothing. I can face the facts, I’ve faced them all my life. It’s time he does as well. It’s better that way. For the both of us. Before we go any further.
“I’m sorry, but...”
