“Play?” Henders is the only baseball player we brought to camp this year, and it wasn’t even necessary that he come. He has a scholarship lined up at Northwestern next year, so camp wasn’t a requirement for him. “When was the last time you were on the field?” I ask, curious about what spurred this desire on.
“Three years.” He winces.
“Well, I can’t start you ahead of some of the others. They’re here for scouting opportunities. That wouldn’t be—”
“I know, I know,” he interrupts, grabbing the back of his neck with both hands as discomfort pinches his eyebrows. “I just want to try—if there’s a chance.”
“This isn’t some prank to ruin the game?” I wouldn’t put it past him to pull something like that. Usually, I wouldn’t care, but something in me has me refusing to lose tomorrow. It could be the Eric situation. It could be pent-up frustration. Either way, I’m not risking a loss because one of my guys wants to have a little fun.
“No, no. I just want to go out with a bang. This is my last hoorah before college.” His face falls.
I stop walking to face him, his words hitting me like a brick to the throat.
Last hoorah.
Brennan’s last words to me before his helicopter went down ring in my ears. Charlie’s eyes flicker with a hint of sadness as he looks back at the rowdy group approaching, and I feel it, deep in my gut. The sadness he must feel about having to leave Glendale, having to grow up and move on, mixes with my own. Sadness over growing up. Sadness over last hoorahs. Sadness over losing my friend.
The group catches up to us, loud and unfiltered from their sugar high.
“Last hoorah, huh?” I ask Charlie in a whisper. He nods, his face melancholy and eyes hazy. “Captain?”
Devon perks up. “Yes, Coach?”
“What do you say we get Henders fitted with some pads?”
Gleeful eyes surround me, fist-bumping and high-fiving Henders as if they just won the lottery. It was the answer they had all been waiting for. Putting him in tomorrow must have been a dinner conversation I missed.
“Thanks, Coach!” Charlie reaches out to hug me then thinks better of it and pins his arms back down to his sides. Garrett, however, has no sense of personal boundaries and wraps his arms around both of us. My repulsed groan is shushed as everyone joins in on the weird thing people call a group hug. The desire to crawl out of my skin fades when I hear someone whisper, “You guys are the best.”
I’m still riding a subtle high from the endorphins that betrayed me from that hug when we part ways in the hallway. The room is dark when I get back with no sign of Kate. It’s past ten.
They’re probably enjoying their night. Holding hands.Kissing.
My chest hollows out at the thought.
Dread follows me around like a shadow, clinging to every part of me as I rush to get ready for bed. Having a conversation with Kate about the events of this evening will end in one of two ways: me admitting my feelings, or me going to bed a liar. Neither of them can happen. The only choice I have is to hurry up and get to bed before she gets back—a temporary fix, of course. We will have to talk about things eventually. We’re only here for another day and a half. If I can just put this potentially friendship-ending conversation off until we get back, I’ll be fine. I’d rather get rejected in the comfort of my own yard. My office would suffice, even. Somewhere I’m comfortable and safe, not a thousand miles away with nowhere to run.
I crawl into the bed as the softness of the cream sheets clings to my damp post-shower skin. The whistling of wind moves through the crack in the balcony door. I curse myself for not shutting it, climb out of bed, and shuffle over to close it.
The click of the balcony door shutting and the latch of the front door opening happen simultaneously. For a moment, I pray the room is so dark she can’t see me standing twenty feet in front of her, in my boxers.
My prayers are unanswered when she whispers, “Hi.”
The brassy doorknob is cold against my lower back as I back as far away from her as possible. Kate’s face is hidden in shadows, making her expression unreadable and a thousand times scarier than in the light of day. I can usually read her like a book, having the home advantage.
“Hello.” I sound like I missed puberty when my voice cracks out the second half of my greeting. “How was—”
“Don’t even think about it.” She’s a foot away from me now, moonlight revealing half of her face to me. Her light-pink lipstick is worn off, and her hair is pulled back in a tie. Curiosity races through me at why she looks so undone. It hurts. “Now spill.” Crossing her arms in that cute, defiant way, she waits.
“Do you want to get cleaned up first?”
“Nope. Now talk.”
“Kate,” I groan, sliding my body out from against the door, the knob leaving an awkward imprint on my skin. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to start being honest.” Her words sting as guilt settles itself on my shoulders.
Pulling my hoodie on over my head, I feel it’s important to be semi-dressed for this kind of conversation. I slide onto the bed and gesture to the open space beside me. The internal struggle of her decision to join me is written all over her face.
