Mick held a finger to her mouth, demanding Abby’s silence, doubling down by dragging the same finger across her throat.
“I’m good.” Abby bit back a sour mouthful.
By game time, she struggled to balance, the dirt transforming into choppy waves beneath her unsteady feet. The first batter whizzed a shot between her and Courtney. Usually, she would’ve lunged for the out but stayed back on her heels.
The next batter hit into a perfect double play. Kate scooped the ball and flipped it to her. Abby strained to catch it, clipped second base with her toes for the out, but didn’t attempt a throw for the double play. She braced herself on her knees to avoid vomiting.
“Come on.” Kate smacked her glove in frustration. “We had that.”
Abby drew a hand across her clammy forehead. “Sorry.”
When T.K. struck out the next two batters, she could’ve kissed her. On the way to the dugout, Mick ripped off her catcher’s mask and bared her teeth. “Get it together.”
“Fuck off,” she hissed.
The problems continued at bat. She intended to hit a ground ball and make herself an easy out so she could retire to the dugout. Instead, she somehow finessed a shot to the outfield and groaned when it rolled to the fence. Rather than run to second base, Abby stopped on first and nearly retched.
Mick got up next and Abby swore she smiled as if plotting revenge. She launched a hit past the right fielder forcing Abby to sprint for second, then third, her stomach gurgling every step.
“Go!” Coach Whitley waved her on toward home plate. “Take a turn!”
Abby moved at half-speed but also couldn’t pump the brakes. Her strides kept cycling, momentum building, as the catcher called for the ball.
“Back! Back!” Coach Whitley yelled.
But Abby charged onward, tripping toward home plate. The catcher blocked her path while she waited on the throw. With no other option, Abby lowered her shoulder as the ball flew in. She knocked into the catcher, and they tumbled behind the plate. Abby dragged her hand through the dirt in search of the coveted marker.
“Safe!” the umpire barked.
Abby rolled onto her back and groaned as the Eagles cheered. In the dugout, her teammates jostled and smacked her back. She shrugged them off, pushed their hands away, ripped off her helmet, and threw up in the nearest trash can. They darted back in disgust.
“What the fuck,” Lauren said.
Abby flipped her off with her head still in the trash can, and when the inning ended, she didn’t dare move.
“What’s going on?” Coach Whitley asked.
“Something I ate,” Abby said.
Coach Whitley turned to Mick, who shrugged. “Fine. Cruz, you’re out. Hutchins, take over at shortstop.”
Abby’s heart stopped. Not because she cared about getting benched or losing her position, but because Kate got to take it. She lifted her head to see her take the field. When she settled her cleats into the dirt, popping bright against the green outfield, white foul lines, and boundless blue behind, Abby swore it’s where she’d belonged all along.
She spent the doubleheader lying on the bench with a towel covering her eyes but sat up to watch Kate at shortstop. She observed her footwork, her steady crouch, her zip of a throw. While Abby had once criticized Kate for being stiff and mechanical, from the bench she witnessed something she never quite mastered herself. Abby exuded freedom within the game, but Kate exuded love. While the softball lived inside Abby, a natural part of who she was, Kate worked for it with a tenacity that could only come from the heart. She played like she believed in it. Like she might restore Abby’s belief too.
That night, the group adjusted sleeping arrangements so Abby couldn’t leave, though she promised profusely not to. Jill slept on the rollaway, blocking Abby’s end of the bed, while Kate took her side,guaranteeing that she would literally have to crawl over them to escape. Not that she wanted to. Rather than dread another nightmare, rather than itch for a drink, she sank into the pillows. She eyed Kate in the dark next to her, lulled to sleep by her breathing.
Abby recovered for Sunday’s games and welcomed Coach Whitley’s change in the lineup. “Hutchins, stay at short. Cruz, let’s try you at second.”
“Yes, Coach.” Abby grinned as she caught Kate’s smile.
While Abby certainly preferred shortstop, she played second base brazenly. Playing second ensured Kate rightfully shined at short. They locked down the defense, a ball never breaking their fortress, the two of them errorless through the doubleheader, diving, sliding, whipping outs to Jill.
The final out of the tournament sent Kate diving across the dirt. She twisted and flung the ball off target to Abby, but it didn’t matter. She tagged the runner behind her back and threw to Jill for the final out, the win, and a roar. It wasn’t just going through the motions either. Abby could feel it again.
When Kate came at her for a high five, she crushed her in a hug and lifted her off her feet. Organically, either to Kate, the softball gods, or the unknowable magnetism that drew her back to the field, Abby whispered into her neck, “Thank you.”
Kate’s gaze glistened when she released her, a pure blue that knotted Abby’s throat. She didn’t fully recall her night of debauchery or breakdown, but something in her knew it then. Kate was her anchor. A whisper, a hug, a pair of lips to the top of her head in the harrowing noise. She waited for her to respond, saw her mouth open, but then the rest of the team tightened around them. Abby held her stare for as long as possible, wanting her to know what she knew. That it wasn’t the game that saved her. It was Kate.
