“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah shit.”
Abby grinned. “Damn, congrats, Mickey. And to Haley too. She’s a saint.”
“I’m not calling for your well-wishes. I need you for this one. I’m cashing in on my favor,” Mick said. “You, Shupe, T.K., Hutch. It’s time for us to come back together.”
Abby sighed and patted her pockets for a cigarette. “I appreciate it, Mick, and I love you, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You and Kate are closer anyway. I’ll still come to the wedding.”
“Nope. This is what I want. This is what I get.”
“Fucking bridezilla.” Abby chuckled.
“You’re damn right. Plus, I want to tear up Vegas for the bachelorette.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll come.”
“Bye, idiot.”
“Bye.”
Abby groaned. She didn’t think her luck could get any worse lately, but she should have known somewhere lower always waited in the wings. And this day, when the call home finally came, had taunted her across the globe.
In the aftermath of the national championship, she had scrambled to put as much space as possible between her and Kate, gathering her shit and driving south before the team returned to campus. That’s when she broke her silence with Isla, cashing in on a place to crash. She spent the next week on her couch at her new home in San Diego, helping her and Luca unpack, drinking on the beach every night, the Pacific cooing in the backyard.
“Maybe I can just stay here,” Abby said while she watched the waves with a bottle of champagne on what would be graduation day.
Isla flopped down on the sand next to her. “You’re welcome to, but I think you should settle a few things first.”
“I’m not talking about Kate with you. You promised.” Abby slugged more champagne. “I’m still recovering from you getting between me and Audie and the trust fund business.”
Despite Abby’s protests, the money hit her bank account after Isla confirmed she had just barely passed her last classes. It was more than she knew what to do with. Money she also refused to touch. At least for now.
“I’ve apologized for that, hence your open invitation to hide in my pool house.” Isla shook her head and frowned. “I’m not talking about Kate. I’m talking about your extra year of eligibility and grad school. You should still go.”
“I’m not going to Berkeley.”
“Then somewhere else.”
Somewhere else being Alabama or Florida. Somewhere she wouldn’t have to see Kate and might get over the heartbreak. But she couldn’t picture herself there, back in the classroom, playing alongside new teammates. She also couldn’t imagine lasting more than a month before dropping out. Abby shook her head.
“Okay, well, what about Team USA?” Isla asked.
“It won’t be far enough,” she whispered.
She needed more than state lines between them. She needed countries.
That’s when it whispered between the waves. Puerto Rico. A call from roots she didn’t know, or maybe the game itself. She didn’t have a real explanation, except that she needed two things, and it offered both—softball and an escape.
In the morning, she contacted the national team’s coach, and he offered her a tryout. She bought a one-way ticket and packed a single bag.
“I don’t like this. You have no one there,” Isla said when she drove her to the airport. “Is this about Dad?”
Abby glared. “No.”
“You’re literally returning to where he grew up. You don’t think that’s like some Freudian thing?”
“It’s the only other place I can play that’s not here. I’m not going to explain it.” Abby’s knee bounced while she checked her passport. “Can you just do what I asked?”
