Page 5 of Convincing the Catcher

No one says anything, but Coach Lunt crosses his arms over his chest.

“Whoever did this, you could get kicked out of this program. I hope you realize that what you did wasn’t a prank; it was vandalism.” There’s no hiding the distaste in his voice. “I won’t have men on my team who are disrespectful enough to fuck with another team’s dugout, field, or equipment. I don’t give two shits if Casco Bay did it first—it should have ended there.” He nods toward Coach King. “I can’t stand to look at them. Run ’em. I’m out of here.”

Before he sends us off to run until we puke, out of the corner of my eye, I look at Liam. To be honest, I’m more fucking scared he’s going to admit that it was him, and this team needs him. We need Huck too. He’s one helluva shortstop.

Coach walks off the field, and we’re left with Coach King, who is a hard-ass, to put it lightly. He played in the MLB for years and recently came here to be the assistant coach. Though rumor has it, he’ll be stepping into the lead role someday.

He doesn’t look at us, just tells us to start running the perimeter of the field. And then he walks away because even he can’t stand to look at our faces.

THREE

CANE

The drive home from the field isn’t nearly as peaceful as it usually is. I’m all alone, and it’s quiet, yet my mind is racing. The fact that Coach left the field without a huddle or anything shows how upset he was with our team. I’m upset with the guys, too, but who is going to believe me when I say that? I mean, I was there.

A truck on the side of the road has smoke pouring from the popped hood, and as I get closer, I see that it’s Liam. His truck is broken down more than it’s running, but it’s all he’s got, and I’ve never once heard him complain.

Pulling over in front of his truck, I push my door open and climb out. “What’s going on with it today?”

“It blew a radiator hose,” he grumbles. “I have one in the back seat of my truck.”

“Prepared?” I attempt to grin, but it’s pretty much useless.

“Yeah, when your shit breaks as much as mine does, you learn to have spares,” he jokes back, wiping his forearm across his forehead. “You mind grabbing it?”

Taking a few steps toward his truck, I open the back door and grab the hose before slamming it shut. I pass it over and watch him quickly get to work. I know a thing or two about cars, but Liam is always fixing his truck by himself. If this were me, I probably would have had it towed.

“Thanks, Cap,” he answers.

I lean against the driver’s side door and wait for him to finish up. Once he does, he climbs down and slams the hood shut, wiping the sweat from his face with his shirt.

“You all set?” I ask, and he nods.

As I start to turn to walk back to my truck, his voice stops me.

“I’m sorry, Cap. About all the running today.” His head hangs. “I know Huck and I fucked up. After a few drinks, it seemed like a good idea. Looking back, I know it wasn’t.” He pauses, swallowing gruffly. “I’m going to tell Coach tonight. I just need to talk to Huck so that we can get our stories straight and figure out what the fuck he wants to do.”

“No.” The short, simple word comes out of my mouth instantly, and I’m met with a confused gaze.

“What?”

“You … Lockhart, you could lose your scholarship. You get that, right?” I shake my head. “This isn’t just a stupid prank. You guys vandalized a dugout. It’s a pretty big fucking deal.”

“Yeah, and it’s something I did, and now my team is paying,” he snaps. “I need to take accountability for that.”

I throw my head back, cursing inwardly at how ridiculous this situation is. And the worst part is, I was driving the truck. It’s my fucking fault.

“I can’t let you throw away your dream of being a professional catcher for something this fucking dumb,” I utter, sucking in a frustrated breath. “I know how hard you worked to get here.”

“What … what are you saying?” he asks, confused. “You want me to just keep lying?”

I look down, pinching the bridge of my nose for a moment. Finally, I look at him again.

“You’re going to talk to Huck, and neither of you is going to breathe a word about this.” I hold his gaze, narrowing mine. “No matter who ends up in trouble, I need you to swear to me that you’re going to keep your mouth shut.”

“Cap … I don’t understand⁠—”

“Tripp is a coach here. And a retired professional athlete,” I mutter. “No matter what, I’ll be fine.” I swallow. “I drove the truck there. I was stupid enough to do that after you guys had been drinking. This is my fault.”