Page 9 of Convincing the Catcher

“And community service,” I mutter, not daring to look her in the eye.

I knew she’d think I deserved more punishment than what I got. To be honest, I think so too. But just like I knew would happen, my repercussions weren’t bad, and it’s probably because of the guy sitting across from me.

Oh, and our other pitchers are either injured or just really struggling right now. Coach and the athletic directors don’t want to forfeit a season just because of a stupid fucking prank gone wrong.

When I finally dare to lift my gaze to hers, she’s basically glaring at me.

“You were raised better than this, Cane,” she scolds before she pushes her chair back and stands. “You can clean the kitchen tonight. And do the dishes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I whisper.

She’s only gone for a moment before Tripp is standing up, but before he walks out of the dining room, he sighs. “This hurt her, Cane. You kids … you’ve always made good choices. You may have gone through a rough patch with chasing women and acting a little wild your first year or two of college, but you’ve never set out to hurt anyone.” He shrugs. “She’s disappointed, and you have a lot of making up to do.”

“I know,” I whisper with a nod. “I know I do.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he walks out of the room, heading down the hall and no doubt after my mom. Leaving just me, Avy, and Cash sitting at the table.

Grabbing some empty plates, I get up and head toward the kitchen because sitting there awkwardly isn’t anything I want to do. But the second I start rinsing dishes, Cash struts into the room.

“Who really fucked with the dugout, Cane?” He asks the question sharply, and though it catches me off guard, I continue on with what I’m doing.

“I did,” I toss back. “You know this.”

He moves closer to me, leaning his back against the counter next to the sink.

“Nah, brother. I’ve known you my whole life. It wouldn’t have mattered how drunk you were or how much you wanted payback for them trashing your dugout. You wouldn’t fuck with someone’s property like that.”

The room grows quiet, nothing but the sound of the running water.

“You know what I think?” He pauses. “I think you did what you always do and took the fall for someone. It’s something you’ve been doing since you were a kid. You did it for me that time I broke Grandma’s teapot and when I crashed my truck, driving too fast in the snow, and you did it for Avy when she used one of Tripp’s collectible game pucks out in the yard and it got ruined. You took the blame. You always do.”

I glance over at him, and his eyes burn into mine like he’s determined to make me crack.

“What I can’t figure out is why you’d do that. But it doesn’t matter because now, your social media—the account you’ve worked your ass off on to grow the baseball team’s fan base—is crashing out because everyone is pissed at you.” He shakes his head. “That’s what matters, Cane.”

He’s my brother and my best friend. I want to tell him the truth. I want to tell him that, of course, I didn’t do something that dumb, but that it’s all going to be fine anyway. The thing is, with Cash, I don’t need to say any of that because he already knows the truth, and I don’t need to dive into the details.

So, I don’t. Instead, I go back to washing the dishes because, to be honest, I’m scared if I don’t, my mom will come in here and strangle me.

SIX

HARLEY

Pulling my car in along the sidewalk, I slide it into park and kill the engine before getting out. Practice starts in an hour, but before that, I needed to come to the pharmacy to get my monthly medications, insulin, and pod supplies. I don’t technically need any of this stuff for another week, but in case of an apocalypse or something, I want to be prepared.

Luckily, my insurance usually covers all but fifty or so dollars a month of everything I need to monitor and treat my diabetes because if not, I’d be so screwed.

When I pull the door open, it makes a chiming sound from the bell tied on top before I rush to the front. Sometimes, this place has the longest line, so I sigh in relief when there’s no one besides me here.

“Hey, Harley,” Cliff, the pharmacist in his late fifties with white hair, says from behind the counter. “Quite a game you had last weekend! Going to be a great season, I’d say.”

“Thank you, thank you.” I grin. “We’ve got a great team for sure.”

“Time for the monthly haul?” he asks, knowing I come in here at least once a month during the school year.

“Yep.” I nod, handing him my insurance card like I’ve done countless times.

I stand here for a few minutes, like I always do. Now a small line has formed behind me, and I always hate feeling like I’m holding people up.