Page 36 of Praising the Pitcher

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Sorry, Mom. Your memorial is too beautiful for me to be crying all over.” I sniffle, smiling sadly because she always told me to keep my chin up and smile. “If you were here, you’d tell me what to do.” My head hangs and my lip trembles. “You’d talk to him.”

For my entire life, my dad has been hard on me. That’s the truth. But when my mom was alive, she did her best to at least try to protect me from him. When he was losing his mind on me after a game because I didn’t perform to his standards, she’d separate us as best she could. She’d take her own car to a lot of games and would snag me before my dad got the chance. She acted like a buffer, and since the day she died, I’ve been on my own.

“Anyway, enough about all of that,” I whisper, a shiver running down my spine because it’s December and it’s cold outside. I don’t mind the cold, but I’d prefer there to be at least a little snow on the ground with it—though next week there is finally a snowstorm that’s supposed to roll through Massachusetts.

“I’ve been hanging out with a friend. And before you get any ideas, notice how I used the word friend because that’s what he is,” I blab quickly, like I would if she were really here. I haven’t found anyone who I can talk as openly as I used to with my mom, and I guess that’s why even though she’s gone, I still do it. I miss her responses more than I can even bare.

“Anyway, this guy, my friend, his name is Noah, and even though I know it’s weird—because, oh yeah, did I mention he’s my best friend’s brother?” I cringe. “Yes, well, he is. I know, I know. Don’t judge.” I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “We’re just friends, I swear. I mean, yes … he is insanely good looking, but it doesn’t matter because we aren’t like that.”

I do this weird thing I always do where I close my eyes and imagine what her facial expression would be if she were really standing in front of me. And then, I think about what she’d probably say to me next. I will my mind to make me hear her sweet voice. Sometimes, it’s so realistic that I cry after because it’s just a tease of actually having her here. It’s like she’s so close I can almost reach out and hug her, only … I can’t. And when I open my eyes back up, I’m always reminded of that.

I picture her warm smile, followed by her lifting a brow and saying, “Just friends, huh?” She’d want to know more about him, for sure. One thing about my mom though—she was always pushing for me to be more of a kid than my dad, and even myself, allowed me to be. I think she’d be excited I’m hanging out with a boy, even if we are just friends.

Which we are.

I look weird, sitting here all alone, talking to myself in a cemetery. Yet, here I am.

“We’re just friends because he has a no dating his sister’s friends rule and because you know I don’t have time for that even if he didn’t have that rule.” My mind wanders to a place where maybe I would have time for normal college things like dating if my life wasn’t constantly so jam-packed with my normal school schedule, my softball schedule, and then all the extra things my dad piles on.

“Either way, after everything happened with Haven and her stalker—” I pause, swallowing because if my mom really is looking over me the way I hope she is, she would know what I’m talking about and maybe, just maybe, she’s part of the reason that day ended the way it did instead of much worse. I like to think she’s my own personal angel sometimes because I can’t let myself think she’s just completely gone from my life all together. The thought alone is too dark for me to entertain.

Even bringing the incident with Tabor up sends chills down my spine and makes my stomach churn with nerves. “He was really there for me after that. He made it all a little more tolerable.” I know that’s an understatement. Noah King is the only reason I’m sleeping at night, but I know I need to stop relying on him for that. It’s time for me to be a big girl and go back to The Nest.

I pull my hand from my pocket and tap the screen on my watch. “Well, I gotta go, Mom,” I whisper, kissing my fingers then pressing them to the large, cold stone. “I miss you and I love you so much.”

For a moment, I just sit here like this, so badly wanting to believe she’s listening to everything I’m saying and, in her own way, will somehow guide me through these rough waters. I love softball and I really don’t want to walk away from the game, but my dad has tainted it with his constant pressure, and now, everything is so … confusing.

Exhaling, I stand, and a puff of cold air blows from my lips.

“Bye, Mama,” I say softly before I turn and head back toward my car.

Getting inside, I blast the heat, and like I always do, I don’t allow myself a single second more to sit and wallow because like usual …

I don’t have time for that.

I haven’t spoken to my dad in a few days. And maybe part of me doesn’t want to write him off. But for my whole softball and school career, I’ve been expected to do things a certain way. To show up early and stay late. To give one hundred and ten percent, even when my cup is nearly empty. That’s just who I am, no matter if it’s my dad’s prompting or not. The only way I know how to play the game is with my whole heart. So here I go, pulling off the shoulder of the road and heading back toward campus.

Practice may not start for another hour, but I guess old habits die hard.

Besides, right now he’s thinking I can’t go on without his help. And something inside me is dying to prove him wrong. Because maybe Noah is right. Maybe I am a badass softball player all on my own.

FOURTEEN

NOAH

“Quit showing off for your sister’s best friend, would you?” Dallas nudges me on our way back across the field.

“I’m not,” I say instantly, even though … he’s right.

Call me Mason King Jr., but what can I say, just like my dad, I like to strut my stuff on the field when I know someone is watching me. For my dad, it was my mom because all he wanted to do was impress her. Now here I am, doing the same thing because the fact a certain blonde pitcher is here in the stands? Well, call me Tom because I’m strutting like a goddamn turkey. This could be one of the best games I’ve ever played, and it’s all because I’m showing off like an idiot. I know we’re only friends, but the thought of her being impressed with my skills does things to me, so I can’t miss this opportunity to make some big moves out here tonight.

“No offense, Noah, but you’re not exactly subtle when you’re into someone,” Dallas utters. “Your sister may not have caught on yet, but I know you better than anyone.” He nudges me, smirking. “The night you two left dinner early and you took her home, I knew something was up.”

“That’s the thing—nothing is up,” I say quickly, shrugging. “We’re strictly friends. Not everyone is all in love and shit like you and my sister. Sometimes, people are friends.”

He looks me full in the face, studying me like he’s trying to find some hidden truth, but eventually rolls his eyes. “All right, whatever you say.” As the team surrounds him in a huddle, he’s back to quarterback and team captain Dallas, dropping anything else that doesn’t have to do with us winning this game as he talks to his team.