Page 45 of Praising the Pitcher

An athlete who will never be good enough, though he wants to keep pushing me to be better.

Harley is silent for a moment. She’s never one to blurt something out if it’s important to her. Instead, she wants to say it right. So finally, she speaks.

“If you ever decide to move back home, I’d understand. But just know I don’t think you need him. I’m sure he’s going to make you feel like you do. All the stuff he’s doing, it’s part of his plan for that. But you have your team. You have Coach. You have your friends.” She glances at me, smiling. “And most of all … you have you. And you are the most driven, hardworking, badass woman I know. You didn’t get this far because your dad paid for pitching lessons and made you eat the healthiest food. Did that all help you become the superior athlete you are? Hell yeah. But you got here because of you, Gigi. Because of your dreams and your goals.” Her voice cracks. “And because of your love for the game.”

I’m usually one of the tough ones. I rarely cry, maybe because I’ve been trained not to show emotion on the mound. So when a lone tear falls, I quickly wipe it.

“Thank you, Harley,” I whisper as she turns into the parking lot at the large dome we practice in. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”

There really isn’t a better catcher out there than Harley, and she does it while also being a type 1 diabetic. I know it’s challenging, but she never complains. Ever.

Pushing our doors open, the cold air hits my face and a shiver runs through me.

“Wow, it’s cold.”

“Yep, it’s going to snow this weekend, like, a lot.” She groans. “I’m not ready for that.”

“Me either,” I utter, though sometimes I don’t mind the fresh powder. Not to mention Christmas is a little over a week away and we haven’t had much snow yet besides some flurries. Which means we’re due.

As we walk into the field house, of course, we’re the first players here, and it crosses my mind that maybe, just maybe, Noah’s texted me. I wonder if he thinks I’m mad because I haven’t responded.

What am I even saying? As happy as he seemed to drop me off at The Nest the other night and not have me at his dorm, he probably hasn’t texted me at all.

Which is good. After all, Haven warned me to be careful, so it’s probably for the best.

NOAH

I pull into the dome and park my truck next to my sister’s car. Like a weirdo, I logged into my mom’s Skylight to see Haven’s practice schedule. Not because I’m a stalker, but because Gigi’s car wasn’t at The Nest, and it’s not here either.

Since this week marks the beginning of playoff season, we’re hitting it extra hard at practice. So, while it’s good I’m not distracted by Gigi, I’m even more distracted with the fact she isn’t receiving my messages. I’ve tried to push her out of my thoughts, but until I find out why she’s ghosting me, my mind won’t be on the field, and I can’t have that.

Within five minutes, the softball team begins to file out through the door. The first round of players exits, looking thrilled it’s over. Haven comes out as expected—about mid-pack, instantly spotting me beside her.

Reluctantly, I roll my window down.

“Sup, loser?” I say, nodding my chin at her.

“Leaving practice, moron. What the fuck else would I be doing leaving the dome with my team?” she says, narrowing her eyes. “What about you? Out here stalking my friend?”

“If you’re talking about your blonde-haired pitcher friend, she’s my friend too.”

“She was my friend first,” she sasses back. “And I’m closer to her than you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m closer to D.”

Her mouth hangs open. “Are not!”

I can’t help but smirk because I knew that would strike a nerve. It’s always irked her that throughout the years, Dallas and I have been so close. I guess because even when he was being a dick to her and her a bitch to him, they wanted to be each other’s number ones, but they were too immature to just say that.

“Anyway, where’s—” My words stop when I see Gigi and Harley come through the door. “Never mind.” I bring my hand to the door handle but jerk my chin at my sister. “Move your ass. I need to get out.”

In true Haven form, she gives me the middle finger before she storms off, and of course, I laugh.

It takes Gigi the entire trek across the parking lot before she sees me, and when she does, I swear she pretends like she doesn’t as she heads to Harley’s car, stuffing their softball bags into the trunk before slamming it shut.

Not giving her the option to avoid me, I jog her way.

“Hey, you got a minute?” I ask, stuffing my hands into my hoodie pocket because, fuck, it’s cold outside.