Page 86 of Praising the Pitcher

I stand near the doorway, hidden in the corner.

“Sign the papers, Cal!” My mom’s voice is angry. So angry it almost lingers on the edge of scary. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her sound like that. To be honest, she was usually the one in my home who was calm.

“Get those papers out of my face, Rachel,” my dad says, speaking evenly, yet there’s an eerie hint to his tone.

“What would Kathy think if she found out her fuck buddy won’t give his wife a divorce!” my mom screams now, and I’m sure it’s because she thinks I’m outside doing tee work on my turf. She always tries to hide from me how bad things are—how unhappy she is.

Obviously there have been signs. My parents never hugged, didn’t kiss. Rode in separate cars a lot of the time, though I know that was also for my benefit because car rides with my dad were spent with him telling me all the things I was doing wrong. Still, there was no love lost between them, and that was becoming even more clear.

“What do you expect, Rach?” my dad growls. “You haven’t touched me in years. You flinch when I touch you. So, yes. I go to Katherine and she gives me what I need.”

“You’re disgusting. Your affairs started long before we stopped—” She pauses and I’m grateful. Really grateful. “And since when do you call Kathy by her full name.”

“Since we’ve gotten closer,” he bites back.

“That’s nice,” my mom mutters. “Either way, if you sign the papers, Gigi and I will be out of your hair and you can ride off into the sunset with Katherine.” I hear the fumbling of papers, and when I peek around the corner, I see her thrusting them across the counter toward him. “Please, Cal. If you have a heart at all … let us go.”

Something snaps inside my dad, and suddenly, he’s charging toward her, his hand around my mother’s throat.

“You think I’ll ever let you go?” he hisses. “Gigi is going to play professional softball—because of me. And the sneaker company? What do you think? You’re going to just take that away from me too?”

“It was my dad’s dream!” Mom grunts out, under the hold of his hand. I knew if he pushed harder, I was going to have to rush out. I had seen him yell at my mom plenty of times, or make snide, hurtful comments. But never had I seen him physically hurt her.

Until now.

My heart begins to pound harder, blood whooshing in my ears, and it becomes harder to breathe.

“My dad gave us the start-up money and the plans before he died, asshole,” she utters, and his grip tightens.

“Fuck you,” he spews, a monster overtaking his body.

I’m just about to rush around the corner when he pulls his hand back and she falls to the floor.

“If you think you’ll ever get away from me, you’re wrong. I’ll never let you take Gigi anywhere. And if you try, I’ll ruin not just your life, but hers too,” he says lowly, dropping down onto the floor to glare at her. “The only way you’ll ever get away from me is when you’re dead.”

My mom’s gaze lifts, and I see something I’ve never seen in her eyes before …

Defeat.

Snapping back to present, I stumble backward so fast I almost fall onto the slippery walkway. Luckily, Noah catches me before I can, holding me close.

“I … I can’t be here.” I gasp, trying to catch my breath. “I can’t be here.” I repeat the words, as if he isn’t already pulling me away from the house and toward his truck. We walk down the sidewalk since I asked to park a ways away so my dad didn’t notice the truck pulling in.

Just in case I changed my mind and didn’t end up knocking on that door—like exactly what happened.

My boots make a crunching sound on the fresh snow, and even with my whole body numb, I speed walk to get the hell out of here and into the safety of Noah’s truck.

When we finally reach it, he opens the passenger side door, and even though I could do it on my own, he helps me inside before closing the door and rushing around to the driver’s side.

“You okay?” he murmurs, but my eyes don’t meet his.

I shake my head once, because no. I’m not okay.

“Can you get me out of here?” I whisper. “Please?”

“You got it,” he says softly, and within seconds, we’re pulling away from the curb we parked along and speeding off.

And something inside tells me … this was the last time I’ll ever check on that man again.