Dare You To (Pushing the Limits 2)

Beth. Everything. I think you’re aware that you and Beth don’t belong together and that’s the reason you never told your parents. But don’t worry, Ryan. I know what I did wrong and I don’t make the same mistakes twice. ”

In one graceful movement, Gwen swoops the cake off the counter and ushers it out the kitchen door. I inhale and let my head fall back. I don’t know what the hell just happened, but every cell in my body screams it’s bad and I’m going to hate the consequences.

MY GRANDMOTHER LEFT MY MOTHER her pendulum clock. It hangs on the wall behind Mom. With each swing, the clock ticks. It’s nine o’clock at night. The last of the guests left an hour ago. I should be wondering why my parents called me in here, especially since they’re voluntarily in the same room. Instead, I’m wondering what Beth is thinking.

Mom sits across from me at our kitchen table while Dad leans against the door frame leading to the formal dining room. The temperature, like always, is frigid.

“Mrs. Rowe is under the impression you’re still participating in the writing competition,” says Dad.

I glance up at him. “I’m considering it. ”

“There’s nothing to consider. You’re playing Eastwick that weekend and that game will decide rankings going into the spring season. ”

Eastwick is the only team that beat us during regular season play last spring. “We’re playing Northside that Monday and they’re undefeated this year. Coach may want me to pitch that game. ”

“Maybe,” says Dad. “But you’ll still be able to play a couple of innings on Monday. They’ll need you to close the game out. ”

Mom takes off her pearl necklace. “I talked to Mrs. Rowe last week. She said that Ryan has a rare talent. ”

“He does,” says Dad. “Baseball. ”

“No,” bites out Mom. “Writing. ”

Dad rubs his eyes. “Explain to your mother you’re not interested in the writing. ”

“Ryan, tell your father what Mrs. Rowe told me. Tell him how much you enjoy her class. ”

My shoulders curl in with the anger. I hate their constant fighting. I hate that I’ve caused them to fight more. I hate that they’re fighting over me. But what I hate more is the feeling that everyone else is controlling my choices. “I love baseball. ”

Dad releases a sigh of relief.

“And I love writing. I want to go to the competition. ”

Dad swears under his breath and heads for the fridge. I turn in my chair to face him.

“You’ve never let me walk away from a competition before and I don’t like the feeling of giving up. I’ll miss one game. And this is recreational league play. It would be different if this was spring season. ”

Dad pops open a bottle of beer and takes a swig. “What happens if you win the writing competition? Are you going to give up pitching against the best team in the state for a piece of paper that says congratulations?”

“I want to know if I’m any good. ”

“Jesus, Ryan. Why? What difference would it make?”

“I’ve been offered the chance at a college scholarship—to play ball. ”

Dad stares at me and the dishwasher enters the rinse cycle. “Have you been talking to college scouts behind my back?”

Yes. No. “The recruiter made sense. He said their pitch coach can help me with my placement issues and

teach me to break the tell on my pitches. They’ll pay for me to go to school and I can get free coaching. I can train with them for four years and then go for the pros. ”

Beer sloshes from the bottle when Dad throws out his arms. “What happens if you get injured? What happens if instead of improving, you lose your edge? You’re a pitcher. There is no better time for you to go after your dreams than now. ”

“What if…”

He stalks across the kitchen and slams the beer down in front of me. “Do I need to remind you how much money we’ve pumped into you? Do you think the coaching we’ve paid for over the years is cheap? Do you think the equipment, the Jeep we bought you were free?”

My gut aches as if he punched me. “No. I don’t think they were free. I’ve offered to get a job. ”