I start to laugh. Only it’s not funny. It’s not even close to funny. It’s the saddest damn thing I’ve ever heard. I collapse into the seat and rest my head in my hands. “No, he doesn’t. ”
“He got the charges dropped. ” Not a hint of happiness can be found in her voice.
I keep my face hidden, unable to look at her to see whatever truth she’s been building toward. “What did
you do?” I ask again.
Shirley kneels beside me and pitches her voice low. “When I called him, your uncle Scott went to your mom’s apartment. He saw things he shouldn’t have seen. Things that can hurt your mom. ”
I sway to the side as if I’ve been hit by a wave and the rushing sound of being sucked into the ocean whirls in my ears. My world is crashing around me. He went into my old room. Mom told me never to go in there after I left to live with Shirley. I never have. There are things even I don’t want to know.
“He didn’t tell the police,” she says.
Shocked by her revelation, I peek at her through my fingers. “Really?”
Shirley’s lips turn down and she scrunches her forehead. “Your mom had no choice. He walked into the station with his lawyer and made the demand—she either turned over custody of you to him, or he would tell the cops what he saw. ”
My aunt stares at me, her eyes bleak. “She signed over custody. He’s your legal guardian now. ”
Ryan
THANKS TO THE SHOWERS at the community center, there’s no need to head home. Clean and dressed in street clothes, I return to heaven.
Everyone has left the ballpark. The bleachers are empty. The concession stand closed. Kenny Chesney blares from the parking lot, meaning that Chris ignored me when I told him I’d catch up with him later. Chris is really good at three things—playing shortstop, loving his girl, and knowing what I need even when I don’t know it myself.
At least most of the time.
From the community pool, little kids squeal in delight in time to the sounds of splashing and the bounce of the diving board. My brother Mark and I spent most of our summers swimming in that pool. The other part, we spent playing ball.
I stand on the pitcher’s mound, except this time I’m in blue jeans and my favorite Reds Tshirt. The early evening sky fades from blue to orange-and-yellow. It’s no longer a million degrees and the breeze shifts from the south to the north. This is my favorite part of the game—the time alone afterward.
The rush of winning and the knowledge I have a scout interested in me still linger in my blood. My lungs expand with clean oxygen and my muscles lose the tension that weighed me down during the game. I feel relaxed, at peace, and alive.
I stare at home plate and in my mind I see Logan crouched in position and the batter taking a practice swing. My fingers curl as if I’m clutching the ball. Logan calls for a curve; I accept, except this time I…
“I knew you’d be here. ” In her brown leather cowboy boots and blue dress, Gwen swings around the gate into the dugout.
“How?” I ask.
“You screwed up the curve. ” In one smooth motion, Gwen sits on the bench in the dugout and pats the wood beside her. She’s playing a game. One I’ll lose, but damn if my feet don’t move toward her.
She looks good. Better than good. Beautiful.
I ease down beside her as she tosses her blond ringlets behind her shoulder. “I remember you explaining the bases to me in this dugout. The best baseball conversation we ever had. ”
I lean forward and clasp my hands together.
“Maybe you missed part of the conversation, because I wasn’t explaining baseball. ”
Gwen flashes her bright smile. “I know, but I still enjoyed the demonstration. ”
Our eyes meet for a moment and I glance away when heat crawls along my cheeks.
Gwen’s the only girl I’ve had any real experience with. She used to blush when she talked about anything sexual, but she doesn’t today. Nausea rolls through my gut. What new bases has Mike taught her?
“You seemed out of it during the game. ” The material of her dress swishes as she crosses her legs and angles her body toward mine. Our thighs touch now, creating heat. I wonder if she notices. “Are you having problems with your dad again?”
Gwen and I spent countless afternoons and evenings in this dugout. She always knew when Dad pushed me too far with the refs or that if I played like crap, I’d come here for clarity. “No. ”