Pitched

“What are you thinking about doing after high school?”

“I don’t know. I haven't given it much thought really.” I’ve been living more in the moment. “I enjoy writing.”

I’ve been journaling a ton. I always have, but now I don’t have to use stolen moments to do it. Reading over my old journals has been hard but at the same time therapeutic. I let Colt read some when he asked. It was a little nerve-wracking having him delve into my private thoughts at first. But it also allowed him to have a look into my past without me having to speak the words. I stopped letting him read them after I saw how upset and worked up he would get. I know he only wants to shelter me.

We find our seats a few minutes before the game starts. Colt runs out onto the field, jumping over the side, making me laugh. He gives me a kiss in front of everyone. They all start cheering and hooting.

“You're my lucky charm.” He drops one more kiss on me before he runs back to the dugout.

“You two are starting to make me sick.” Tucker pretends to throw up. I elbow him in the side. The game starts a few moments later. It’s been even more fun coming to the games now that I understand it more. I turn my head, checking behind me. Ever since I spotted that Bronco, I’ve had an eerie feeling of being watched. I shake it off, bringing my attention back to the game.

“That was a strike!” I shout, jumping up from my seat after Colt sends a fast ball across the plate and the batter doesn't swing at it. “Are you blind or something?” Colt is all smiles as he shakes his head from the mound as I voice my disapproval to the umpire.

“You tell ’em,” Tucker encourages me. I drop back down into my seat. Colt ends up striking him out, and they run off the field.

“I’m going to use the bathroom while he’s not up.” I pop up from my seat.

“Need me to come with?”

“Nah. It’s right there.” Tucker can be a bit protective too. Especially after Colt filled him in on a few things. I walk quickly into the bathroom, using the stall before I rush over to wash my hands, wanting to get back to the game. Someone needs to keep an eye on those umpires.

My heart drops as my eyes connect with my mother’s in the mirror over the sink.

“It’s time to come home,” she says. Jerima steps in a second later, and I know there is no getting away.

I should have told Colt I love him. Now he might not ever know.

Chapter Twenty-One

Colt

“Your brother’s at the fence.” Mick nudges my arm.

I glance up from the printouts of my last inning’s strike zone and spot Tucker leaning against the metal wiring, a worried expression on his face. My stomach does a dive when I realize he’s alone. Something must’ve happened to GG. Did someone say something rude to her in the stands? Or did she overhear something? Some of the parents can be real assholes. Booker’s dad who hires strippers every time we win a big tournament is also a loudmouth who likes to give running commentary on every player and every play. He’s known to be outspoken and borderline rude. We all have learned to shut it out—well, all but maybe Booker, but that’s because he has to go home and hear it.

I hand Mick the printouts. “Be right back.” When I reach Tuck, I ask. “Where’s GG? I haven’t seen her in the stands for a couple of innings.”

Tuck huffs out a deep breath. “I don’t know, man. She went to the bathroom and didn’t come out. I think she might be sick or something. Should I call someone?”

I whistle for our trainer, who trots over immediately. “What’s up, Colt?”

“Ellie, GG’s not feeling well. She’s in the women’s bathroom. Can you help her out?”

She hesitates since technically she’s not supposed to leave the team. “Please.” I press my hands together in a pleading gesture, and Ellie relents.

“I guess it’s no different than if I had to use the bathroom. Don’t get injured while I’m gone.”

“I won’t even leave the dugout,” I promise.

Ellie sprints off, and I turn to Tuck. “Did you call her?”

“Duh, of course.”

My phone’s in the locker room since we have a no phone rule during the games. “My phone’s in my locker. She shares her location with me.”

“Locker code the same as always?”

It’s his and Mom’s birthdays. “Yeah.”

Ethan flies out into center, and I have to take the mound again. I can barely see the home plate and the hitters are a blur to me. Mick could be making signals with his toes for all I know. Somehow I make it through the inning, telling myself the faster I get through these batters, the sooner this damn game will be over. I throw eight pitches, resulting in a strike-out and two pop flies. I’ve had dumps take longer than the inning, but I’m nearly blind with worry as I stumble back to the dugout. I barely feel the backslaps or hear the cheers. The only thing I can focus on is that my brother is racing down the hill from the locker room. I grip the fence and will him to move faster.