Chapter 21 #3
Robin swings, but she doesn’t hit the ball I send flying her way. Colt is playing catcher, and I know he’s capable of handling anything I throw at him.
They’re nowhere near what my arm is capable of, but I lob two more pitches fast enough I know Robin won’t be capable of connecting with them. She flashes me a disappointed yet sultry smile before handing over the bat to Ryan James.
Normally, I’m ambivalent toward Ryan. I’ve sometimes gotten the sense he’s envious of me. But this time is different. I’m jealous of him . I’m not about to pass up the opportunity to make him look like a fool after watching him chat Lennon up in the kitchen like they’re old friends.
The first pitch I throw isn’t quite my top gear, but it’s close. Much closer than a late-night pickup game warrants. Colt notices, raising one eyebrow before tossing the baseball back to me.
Ryan swung two seconds too late on the first throw. I can tell he’s a bit wary of my next pitch based on the way he takes his time setting up his stance. He’s a decent athlete, but I’m better. And we’re playing my game.
Rather than pitch another fastball, I send the curveball I spent junior year perfecting over home plate. Ryan’s reaction is faster this time, but his angle is wrong. The ball whizzes past the bat and lands in Colt’s glove with a satisfying smack. The most beautiful sound in the world.
Ryan’s angry now. It’s obvious to me. And it’s obvious to everyone else watching. I allow myself a small grin behind the shield of my glove before I toss another fastball his way. Not my top speed, but almost. And more than enough power to ensure he doesn’t have a chance to connect.
“Guess you did earn that scholarship, Winters,” Ryan spits out.
I don’t reply to him, because I’m preoccupied by the fact that he’s handing the bat to Lennon.
Shit . I was hoping two straight outs would push this back one inning.
Maybe two. Maybe never, if we grew a commanding enough lead, which I’m certain we will.
No one here is going to be able to hit off me.
Right now, I’m quite annoyed with Lennon Matthews. But I still experience a rush of pride as she moves to stand at home plate. Because she adopts a stance identical to the one I taught her during our baseball lessons senior year.
Once again, I’m grateful for the cover my glove provides. I don’t have a lot of time to decide how I’m going to play this.
People paid close attention to me striking out Ryan, but it was nothing compared to the scrutiny I can feel on me now. This is primetime entertainment.
The longer I hesitate, the worse it will get.
I’m irritated with Lennon, but I can’t make myself throw the ball much harder than a gentle toss.
It’s a throw Ryan would have knocked a couple hundred yards.
That Robin probably would have at least made contact with.
Lennon comes close, but she doesn’t tap the baseball.
Her hazel eyes narrow at me, as she realized I took it easy on her.
Colt tosses the baseball back into my glove.
I know I could hurl it whizzing past Lennon before she even batted an eye. But I can’t do it. I want her to have a chance to hit it.
So I lob her another softball, one she doesn’t even attempt to hit. “Are you fucking kidding me, Winters?” she yells, loud enough for every outfielder to hear.
Anyone who wasn’t already paying attention to us sure as hell is now.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I call back. “You can’t hit the ball if you don’t even bother swinging, Matthews.”
“I can’t hit a ball that takes ten minutes to reach home plate, either,” Lennon retorts.
“Here, let me help.” Ryan steps forward and crowds next to Lennon. He whispers something to her as I grind my teeth. She doesn’t encourage him, but she sure doesn’t push him away either.
Fuck it .
I throw the third strike as soon as she looks at me, poised to hit the ball. But unlike the last two, she doesn’t have a prayer of doing so. I don’t check my speed or force; all I bother to do is ensure the ball is as far away from her as possible while remaining in the pocket.
The sound of leather hitting leather resonates around the field. I give Colt an apologetic look. Even with the glove, I doubt his hand is feeling too great right now. That was at least ninety-five. Maybe a hundred.
Lennon looks stunned.
She asked for it, but I don’t think she expected for me to deliver.
I drop my glove on the mound for the next pitcher, then walk toward the dugout. I skirt the edge of the field, so I don’t encounter anyone on the other team.
“I’m going to have a bruise tomorrow,” Colt mutters to me, shaking his right hand.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to throw that hard.”
“Yeah, you did.”
I don’t deny it as our first batter heads to hit Jake’s pitch.
The game proceeds, but it’s lopsided. The teams are pretty evenly matched, aside from me. No one on the opposing team can hit a single ball I throw, not even Luke or Jake, which means we score run after run, while the other team can’t manage one.
Luke has had his fill after three innings. “Let Adams pitch, Winters!”
Normally, I would resist being replaced. But right now? I could not care less.
I lost my pleasant buzz a while ago, and most of the people watching and playing are oblivious to the fact I’m throwing pitches that college players would have a hard time hitting. It’s the only outlet I have for my anger at the moment.
“Fine.” I stride toward home plate, barely pausing to toss the baseball to Colt as we switch places.
“Matthews! You’re up,” Jake yells.
She’s not. Robin Jones is next in the batting order. I glance over at Jake. He grins at me. I don’t know whether to be grateful or pissed about his interference.
Lennon’s long, denim-clad legs approach me, and I promptly forget about Jake’s meddling.
She’s close to me. Really close. Closer than we’ve been for six months. She realizes it, too. Lennon’s lips are a terse line and her shoulders are tensed.
She misses Colt’s first two pitches, the second of which is an obvious ball. I call it, and he rolls his eyes.
Lennon readjusts her position, and I can’t help myself. “Drop your right shoulder.”
She does, along with her left. So she can lower the bat and glare at me. “You’re giving me pointers?”
“You didn’t seem to mind last time.” Lennon’s cheeks are pink, but I’m not sure if it’s in response to the cold or my comment. It’s just occurring to me, now that the alcohol and adrenaline are wearing off, that it’s fairly chilly out.
“Speak for yourself,” she responds.
“Fine. I didn’t mind giving you pointers last time.” I stand, abandoning my position so I can move behind her. I shift slowly, giving her time to move away if she wants to.
She doesn’t, and it prompts a powerful flash of déjà vu as I adjust her grip on the bat and then reluctantly step away.
It’s the first time I’ve ever been happy to see an opposing player hit the ball, and I don’t hide the stupid grin on my face watching her jog to first base.
Despite the other team managing to hit some of Colt’s pitches, the game winds down pretty quickly after that.
It’s getting late. I don’t know exactly what time, but I fight back a yawn as I massage my right shoulder. I’m going to feel those pitches tomorrow.
People depart in waves, but Lennon’s not one of them. She leans against one of the posts of the dugout, not even pretending to talk to anyone.
I help Jake return the baseballs, bats, and gloves back to the equipment shed before returning to the field. It’s almost empty now; just a few stragglers still here.
Mostly my friends. And hers. None of them are oblivious to social cues, so they disappear quickly once it becomes clear we’re both waiting on purpose.
Even once we’re alone, she still doesn’t say anything.
“It’s nice to see you,” I finally state. Lame, but true. And what I should have led with, as soon as she arrived at Jake’s. “How are you?”
“I’m in love with you.” Her response is matter-of-fact.
I experience a little sympathy for how Lennon must have felt when I dropped the same declaration on her. I know I surprised her then, but surprised doesn’t really cover how I’m feeling right now.
It takes me at least a minute to regain the ability to speak. Once I do, I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, huh?”
“I felt this way before you left, Caleb.” Another shocker.
“You did?”
Lennon nods, then bites her bottom lip. “I know you said you were going to come back. I believed that you believed that. But…” She didn’t believe I was coming back.
It’s so apparent, the words might as well be written across her face.
“You lived here for four years, Caleb. Your grandfather is gone. Your parents are hardly ever here. You don’t even like horses! There’s nothing pulling you back here.”
“There’s you.”
“I thought you’d meet lots of girls and that anything you felt for me wouldn’t matter for very long.
I don’t have the best track record of people choosing to stick around.
And, you’re Caleb Winters . You have everything going for you.
I was scared to find out what it would be like to compete against all that. ”
“And all that’s changed? Just because I came home for winter break like I thought you knew I would all along?”
“No,” she says softly, shaking her head.
“ Nothing has changed. That’s the problem.
I thought your feelings would go away. And…
I thought mine would too. I thought I’d be busy enough with everything here—that it would be a relief when you were gone.
But not telling you how I felt and doing nothing about it…
didn’t make any difference. So, I figured I would at least be honest with you, since you were always honest with me. ”
“What are you saying, Lennon?”
She looks away, out at the field. “Nothing’s changed, Caleb. Landry is my home. I have Gramps and the farm. I don’t know if—or when—I’ll ever leave. And you have this whole other life now.” Her gaze meets mine again. “I mean, I don’t even know if you’re single.”
“I wouldn’t have flirted with you earlier if I wasn’t single, Lennon.”
“There wasn’t a single time tonight I thought you were flirting with me, Caleb.” There’s a clear challenge in her expression, revealing a glimpse of the girl who kept me on my toes for four years.
I can’t help it; I laugh. “Oh, really?” I take a step closer to her.
“Really,” she confirms, pushing away from the post.
One more step, and she’s inches away. “I’m going to kiss you,” I tell her. “But you have to agree to something first.”
“I don’t think Ryan would make any demands—”
“Don’t be a smart-ass,” I inform her grinning face. She obviously noticed my jealous behavior earlier. “You have to agree to give me a chance. Give us a chance.”
“And then what?” Lennon asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. But I want to try, Lennon. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you: a chance.”
She searches my face, giving no indication of what she’s thinking on her own. “Okay,” she finally says.
I’m not expecting the rush.
It’s a release, like finally letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Reaching the end of a journey when I thought I still had a long trek ahead.
I kiss her, and I forget we’re standing on a high school baseball field in the small, snooty town I used to dread visiting.
Lennon kisses me back, alongside the patch of grass I spent most of high school on, and for the first time, Landry feels like home.