Chapter 32
Brooks
We had the other team at two outs with two strikes already.
Reece’s pitching was hot today, and I was playing good.
Coach had said his recruiter friend was coming later in the year due to a scheduling conflict.
I was glad I didn’t have to think about that during my first game of the season.
Still, I was a bit on edge. Somehow, Mom had convinced Dad to come to a game.
Something about agreeing to “meet in the middle”.
If their middle was me, I was okay with that, as long as it wasn’t on me to hold them together.
But, they’d left the house smiling. Sure, Dad had brought a book with him, but I knew Brielle probably would too.
Brielle. I had determined not to think of her. But when I got to the ballpark and met up with Reece, I also saw his parents. Mrs. Walters gave me a side-hug, and Mr. Walters did that head-nod of his that made you wonder if he liked you, was mad at you, or didn’t care one way or the other.
I’d looked around without thinking, and Reece had leaned over and muttered, “Brielle’s coming on her own.”
I gave Reece an I-don’t-care-whatever-so-what look, and we’d headed for the dugout.
Now, it was game time.
Reece delivered the next pitch.
Swing and hit, and it was foul.
I threw the ball back at Reece.
The batter repositioned himself, kicking at the plate.
Another pitch.
Swing and a miss!
“You’re out!” The ump yelled.
With the top of the first inning over, I jogged back to the dugout, ridding myself of my catcher’s mask.
Coach was calling out the line-up.
I watched as Hunter went up to the plate. He made it to second. As we were cheering, I thought I caught a glimpse of someone wearing red in the parking lot beyond. I didn’t pay attention to it.
Reece stepped up next to me. “You’re next up after Dobbs.”
I nodded. I’d heard my name called in the lineup.
That person in red was running now.
Whatever.
Dobbs hit the ball. A ground ball past first, and the opposing team’s first baseman totally missed it.
With Hunter and Dobbs on base, I got that “no pressure” look from Reece as I gripped my bat.
At least, I thought that was what his look meant.
I shot him a second glance, and he gave me a weird grin.
The dude could be so odd sometimes.
Stepping up to the plate, I tried to focus. I kicked at the sand, gripping the bat with my gloved hands.
The pitcher was eyeing down the plate.
The person in red racing across the parking lot had long hair streaming behind her.
Brielle.
I ripped my attention from her racing form. She was late to the game.
Focus, Mason, focus.
Because I was distracted, I caught sight of the digital board with the score transition to a new ad.
Wait.
I squinted, totally taking my attention off of the pitcher.
What the—?
I really do love you, Brooks Mason. — Brielle.
I froze.
I did.
I admit it.
Everything about the game faded into the background as the message emblazoned on the sign took center stage. I jerked my head around to see Brielle stumbling to a halt outside left field’s chainlink fence. She was staring at the sign too.
Then at me.
I was going to look back at the sign. This had to be a joke. I had to have misread it.
But apparently, I was the only one in the game who had been totally distracted.
The pitcher launched the ball at me.
I was supposed to hit it with my bat, but I learned my lesson really fast. When you’re up to bat, even if the girl of your dreams suddenly declares her feelings for you on the scoreboard of a freaking Jumbotron? Don’t pay attention to it. Your face will thank you.
Because my face wasn’t feeling much gratitude when the baseball collided with my nose and left cheek.
I went down hard.
The crowd stood up fast.
I tasted blood.
I’d always thought I’d take a ball to the face for someone I cared about. I’d never intended to make that literal.
Brielle
I couldn’t help it. I screamed. I saw the pitcher release the ball, my declaration of love designed by Lia and Reece framing him in the background, and then I watched the white ball of ferocity collide with Brooks’s face.
He’d been frozen in place—very obviously because of the message of endearment emblazoned for the world to see—and then he was on the ground.
So I screamed.
Because baseballs to the face were a very bad thing.
I sprinted toward the dugout.
I wasn’t the only one.
I saw Brooks’s mom fly out of the bleachers as if she’d suddenly grown wings. His dad wasn’t far behind, and to my amazement, I saw his book flip into a puddle on the ground.
Coach raced from the dugout, followed closely by Reece. Suddenly, there was a circle—or a mob; I don’t know which, hiding Brooks from my line of sight.
I made it to the field, with Lia’s voice in my back pocket.
“What’s happening! What’s going on! I hate being stuck in Canada!”
I was about ready to dash onto the field when Dad caught me.
“Stay here, Bri.”
I fought against him. “I need to see if Brooks is okay!”
“Brielle.” Dad’s voice was sharp. I stilled and met my dad’s eyes. “Let them handle it.”
It seemed like a year or two later—probably only a minute or two—when the crowd started clapping. Brooks stumbled to his feet, pressing a bloodied towel against his nose.
Reece and Coach were hovering close. Reece looked like he was going to be sick—he should be!—but he also looked relieved.
Evelyn, Brooks’s mom, was leaning into Brook’s dad in an uncustomary display of reliance. The umpire was saying something to the coach from the opposing team. A few of the players stood by waiting to see what would happen.
Brooks was looking to his left and to his right. He seemed dazed. His dad reached for him. He shrugged his dad off, still pressing the towel against his nose.
He turned, and his eyes locked with mine.
Brooks. I mouthed his name.
He stared at me, question in his eyes.
Reece leaned in and said something. I saw Brooks glare at him. I saw Reece’s sheepish shrug followed by his I-told-you-so grin.
Brooks pulled the towel from his nose. His eye was already turning black and blue, but he didn’t let go of my gaze.
Dad’s grip on me loosened.
I took a step forward.
The chainlink fence stood between me and the field, but Brooks started toward me.
His dad reached for him, and I saw Brooks shrug him off.
And then.
It was just the two of us.
There wasn’t an opposing team, there wasn’t Reece, there wasn’t Lia in my back pocket, or Dad beside me, or Brooks’s parents, or coach, or other bystanders.
It was just Brooks and me.
He came up to the fence, curling his fingers through the metal links.
I met him there.
“Did you—?” He asked.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine.” He said, though he obviously wasn’t.
“Reece and Lia—” I started.
“I know,” he nodded, then winced. His eye looked like it was swelling shut. His nose had stopped bleeding, but Brooks kind of looked like he might need to take a break.
“You need to sit down,” I recommended.
“Did you know they were going to put that on the sign?” he asked.
I shook my head.
His eyes darkened. He ignored the coach’s shout for him. He ignored his mom’s call.
“I haven’t been honest,” he blurted out.
“Me neither,” I admitted.
“The whole fake dating thing—I wish it was real.”
His blue eyes never wavered. He captivated me. Even with the fence between us, he somehow had grabbed hold of me with his words and pulled me to him.
“Me too,” I whispered.
“Is it true?” he asked. “The message on the board?”
I glanced at it. I was done pretending. I was done with not being truthful. So I nodded.
Brooks’s mouth turned up in a little smile.
“Yes,” I said, and nodded again.
Then he turned with intent. Brooks marched to the gate and shoved it open. With purposeful steps, he approached me, and within seconds, he had both hands cupping my face.
“You’d better be telling me the truth, Shortstop,” he muttered.
“I can honestly say, I’m being one-hundred percent honest,” I breathed.
And then, he kissed me.
Right there.
In front of Dad!
Brooks Mason pressed his lips to mine, firm and sure. There was no room for doubt, for pretending, and it was definitely not fake, because I’d never felt a guy’s lips on mine before, and this was—amazing.
It was also sweet. Like, better than anything I could have read in a book. My baseball player—read that: my baseball player—kissed me in a sweet and treasured kiss.
Even Dad didn’t interrupt it—though he was scowling.
In the distance, I thought I heard people cheering.
I definitely heard Coach yelling for Brooks to get back in the game.
And then, above it all, someone started chanting, “I believe in you!” just like I’d hollered like a dork that game several weeks before.
Brooks pulled back, but his hands still cupped my face. “Are we in it for real this time?”
“For real,” I nodded.
“Good.” His crooked grin did funny things to my insides. “Now I’ve got a game to play,” he said. Brooks took a step back, and then, in perfect timing, he fell backward into Dad’s ready grip.
Dad’s eyes met mine with a glimmer of humor and concern mixed together. “This kid isn’t playing any game today. I’m willing to bet he’s got a concussion.”
It wasn’t anything to laugh about, but I smiled, even as Brooks managed a lopsided grin and then draped his arm around my dad’s neck and his other arm around his own dad’s neck.
Mr. Mason looked completely perplexed.
Our moms held each other as though war had come and Brooks had given his life for it.
Reece was grinning from ear to ear.
I could hear Lia in my pocket shouting, “mmmmfpppfhhfho—happened?”
And then, in no uncertain terms, Jenessa’s voice rose about it all.
“Broo-elle is back, baby!”
And I saw her holding up her phone.
We were going to go viral again.
Go figure.
At least this time, everyone knew why.