Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
HAVEN
Outside, the rain pelts against the indoor fieldhouse during practice. It’s one of those cold, gloomy days where everyone seems to be moving a bit slower.
Without saying anything, Coach hits the ball toward me, testing to see if I’m ready. I hop slightly on my feet before charging the ball, knowing when I get it, I have to throw to first base.
Putting my glove down, I just miss the damn thing, and it goes between my legs. A rookie mistake. One I haven’t made in forever, yet I just did.
Coach is quickly shaking her head, looking at me with frustration.
“King!” She practically growls my name. “Those long hops are usually your jam!” she hollers, the bat resting against her shoulder. “You need to get it together! I don’t know where your mind is at, but it’s not here.”
All my teammates look anywhere but at me because when one of us gets our ass chewed out, it’s just as embarrassing to be a bystander as it is to be the one in trouble.
Harley got yelled at the other day because she overthrew second base two times in a row, which never happens, and I wanted to find a table or chair to crawl under because Harley was clearly upset, and Coach didn’t give a shit—she just wanted to get through to her.
Harley also never gets in trouble though, which makes it ten times worse.
“Sorry, Coach,” I apologize, cringing because she’s right.
Since freshman year, I’ve been trusted to play shortstop—one of the most dynamic positions on the field.
Fielding has always been what makes me happy, and I love challenging hits.
In fact, the harder to field, the more I typically step up.
Unfortunately, today, my mind and body don’t seem to be aligned.
I haven’t physically seen Dallas since he dropped me off a few days ago.
We’ve texted briefly since, but today has been complete silence.
I know whatever he went through the other night was hard.
Even the sound of him screaming in his sleep has haunted me since, so I can’t imagine how he’s feeling.
And while I may be giving him a few days of space, I’m not going to let him continue to pull away.
So he can have the day today—I know he was picking his parents up at the airport—but if he doesn’t show up to my brother’s birthday tonight, I’m going to hunt him down and force him to let me in.
When Coach throws a ball in the air, nailing it toward me, this time, I know I can’t mess it up. Diving to my left, I catch it perfectly before I get onto my knee and fire it toward first base, making the perfect throw.
“That’s more like it, kid,” Coach yells, bobbing her head up and down. “It’s all right to make a mistake, but it’s important not to repeat that same mistake on the next play.”
I wipe the back of my hand against my forehead. It may be in the forties and cold out today, but inside this field house, practicing like we have for nearly two hours, I quickly overheat.
I try to focus on practice and get my mind off Dallas, but it’s not easy. Now I understand why, until Harley fell in love with Cane, she had a no dating rule. Because it turns out, when you find the right one … he can be a little freaking distracting.
Hopefully soon this will be behind us though, and he’ll stop being so stubborn. Even if I have to pull out all the stops to make that happen.
DALLAS
After we get out of the car, my dad and I head to the tailgate of my truck before each grabbing a suitcase or two as my mom looks on.
After practice this morning, I had to go to the airport to pick them up. They’ve been gone a few weeks now, and while they’ve been away, Haven and I have sort of made this place our own. Though now that they’re here, we won’t be doing that anymore.
“I’ve been back in New England less than two hours and I’m already ready to go back to the warmth.” My mom shivers, walking into the house. “Why do we live here?”
“Been sayin’ that for years, babe,” Dad drawls, hitting the button to close the hatch before he glances at me. “Yet, when I mention moving somewhere warm, she says this is home.”
“What was that?” Mom calls out, almost reaching the front doorstep.
“Nothing. I said you’re absolutely right,” he calls back, giving me a look.
Before we can take off with the bags across the driveway, he slaps my back. “Good to see you, D. How are you, kid? You barely answered our texts.”
“I know, sorry,” I say, cringing. “Just been busy, that’s all.”
“So I’ve heard,” he drawls slowly, flashing me a knowing look. “Took you two long enough, didn’t it?”
That catches my attention, and I shrug. “What, ah, do you mean? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and Haven, obviously,” he deadpans. “I’m glad to see that you finally stopped fighting it. Was getting old to watch.”
When I stare at him, he lifts the handle on the suitcase, cocking his head to the side.
“D, anyone with a set of eyes could see that you two have been in love since you were teenagers,” he throws at me, patting my shoulder. “Let’s bring these bags inside. Your mom was going to get something together for lunch.”
As I follow him onto the porch and into the house, I grimace at the realization that I haven’t even called Haven today.
Everything has been fine the past few days—since the last time I actually saw her. We had sex in the workout room, showered together, and then I took her back to The Nest. I did, however, install a camera on her window without her knowing and have watched like a hawk at night for any sign of Tabor.
Something about that night, what she said and the nightmare … it just brought me back to the past. I’ve worked so hard to push my memories down, leaving them behind me, but that nightmare was so real. It sucked me right back there to my life before I was adopted.
When I think about the words my mom said the day she took her life, I should have seen the signs of what she was planning to do. She killed my dad, and then told me to run. Obviously, I should have stayed with her. Maybe then she wouldn’t have done what she did.
But she had so much pain inside her, and now, I can recognize that when I look back.
As a kid, I just thought she sucked at being a mom.
But the truth is, she just couldn’t do it.
She was fighting too many demons to also care for me.
And then add my abusive father on top of that … I can’t imagine how low she felt.
I’ve been told countless times that she failed me.
But inside, I feel like I’m the one who failed.
I didn’t step in to help her against my dad because I was scared.
I didn’t check on her in her bedroom because sometimes she would get angry and not want me to, and after a while, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
And I couldn’t even go to school and get my work done without needing extra help.
I set the bags where I know Mom will want them before I walk into the kitchen. Just like Dad said, she’s fixing some lunch.
“Did you and Dad have a good trip?” I ask, sitting down on a stool. “What was your favorite thing you did?”
She closes the refrigerator, smiling. “The best trip. We just wish you could have come.” She pokes her lip out. “Next time?”
“If you don’t choose to go during football season,” I say, my lip turning up because I already know what she’s going to say.
“In this household, it seems like it’s always football season,” she says teasingly. “But hey, I’ll see what we can do. Maybe you can bring Haven too.”
The way she just slid that in there is so my mom. She wants to ask, but she doesn’t want to be rude. So she just says a small comment in hopes it’ll lead to me opening up.
“Go on,” I say before my dad walks back in from wherever he’s disappeared to. “Ask away.”
Her eyes light up, and she rushes around the island to sit down beside me with her body toward mine.
“So … when did it start? How did it start?”
“We just, I guess got closer when she was tutoring me.” I pause, wondering if my parents have heard about everything with Tabor. “And then some other stuff happened and we just, I guess started spending more time together.”
“Honey, that’s great!” she gushes, side hugging me.
When she lets go and studies my face, she frowns.
“Why don’t you look happier? I know you’ve been in love with her practically since the first day you met. So, why do you seem so … down?”
I’m silent for a moment. Luckily, my mom knows that I sometimes need a little extra time to figure out what I want to say or how I want to say it.
My parents have always told me that if I had any questions about my childhood, they’d tell me everything they knew.
A lot of stuff I remember, though if there were any good parts, they’re long gone now.
My dad walks back into the room and grabs a water from the fridge. I don’t look at my mom, but I know she’s likely flashing him a look that says we’re in the middle of something. He doesn’t leave, but he’s also not loud.
“She’s … whole,” I murmur, looking down. “She’s happy, and she sees the best in people. She’s not broken or fucked up.” I swallow. “She’s not like me.”