Chapter Ten
Age Fifteen
The cold bite of metal stings the back of my thighs as I slide onto the bleacher next to Dylan, passing him an unopened Snickers bar in lieu of a greeting.
Unwrapping mine, I take a big bite of the gooey chocolate bar, and a string of caramel drops onto my chin.
The crack of a bat echoes through the baseball field, sharp and clean as it slices through the air. The coach bellows something from the outfield I can’t quite understand, as the player on second catches the ball without hesitation.
“You’re out, Kyle! Rotate to first,” the assistant coach yells.
Laughter floats on the air from the dugout, then he jogs out, bat in hand.
I lean forward, as if a giant magnet is beckoning me toward him.
Gareth twists his wrists, swinging the bat in clockwise, then counterclockwise circles as he stands at home plate.
He’s teasing the pitcher—even though his back’s to us, I can practically see the twinkle in his eyes. His stance is relaxed and confident, as though he’s done this a million times.
And he has. He’s the star batter on the team. The Golden Boy of Bridge Point.
My Golden Boy.
Or, at least I wish he was.
Exhaling a deep breath, the pitcher takes his aim.
The ball flies. Gareth swings.
The eruption of a ball hitting metal ricochets, the sound landing straight in my chest.
“Damn, Fox!” a teammate yells as the ball sails into the outfield.
“He makes it look so easy,” I mutter, mostly to myself, but beside me, Dylan snorts.
“You say that every time you watch him play.”
I keep my eyes trained on the boy oozing confidence and walking the bases. As he walks between second and third, he looks over at my brother and I on the bleachers and winks.
Laughter hurricanes past my lips, and I turn toward Dylan, both embarrassed and giddy over Gareth’s charm. “Well, he is.”
“Okay, what are you, his number one fan all of a sudden?” he goads, elbowing me in the side.
“Definitely not.” But my pulse quickens, and I hope Dylan can’t see right through me.
Another batter comes up to the plate, and the pitcher looks far more relaxed than he did when Gareth was up to bat.
“Oh shit, that guy sucks.” Dylan laughs as the next batter strikes out.
More laughter sputters from the dugout as a bunch of the players start roughhousing, some of them sending whoops and whistles at each other.
“Knock it off!” the assistant coach yells, throwing an annoyed look over his shoulder.
“Do you think he’ll get scouted?” I turn my focus to the boys dogpiling each other in the dugout, not wanting to put more focus on Gareth and raise any red flags.
“Oh for sure! He’s already had a couple approach him at games.”
I whip my head around. “Already?”
“Indy, you’ve seen him play. Obviously colleges are going to want him. The majors, too.”
“Well, yeah, but he’s only a sophomore.”
“When you’re crazy good like he is though...” Dylan trails off, the assistant coaches voice blistering over him.
“TEN LAPS! NOW!”
The guys messing around groan in unison, then take off in a jog, starting their laps around the field.
I can’t help but groan too. “Do we have to wait for them to finish? I’m ready to go home.”
“What else do you have to do?” Dylan situates his backpack on the bleacher above him, leaning against it with his arms folded under his head.
“Plenty. Homework. Music—”
“Brooding, texting,” he finishes, grinning at me.
“I do not brood.”
“Yes, you do.” He nudges my leg with the toe of his dirty sneaker. “It’s okay, matches your vibe, sis.”
“Whatever.”
A few minutes later, the team finishes their last lap and runs toward the locker room, cleats sounding like a stampede against the concrete pathway.
When the coaches follow, I take that as our cue and stand up, stretching my arms overhead. “C’mon, let’s go wait for him.”
Dylan lets out an overdramatic yawn and stands up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
The bleachers creak and clank under our weight, the soles of our shoes slapping against the metal as we go down.
The school’s emptied out by now, only a few students—mostly athletes—remain, which is why it catches me off guard when we round the corner to the locker room and almost run straight into a couple I don’t recognize.
Their lips are locked, limbs tangled together as they make out. The guy has the girl pressed against the wall, and it sends a bolt of heat through me.
What I’d give for Gareth to do that to me.
Dylan scoffs.
“What?” I ask as we walk around them, stopping just outside of the locker room doors.
“You know who that is, don’t you?” He glances back at the couple who haven’t noticed us at all.
“Uh…no?” I look at them again too, but their side profiles do nothing to jog my memory.
“That’s Isabella Vic and Kel Steinberg,” Dylan emphasizes in a whisper, looking at me expectantly like I should already know who those people are.
“Okay…”
“You’re such a freshman.” He rolls his eyes. “Kel is best friends with Christian Vic. Isabella is Vic’s sister.”
Raising my hands, I press my index fingers against my temples. “I’m really failing to see the point you’re making here, Dyl. Can you help me out, please?”
“I don’t get how people can stoop so low. I mean, the betrayal? His best friend and his sister?”
My heart plummets into my stomach.
A mechanical laugh bursts from my brother. “I mean, if that was you and Gareth? There’s no way I’d ever forgive either of you. You’d both be dead to me.”
I try to take a breath, but my throat tightens, restricting any airflow. Everything around me seems louder than it should be, and I hear the door to the locker room slam closed behind me.
I don’t need to look to know Gareth’s there. The air shifts—I can feel his presence.
“Hey man!” Dylan bellows entirely too loud for the echoing space we’re in. His voice rings in my ears, but it’s nothing compared to the silence that follows.
Turning slowly, I look at Gareth, standing just outside the doorway with his duffle bag hanging limply in his hand, his hair still wet from the shower.
Our eyes meet, and his normally rich hazelnut hue is darkened, clouded by the frustration he’s failing to hide.
For a second, I can see the devastation reflected, and I wish I could take Dylan’s words back—put them into a box that’ll never be opened.
But I can’t.
Just like we can’t change how Dylan feels.
Gareth’s jaw tightens as he drags his gaze from mine and over to my brother.
“Hey,” he finally says, voice hoarse and nearly cracking.
It feels like a knife to the heart when my brother claps him on the shoulder and they fall into step, walking with me expected to trail behind.
“You down to chill tonight?” My brother’s completely oblivious to the impact his words just had on us—his best friend and his sister.
He’d never forgive us.
We’d be dead to him.
His voice rattles through my mind, the damage he just unknowingly caused settling deep in my soul. Damage I don’t know how to undo.
Because as much as it kills me to admit, my brother will always come first. He’s my best friend, practically my twin. Deep down, I know I could never do anything to hurt him, and now I know whatever this thing between me and Gareth is—this attraction—has the power to completely annihilate him.