Prologue
Grady
Senior Year of High School
“Good luck today, Grady!” one of the JV players shouts at me as he shuffles down the hallway past the lockers.
“Thanks.” I turn back to my open locker, shoot a text off to my mom about what time my game starts, then grab my math book and secure the lock on my locker before heading to class.
Nerves run through me, the kind that usually fuel my focus to win our games, but today’s game is different. Today’s game could determine my future.
A few more kids offer their good luck wishes as I amble down the hall, and even the teachers standing by their doors chime in as I pass by.
Over the past three years, Carrington Cove High School has had a winning baseball program, and much of that has to do with my performance on the pitching mound.
So today’s game is just as much about me as it is about the school.
Settling into my desk in my math class, I flip open my textbook to the section we’ve been working on, cleaning some of the grease left under my fingernails from working at Carrington Cove Auto Repair.
While I wait for class to start, a familiar voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Have you thrown up yet?”
Green eyes meet mine, the same green eyes that have become a source of comfort for me over the past year, as Scottland Daniels takes her seat right next to me, her bright smile making my own lips curl up in response.
Chuckling, I reply, “No, not yet, Scottie. I haven’t eaten much today, so hopefully that will help.”
She shakes her head at me as she digs her notebook out of her backpack. “You need to eat something, Grady. If you don’t, you could end up passing out on the mound in front of the scouts, and that would be even worse than you playing a shitty game.”
I swallow hard, envisioning what she just said and the embarrassment that would follow.
“Crap. You’re right.” I dig out the protein bar from my backpack I keep for emergencies, tear open the wrapper, and shove the entire thing in my mouth as Mrs. Williams, our Algebra II teacher, signals that class is about to start.
Scottie laughs at me. “That was a little dramatic, but at least you know how to listen.”
“My mother taught me well.”
Smirking, she directs her attention to our teacher, and for the next twenty minutes, we take notes on the lesson until it’s time for us to work on today’s assignment.
I twist in my desk to face hers and try my best to focus on the problems I need to complete, but Scottie is the only person who understands what today means for me, so our conversation drifts back to the topic neither one of us can ignore.
“So how many will there be?” she asks as she jots down the steps to the problem, rushing toward her answer.
The NSYNC stickers plastered all over her folder catch my eye, and for the millionth time I find myself wondering how the hell she listens to that god awful music, but I keep that thought to myself.
“I think five.” My stomach twists in knots at the reminder.
“That’s amazing. Five scouts coming to see you, Grady!” She grins across her desk at me. “That’s everything you’ve been working toward.”
“I know, but now that it’s happening…”
“It’s becoming more real,” she finishes for me.
“Yeah. What if none of them make me an offer?”
“Or what if they all do?” she counters. “Have you thought of that?”
It’s a possibility. I know that. And then the problem becomes making a decision. “I doubt that will happen…”
She glares at me, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Haven’t you heard of positive thinking? You have to manifest what you want, Reynolds. Negativity isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
Huffing out a laugh, I lean back in my desk chair. “Yeah, I guess. But what about you? Have you heard from any scouts?”
The pride that shows through her smile reminds me of why Scottie is the one friend I can talk to about this stuff.
She’s the pitcher for our varsity girls’ softball team and has just as much promise and drive to play professionally as I do.
It’s what solidified our friendship. She’s the only one who loves the sport and wants the same things out of it as I do.
Plus, she’s smart, sassy, and gorgeous. I couldn’t help but want to get to know her.
“Of course. I was just letting you have your moment today, Grady. I didn’t want you to feel bad about how many scouts were coming to watch me play next week. I didn’t want to tear up your heart.”
“Was that an NSYNC reference?”
“Maybe.”
“Stop while you’re ahead, Daniels.” Laughing, I write down the next problem, then drop my pencil to my desk.
My concentration is shot, so there’s no point in pretending I’m going to get any work done right now.
I’ll finish these problems later tonight after the game is over and I can breathe. “Your cockiness is showing.”
“What can I say? I know what I have to offer these schools. They’re the ones that need to prove to me which one I should choose, not the other way around.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
She tucks one of her soft, brown curls behind her ear, tilting her head at me. “You need to find it, Grady. That’s the only way to get where you want to go. Don’t doubt yourself. You’re a really freaking talented pitcher and you deserve this.”
“Likewise,” I tell her, and it’s the honest-to-God truth. Scottie is a beast on the mound. Other schools are scared of her because she’s ruthless. I freaking love watching her play, but part of that may just be because staring at her has become one of my new favorite pastimes besides baseball.
Pointing at her desk, she continues, “Go out there today, own that mound, and believe that this is the start of your professional baseball career.” Then she glances down at my hands stained with grease. “And if it doesn’t work out, at least you know how to turn a wrench.”
Laughing, I pick up my pencil again, not wanting to draw Mrs. Williams’ attention. “I like working on cars, Scottie. You should try it sometime. It’s far less stressful than pitching.”
She arches a brow at me. “Really? Less stressful?” Leaning closer to me, she continues, “You do realize that if you mess something up on someone’s car, it could mean life or death, right? Have you ever had that thought about pitching, Reynolds?” She blinks at me slowly.
“Shit. Okay, you’re right.”
Swinging her hair around, she goes back to work. “Again. I know.” Smirking, she glances up at me, and just that small purse of her lips has me fighting to stay firmly planted on my side of the line that defines our friendship.
My chest grows tight with that familiar twinge that seems to grow every time I talk to Scottie.
I’m pretty sure I know what my heart and head are trying to tell me, but I can’t listen.
I don’t have time for a girlfriend, and hell, high school is almost over.
We’re both headed in different directions, possibly to opposite sides of the country.
Scottie is my friend, and that’s just the way it has to remain, even though the thought of tasting her lips has occupied my mind more nights than I care to admit.
“I’m going to give it my best today,” I say, breaking through our silence.
“I know you will,” she says, brushing her hair over her shoulder with a confident lift of her lips. “And I can’t wait to hear from you later when all five scouts start begging you to play for them.”
***
“I hope you get drafted to the Atlanta Braves so we can drive down and see you play,” Blane, one of my friends on the team, says as he takes a sip from his red Solo cup.
“Nah. He needs to play for the Red Sox. Since I’m gonna be in Boston, I can cheer him on,” declares Derek, our shortstop, to the group of my now former teammates gathered at the house party his parents are letting us throw.
It’s only a few days after graduation, but my life at the University of California, Santa Barbara, officially starts in a week.
Just as Scottie predicted, all five scouts at my game made me offers.
I gelled best with the coach from Santa Barbara, though, and their D1 baseball program is famous for sending players to the draft.
Plus, their offer of a full ride made the decision a no-brainer.
I fly out on Monday to start training and begin my journey to the MLB.
“Look, I gotta make it through the next three years with no injuries and hope to get drafted at twenty-one. There’s still a long road ahead of me, guys.”
Blane slaps me on the shoulder. “Yeah, but you’re living the dream, man. It’s not like any of us got an offer like you did. We’re gonna live vicariously through you, all right? You get to leave this town and hopefully never return.”
I chuckle, nod my head, then take a sip from my beer. I usually don’t drink at these parties because it makes me sluggish on the mound, but this is the last time I’m gonna see my friends for a while, so I gave into the peer pressure and filled my cup from the keg.
“I’m not the only one that’s leaving, though. Dallas is shipping out just two days after me.” I jerk my chin toward one of my close friends, Dallas Sheppard, who’s been standing there stoically, listening to the conversation.
“That’s right. You joined the Marines, huh?” Blane slurs and then salutes him.
Dallas scowls. “I did. And…” But he doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought.
“Scottie! Scottie! Scottie!” Cheers ring out from the crowd gathered around the keg, pulling all of our attention to the sight. And when the crowd parts, I see an upside-down Scottie doing a keg stand better than most guys I’ve seen.
Once she’s had enough, the boys holding her up bring her feet back to the ground where she wobbles a bit before shooting her arms up in the air in celebration.
Jesus, she’s something else.
“Scottie!” The group around her cheers again, and she high-fives several of them before our eyes lock and she heads in my direction, her eyes glazed over but her smile wide.