10. Jace
JACE
“Jace Jesse Ryan, get your fat ass in the car before I bench you for the rest of the season!” my dad yells, before slamming the door that leads into our garage.
The sound echoes throughout the house, and I can’t help but flinch.
I’m sure I’ll get blamed for waking up Mom and Molly.
Must be nice to get to sleep in all the time.
I’m also not fat. I’m a catcher for god’s sake, my ass is big, but it’s muscle from all the damn squatting I have to do behind home plate.
I was running late because I dropped my contact in the sink and it took forever to find it, then I had to run back into my room for my cell phone, but there’s no way I’m telling my dad that.
He hates how much time I spend on it now that I have an iPhone and am dating Liv.
He seriously doesn’t understand how high maintenance a girlfriend can be.
She’s constantly texting me, and if I don’t let her know I’m on my way to the game, she’ll think I’m ignoring her and be pissed.
I get that her and Kieran’s friendship ended, but I swear she wants my attention constantly.
I feel like it’s been never-ending in the two months we’ve been dating.
At least my dad likes Liv. After we went on a few dates, my batting average went up, and he was quick to comment that I should’ve gotten a girlfriend sooner because I was “actually playing well for the first time all season,” then he told me he had started to worry I was “one of those queers.”
Which, obviously, I’m not.
I rush downstairs and jump in my dad’s SUV.
I hate Saturday games because there’s no buffer from him.
At least on the weekdays, I get a few hours in classes with people who aren’t on the baseball team to distract me.
Weekend games mean I’m with my dad for the entire day, and I’m already in a bad mood thinking about it.
I can’t even be excited about summer either because he’ll be breathing down my neck every day since he’ll be off too. I never get a fucking break from him.
“Can I go out with Liv tonight?” I ask, hoping to get some time away from his harsh post-game analysis.
Even when I play well, I expect him to spend the whole car ride home yelling at me and picking apart everything I did wrong.
And when he’s really in a mood, we just sit there in the driveway after getting home while he keeps tearing into me.
“How about you focus on winning before you worry about getting your dick wet.”
“I just wanted to go get ice cream or something,” I clarify.
“Maybe I should bench you if you’re that eager to put sugary shit into your body. No wonder you’re so fat.”
Whatever. My dad is just jealous because my recent growth spurt resulted in me passing him in height, and my shoulders are broader than his now too.
I’d probably be grounded for a month if I “disrespected my elder” by pointing that out, though.
My dad’s never hit me, even though he’s seemed pretty close a few times.
His anger has only gotten worse the older I get, but I don’t think he’d go there now that I’m bigger than him.
For now, though, I shut up like I always do and try to tune out his pregame “pep talk” that sounds a lot more like threats than encouragement.
The rest of our drive is filled with tense silence as I try to focus on deep breathing and shifting my attitude so I’m not pissed off for the rest of the day.
I do like playing baseball. I’ve always been good at it, and I like the physicality and mental focus my position requires.
Plus, winning is great. But my dad’s attempt to push me to be the best is starting to make me resent even the parts of it I’ve always loved.
I wish I could have one day where every decision and moment wasn’t already planned out for me.
Just one day where everything I did didn’t relate back to baseball.
We’re still the first people to arrive despite my “fat ass” delaying us, and I help my dad bring everything out for warmups before heading to the locker room to change into my uniform and grab all my catcher’s equipment.
Despite my dad’s constant threats to bench me, I’m definitely the best catcher at our school, even as a junior.
My pop times are way faster than everyone else’s, and the guy who’s probably our second-best option can’t frame a pitch for shit.
I swear anything in the shadow zone gets called a ball whenever he sees game time.
The school we’re up against today sucks, and after the first four innings, we’re already winning by seven. A normal game is seven innings, but if either team is up by ten or more after the first five innings, it can end early.
I really love when we get to end games early.
Our pitcher, Aaron, must be on the same page because despite our lead, he isn’t holding back. He strikes out the first two players, and when the third batter clips a foul down the third base line, our guy manages to catch it for the out.
I’m not up for another six batters, so I don’t completely unclip my gear as I watch the first few at-bats.
We get two players on base before the first out: a fly ball right to their left fielder.
I’m quickly ditching my equipment and grabbing my batting helmet when our next batter hits one straight at their second baseman for another out.
I rush out to the on-deck circle before my dad can scream at me for not being ready, and our next batter hits the second pitch just past their shortstop, making it to the base and successfully advancing the runners.
We officially have bases loaded with two outs as I approach the plate. If I can avoid the out, there’s a chance we could continue the inning to score enough points to end the game soon.
But where’s the fun in that?
I haven’t had batting coaches since I could hold a bat to just get on base.
I take a centering breath and put on my cockiest smile as I stare down their pitcher.
He winds up, and I lock in on the ball as it leaves his grip, letting my instincts take over.
As soon as my bat connects, I know it hit the sweet spot, but my dad will be pissed if I stand here and wait to watch the ball, so I take off toward first just like I would with any other hit.
The first base coach already has a huge grin, signaling me to round the base, and I’m distantly aware of the crowd’s cheers.
I glance at third to confirm what I suspect, and our coach there is waving me through, shouting “home run,” so I slow down and let my smile grow.
Game fucking over.
This is the part of baseball I love—the high of an exciting win, the team coming together to celebrate our shared victory.
The other guys rush out as I cross home plate, surrounding me as everyone pats my back and helmet, celebrating the grand slam.
This game might not have mattered as far as standings go since we’re leading in our league, but a win is a win, and I just got everyone a couple extra hours on their Saturday.
“You really wanted to go out with your girlfriend tonight, huh?” my dad comments with a laugh when I finally make it back into the dugout. No congrats from him. But I’m not going to complain when I’m getting what I want.
“Could I borrow your car and take her out to dinner?” I ask, adding, “No ice cream” when I remember his sugar comments.
“Yeah, whatever,” he agrees, handing me his keys.
“I’ll find your mom and sister and go home with them.
Just make sure you use a condom. Even if she says she’s on birth control, that shit isn’t a guarantee.
Don’t make the same mistakes I did,” he grumbles before plastering on a big fake smile as the other coaches join us to congratulate me on the winning hit.
God forbid we go a day without mentioning what a huge mistake my existence is.
I excuse myself as soon as they lose interest in me, and make my way over to where Liv is sitting with my mom and sister. In the two months since we started dating, Molly’s come to idolize her, so Liv usually sits with my family.
She spent the whole first month talking about Kieran.
He stopped talking to her because of our relationship, and I only wanted to annoy him, but he had to make us dating about him by completely cutting her off.
She tried to talk to him at school since he wouldn’t answer her texts or calls, but he’s so damn stubborn, he wouldn’t even hear her out. It’s ridiculous, really.
Being able to talk about him with Liv was fun, we really bonded over it until she decided to move on and focus on me and her new friends. She’s pretending like it doesn’t still bother her, but I haven’t been able to do the same.
Despite losing his supposed best friend, and my constant taunts, he still hasn’t toned anything down.
He makes it impossible for me to ignore him.
Every day, he shows up wearing something that makes me feel like I’m going to physically explode, so every day, I have to try to get him to stop.
Now I have to do it away from Olivia, which is fine because I prefer taunting him when no one else is around anyway.
Especially David. He follows me everywhere and always pushes too far where Kieran’s concerned.
He’s given me a little more space since I started dating Liv, but he still drives me crazy—and not in the same way Kieran does.
“There’s our superstar,” my mom says as I approach them in the stands.
“Congrats, baby.” Liv jumps up to kiss me, and Molly, who’s in seventh grade and is obsessed with romcoms, “awws” as we do.
There’s one Mexican restaurant in our town that is way better than any of the others, and it’s become our go-to meal spot when Liv and I get to go out. It’s always packed, so I’m not surprised when we have to wait in a line to order.
“Oh, shit,” Liv hisses, grabbing my arm and huddling into me like she’s hiding from someone.