Chapter 19 Allie
ALLIE
The sun sinks below the horizon as I mop the sweat pricking my forehead with the back of my hand, tipping up my hat in the process. The hat Ashton gave me a hard time about earlier.
“What the hell is that?” he asks, pointing to the navy-blue baseball cap with an illustrated slice of pizza in the middle.
“It’s my pizza hat, obviously,” I scoff.
“Yeah, no, I can see that. But why are you wearing a pizza hat? Did Skylar not give you the hat with our logo?”
“She did give it to me.”
“Okay…”
“I’m wearing this one. It’s my lucky hat.”
He smirks. “Hoping to get lucky, Chaos?”
I ignore his obvious innuendo. “You want to win this thing, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then I need my lucky pizza hat.”
“Huh.”
“Huh, what?”
“Just didn’t think you were the type of person who believes in luck.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Rich Boy.”
I shake out my limbs, pushing our conversation to the back of my mind so I can concentrate on the task at hand.
It’s only early March, but it feels like it’s a hundred degrees out here on the mound.
I shuffle my feet, kicking up some dirt with the bottom of my sneaker.
The cotton T-shirt Skylar gave me clings to my back.
It doesn’t say my name, but it has the number fourteen on the back.
The front simply has the name “Headliners” stitched in blocky uppercase font. A little obvious, but whatever.
With my mitt tucked under my arm, I flick my nose with my thumb.
It’s been years since I even held a ball, and yet muscle memory took right over.
I’ve been throwing like my life depends on it.
Not that I really give a shit about this stupid rec league game, but half-assing isn’t my style.
I can’t say I’m not exhausted, though. Nate’s training sessions ended the same day they began, so I’m still thoroughly out of shape.
My lungs are burning, my muscles are screaming, but I’m not about to back down now.
Thank God, these games only go six innings.
We’re at the top of the sixth, and up by one.
Two outs, two strikes, and one runner on second.
One more strike to go and then we can end this thing once we’re up at bat.
As I wind up, I feel him in my periphery. Of course, Ashton would play shortstop. He can’t just be in one place. He’s got to be everywhere. In between bases, in between my head and that stupid organ hammering in my chest. I shake the thought from my head.
Focus, Allie.
I circle my arm, stepping forward as I send the ball sailing down the middle, past the batter, who takes a deliberate step back, making no attempt to swing, and smacking directly into Dan’s glove.
He used to be an actual catcher in the minors when he was younger, and we’ve been dominating together this whole game.
“Ball three,” the ump calls out.
Wait, what? What the actual fuck? No way in hell that was a ball. I throw my hands up in frustration but remind myself to rein it in. “That was on the line,” I mutter as I catch the ball Dan sends back my way.
I wind up again and throw even harder this time, high and fast, the ball singing in the air. The batter, some DJ from the radio station whose name I don’t even know, swings big like he’s aiming for the outfield and completely misses.
Gotcha.
I tip my hat smugly, shifting my feet on the ground. I’m about to walk off the mound when I hear the ump’s shrill voice.
“Foul. Ball four. Take your base.”
The batter casually drops his bat and walks over to first.
What. The. Fuck.
“Oh, hell no,” I yell as I throw my mitt to the ground. “You’ve had it out for me this entire game.” Who the hell does this chick think she is? I stomp over to the plate.
“Just calling them like I see them,” she says as if she can’t be bothered to have this conversation.
“That ball didn’t even graze his fucking bat,” I shout back.
“There’s no need for obscenities.” She looks a little nervous now. Good, she should. She takes off her helmet and tosses it on the ground.
Well, that was a big mistake.
She looks to be about my age with long blonde hair tied in a French braid. She rises to her full height as I get closer. She’s a couple of inches taller than I am, but I can still take her.
“You think that was obscene? I’ll show you fucking obscene.”
Just as I’m about to launch at her, I feel a hard surface pressing against my back. Strong arms circle around my waist as I look down at my feet, which are now floating an inch above the ground.
Motherfucker.
“Calm down,” Ashton says in my ear. It’s gentle but firm, and all it makes me want to do is the opposite. I start kicking my legs and pushing on his arms.
“She’s been making shitty calls all night.”
“Allie.” His hot breath skates up my neck, the scent of spearmint and cedar making me dizzy.
“Let me go,” I yell.
“I will, but you have to promise me you’ll walk back to the mound.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, putting my hands up in surrender as I attempt to shrug him off.
He slowly lets go, but the second he does, I’m on her like Alfredo on the back of a wooden spoon.
She shrieks as I rear my fist back. I’m quick, but Ashton is quicker, grabbing my wrist before I can make contact with her face.
Once again, I feel arms around my waist and I’m hoisted off the ground, higher this time. My feet instinctively kick out in front of me.
“Ashton, I swear to God, if you don’t let me down, I’ll—”
“I gave you a chance, Chaos. You left me no choice,” he says as he carries me by my waist, quite literally kicking and screaming, like a toddler having a meltdown in a supermarket. “Todd, take my place.” He calls over his shoulder. “Skylar, you’re pitching.”
“What?” I hear her alarmed gasp come from the outfield. “I don’t—oh, fuck it.”
Her voice trails off as Ashton carries me further away from the field.
I fight him the whole way, cursing him and that bitchy umpire from hell.
He ignores me until we come to some sort of equipment storage shed, and he deposits me on a bench.
I look around. It’s really big. It must house all of the sports equipment for the entire high school.
Ashton failed to mention that we would be playing at Emberfield High when he asked me, or more like insisted, that I play in today’s game.
But here we are. This isn’t my first time here.
We played EHS when I was on the softball team, and I may have hooked up with a guy or two from here back in high school.
My eyes land on Ashton. He takes his hat off and runs his hand through his slightly damp hair before pulling it back in place.
His shirt fits tightly around his muscled torso, and when he turns around, I can’t help but check out the way those white baseball pants hug his ass.
Of course, he had to wear professional baseball pants.
“Can I leave now?” I ask. “Or are you going to hold me hostage for a second time?”
“That depends.” He turns around and squats down in front of me, the bottom of his pants rising up ever so slightly. “Are you going to be good?”
“I think you have it backward, Ashton. You’re the one who should be good for me.”
He chuckles. “I meant, are you going to try to punch innocent umpires if I let you out of here?”
Instantly, the lust in my veins turns to white-hot anger. “Innocent? She’s been fucking with me all night, Ashton. Every single call she made while I was pitching was bullshit, and you know it.”
“It’s just a game, Allie.”
Just a game?
“Oh, now it’s just a game? What about when you were begging me to pitch for you so you could win your silly little game? Which, by the way, was the second time in twenty-four hours you’ve begged me for something.”
He stands up and walks over to a rack of footballs, spinning one around with his thumb. “Huh.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” I growl.
“You keep bringing up last night. It’s just interesting, is all. Especially since this isn’t a thing.” He gestures between the two of us.
I blink at him several times before something between a screech and a roar comes out from deep within my diaphragm. I shoot up, stomp over to a shelf, and slap my hand across it, knocking over a basket of tennis balls that fall to the floor, bouncing back up like rain on a steel roof.
My heart hammers against my chest, and tears spring to my eyes. When I look back at Ashton, I expect to see shock coloring his face, but there is none. There’s only quiet concern.
“I’m just tired,” I mumble, and the look on his face tells me he knows that this isn’t about softball or bitchy umpires. It’s about nothing and everything. It’s about being better. Not making the same mistakes. But also being tired. Too tired to fight, but not tired enough to give up.
“You know what I think?” Ashton’s voice carries throughout the enclosed space, echoing off the walls. “I think you need someone who can take care of you. Even if just for a few minutes.”
He walks closer with each word, making sure to sidestep the tennis balls still slowly rolling around on the floor. “Let me take care of you, Allie.”
My initial instinct is to tell him no. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. That being said, what he’s offering makes me want to throw my instincts out the window.
Yes. Just say yes.
“Okay.” It’s so quiet, I barely hear it myself. There’s no way he heard it, but he offers me his hand anyway, and I take it.
He leads me over to another bench, this one higher than the rest. It’s counter height, probably for cleaning or organizing equipment.
Lacing cleats. I don’t know. I can’t think straight because now he’s hoisting me up onto the bench.
He reaches up and gently removes my hat, tossing it to the side.
When his palm comes to rest on my cheek, I look away.
I’m wearing contacts because I didn’t want to deal with my glasses getting knocked off during the game.