The Spring Tournament #3
“Please make it stop. I want it to stop.” Abby sniffled.
“I know.” Kate cupped the sides of her head. “I know.”
And then Abby’s eyes opened. They welled, shiny and inebriated, but Kate recognized that flicker.
That soul. That gravity. Kate didn’t want Abby to hurt, but she knew this was what always stood between them.
This was what Kate always wanted to understand, and now that she did, she couldn’t imagine ever being angry, ever being jealous, ever being anything but this close to her again.
Abby uncovered her ears long enough to burrow into Kate.
She startled at first, not only because Abby nearly knocked her over, but because they’d never hugged before.
Still, when Abby clutched on, Kate held her back tighter, refusing to let go even as her legs grew unsteady.
Mick and Jill helped her bear the weight, the four of them lowering until they all sat on the bathroom floor.
“You got this?” Mick asked.
Her eyes glistened and for the first time, Kate realized damp tracks of tears streamed down her own cheeks too. “Yeah.”
Jill sniffled. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know, but I won’t leave her,” Kate said.
She held the back of Abby’s head while she hid in her neck long after Mick and Jill retired to bed. She hushed her until the sobs dwindled to cries, the cries to whimpers, and finally the whimpers to sniffles.
And in between, she prayed. She thanked God for Abby’s return, but mostly for this understanding, no matter how painful.
It intensified the mysterious swelling in her chest. She longed to explain it.
She wondered if it might soothe Abby or herself, but she didn’t know what to say, except maybe, if you only knew how often I talk to God about you.
“I miss her.” Abby sniveled.
Kate’s chest rocked. “I know.” She kissed the top of Abby’s head, held her lips there, and closed her eyes.
Blacking out successfully rid Abby of nightmares, but it came at the price of her worst hangover yet.
The agony radiated through her skull when she opened her eyes.
The coolness beneath her cheek provided at least some reprieve until she discovered it belonged to the bathroom floor.
A sheet draped her shoulders, and curled up nearby, sleeping beneath a comforter with her head on a pillow, was Kate.
“What the fuck?” Abby whispered.
Before she could investigate, her gut churned, her mouth salivated, and her throat filled with bile.
She crawled to the toilet, threw her head into the bowl, and puked.
Not long after the initial heave, a hand rubbed her back.
She cringed at Kate’s comfort, which, despite little memory of the night before, she knew she didn’t deserve.
“Just go,” Abby said between retching.
But the hand didn’t leave. She tried to recall the night. She remembered going to a bar and slamming shots. She didn’t know how she got home.
T.K. bulldozed in. “Oh my God, gross.”
“Get out.” Abby coughed.
“I have to do my skincare routine,” she said.
Kate sighed, still rubbing Abby’s back. “Can it wait?”
“I need to start now if I’m going to be on time. Who knows how long she’s going to be doing this.”
“T.K., you better be joking.” Abby groaned.
“I can’t pitch if my pores are clogged. It’s not my fault you got hammered last night.”
She, of course, expected no less from T.K., who started every week with a fresh manicure, accessorized her game day braids with matching bows, and dyed her hair a new color every few months. It was currently gothic black and down to her waist.
“Jesus, can we stop yelling? We all slept like shit.” Mick snatched her toothbrush from the counter.
“I think I’m dying.” Abby flushed the toilet and rested her head on her forearms.
“We need to pull it together,” Mick said. “Someone wake up Shupe and I’ll throw Cruz in the shower.”
“No, just leave me.” Abby moaned as Mick and Kate yanked her to her feet. “I can’t play. Tell Whit I’m sick.”
“Oh no, you’re playing. I don’t care if you puke all game.” Mick confronted her like a vengeful parent. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Abby turned her cheek as the catcher buffaloed into her space. “Back off, Mick.”
“No, dude. You can’t keep doing shit like this.” Mick glanced at Kate. “Do you know how bad you scared her?”
“Mick, it’s fine,” Kate said.
“No, it’s not. You scared all of us.” Mick clutched Abby’s shirt when she tried to slink away. “We can’t cover like that for you again. Do you understand? We won’t.”
Abby dropped her head. “I get it, okay? I’m sorry.”
“Say it to Hutch.”
She dragged her eyes up to Kate’s. Abby hated herself for disappointing and scaring her, then receiving her goodwill when she wasn’t deserving. “I’m sorry, Kate.”
She frowned, but nodded. “It’s okay.”
“We care about you. All of us. Don’t forget it, idiot.” Mick patted Abby’s cheek, somewhere between a slap and caress. “Let’s go, we’re going to be late.”
Abby showered off the bar stench, hurled again, and somehow scraped together her uniform. At breakfast, she cautiously sipped water, plagued with regret as Kate, Mick, and Jill gazed over with bags beneath their eyes.
For as long as she could remember, Abby had acted only at her own behest. Growing up with her mother required early self-reliance.
She never worried about the consequences for others.
She assumed the group helped her after the hazing incident simply to cover their own asses.
But last night, they didn’t have to cover for her.
They could’ve easily gotten her kicked off the team, Kate could’ve taken shortstop, and they would’ve been done with her.
Instead, they saved her. And maybe all along, bringing them into her life was how the game was saving her too.
Granted, as she battled a hangover beneath the Phoenix sun, Abby thought the game might kill her instead. She dragged through warm-ups with a migraine. When she missed more than one ball, Coach Whitley took notice.
“You okay, Cruz?” she asked.
Mick held a finger to her mouth, demanding Abby’s silence, doubling down by dragging the same finger across her throat.
“I’m good.” Abby bit back a sour mouthful.
By game time, she struggled to balance, the dirt transforming into choppy waves beneath her unsteady feet. The first batter whizzed a shot between her and Courtney. Usually, she would’ve lunged for the out but stayed back on her heels.
The next batter hit into a perfect double play. Kate scooped the ball and flipped it to her. Abby strained to catch it, clipped second base with her toes for the out, but didn’t attempt a throw for the double play. She braced herself on her knees to avoid vomiting.
“Come on.” Kate smacked her glove in frustration. “We had that.”
Abby drew a hand across her clammy forehead. “Sorry.”
When T.K. struck out the next two batters, she could’ve kissed her. On the way to the dugout, Mick ripped off her catcher’s mask and bared her teeth. “Get it together.”
“Fuck off,” she hissed.
The problems continued at bat. She intended to hit a ground ball and make herself an easy out so she could retire to the dugout. Instead, she somehow finessed a shot to the outfield and groaned when it rolled to the fence. Rather than run to second base, Abby stopped on first and nearly retched.
Mick got up next and Abby swore she smiled as if plotting revenge. She launched a hit past the right fielder forcing Abby to sprint for second, then third, her stomach gurgling every step.
“Go!” Coach Whitley waved her on toward home plate. “Take a turn!”
Abby moved at half-speed but also couldn’t pump the brakes. Her strides kept cycling, momentum building, as the catcher called for the ball.
“Back! Back!” Coach Whitley yelled.
But Abby charged onward, tripping toward home plate.
The catcher blocked her path while she waited on the throw.
With no other option, Abby lowered her shoulder as the ball flew in.
She knocked into the catcher, and they tumbled behind the plate.
Abby dragged her hand through the dirt in search of the coveted marker.
“Safe!” the umpire barked.
Abby rolled onto her back and groaned as the Eagles cheered. In the dugout, her teammates jostled and smacked her back. She shrugged them off, pushed their hands away, ripped off her helmet, and threw up in the nearest trash can. They darted back in disgust.
“What the fuck,” Lauren said.
Abby flipped her off with her head still in the trash can, and when the inning ended, she didn’t dare move.
“What’s going on?” Coach Whitley asked.
“Something I ate,” Abby said.
Coach Whitley turned to Mick, who shrugged. “Fine. Cruz, you’re out. Hutchins, take over at shortstop.”
Abby’s heart stopped. Not because she cared about getting benched or losing her position, but because Kate got to take it.
She lifted her head to see her take the field.
When she settled her cleats into the dirt, popping bright against the green outfield, white foul lines, and boundless blue behind, Abby swore it’s where she’d belonged all along.
She spent the doubleheader lying on the bench with a towel covering her eyes but sat up to watch Kate at shortstop.
She observed her footwork, her steady crouch, her zip of a throw.
While Abby had once criticized Kate for being stiff and mechanical, from the bench she witnessed something she never quite mastered herself.
Abby exuded freedom within the game, but Kate exuded love.
While the softball lived inside Abby, a natural part of who she was, Kate worked for it with a tenacity that could only come from the heart.
She played like she believed in it. Like she might restore Abby’s belief too.