The National Tournament Quarterfinals
The National Tournament:
Quarterfinals
They didn’t sleep the night before the game. They just tossed and turned. No one offered a hand or graze beneath the covers to soothe, and at breakfast they didn’t speak.
Kate didn’t know if Abby was angry with her or simply tied up in her own thoughts about Audie and the fallout.
But when they arrived at the field, her parents hugging her the second she stepped off the bus, Kate knew it was anger that sent Abby stomping off.
Knew it in her glare across the locker room.
It made Kate ill enough that she barreled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.
Mick’s cleats clicked in behind her. “You okay?”
Kate nodded and caught her breath. “Just nerves.”
“You’re okay.” Mick patted her back. “We got this.”
Every game could be their last. Every grounder.
Every at bat. Unlike Abby, whose future in the game seemed endless, her talent boundless, Kate’s career would end even if they won the trophy.
And that’s what made her sickest—everything around her was coming to an end or at least on a collision course in which only one might survive—her relationship with Abby or her parents.
Her relationship with God or her heart’s true desire.
“Strike three!” the umpire would echo in her ear twice that night. She never reached first base during her other two at bats, nauseous as her parents cheered for her, nauseous as the Eagles fought to stay alive, nauseous as Abby took to the field like war.
She charged relentlessly at third base, as if she wanted to get smacked in the jaw or nose.
On her opening at bat Abby drilled a shot right at the pitcher’s head, then made eye contact with her like she’d done it on purpose.
So, it was no wonder, the next time Abby sauntered to the batter’s box, a chill touched Kate’s spine.
“Come on, Cruz!” Mick yelled from the on-deck circle as Abby sliced a practice swing.
The opposing pitcher glared as Abby crowded the plate. The same cocky invitation, a dare really, she’d extended all season. The pitcher brushed her back with a ball that nearly skimmed Abby’s thighs.
“Ball, inside!” the umpire shouted.
Abby spit and opened her arms at the pitcher. “What was that?”
Kate clung to the dugout fence so hard it indented her palms. The feeling swept over her. Something wasn’t right.
The pitcher grunted and sent another ball zooming higher, this time a sliver from Abby’s chest.
“Jesus!” Jill widened her eyes at Kate. “Did you see that?”
“She’s doing it on purpose,” Kate said, but she didn’t mean the pitcher.
“Do it again!” Abby pointed her bat at the circle. She and the pitcher stared each other down, and the field fell silent except for the droning stadium lights. “Do it again, I dare you!”
“Come on, batter!” the umpire shouted.
“Do it!” Abby smacked her helmet twice and settled into the box.
Kate covered her mouth ahead of the windup, swore she saw it before the pitch.
She wanted to close her eyes, but held on.
The ball veered exactly as expected. Higher, tighter, faster.
It collided with Abby’s helmet, cracked the plastic, spurring squeals in the stands and dugouts, as the formidable Eagle became a heap on the dirt.
She’d hit the median. The crunch, the force throwing her head back, and the ring in her ears convinced her for a few glorious seconds that it was over. Then she opened her eyes, home plate beneath her like heaven sent her back.
Abby blinked away the black spots in her vision. The umpire stood above, but she couldn’t understand him. She staggered to her feet and assessed her hands. She wasn’t injured. Nothing hurt except her ears from the incessant whistling tone.
“You okay?” Mick came through garbled. “Abby? You with me?”
She swayed, but nodded. The helmet did its job. If anything, the impact of the pitch just shocked her. Put distant images in her sight. Her mother’s car crushed into metal scraps. Her casket beneath a pile of lilies.
“Cruz, you all right?” Coach Whitley eased toward her.
Abby removed her helmet. A gnarly crack ran down the ear hole.
The face mask hung on its hinge. The pitch could’ve killed her.
She didn’t know if she was angrier that it almost did or that it didn’t finish the job.
Abby gritted her teeth at the pitcher. But it wasn’t the pitcher she imagined.
It was Audie. It was her mother. It was Kate’s parents.
“Why don’t you come at me for real!” She chucked her helmet at her. It didn’t reach the circle, didn’t come close, and she hadn’t intended it to. If she wanted to hit the pitcher, she would’ve. But it still triggered what she needed.
The pitcher stalked toward her as someone jerked Abby back. She thought it might be Mick or the umpire, but it was the opposing catcher, riled up in her ear. “What the fuck is wrong with you.”
Abby welcomed it. Fed on it. She turned to push the catcher, but Mick was already yanking at the woman’s arm. The pitcher reached Abby just as the umpire stepped in, not allowing for anything more than a push.
“Fuck you!” Abby turned on him. “She did that on purpose! You saw it!”
“One more word and you’re out of here!”
Abby opened her mouth to say it, even if it meant getting thrown out. Especially if it meant getting thrown out. Instead, Coach Whitley stepped in front of her and pointed a finger at the umpire’s chest. “Are you out of your mind, fuckwit? She could’ve been killed!”
“That’s a warning!”
Mick and Jill dragged a flailing Abby to the dugout. The ringing persisted until Kate. The only person strong enough to cut through the chaos. She asked if Abby was okay, then whispered the rest like she’d done something unforgivable. “Why did you do it? Why did you have to do it?”
“That’s it! You’re out of here!” the umpire screamed.
“Fucking wombat wanker arsehole!” Coach Whitley kicked dirt at the ump’s feet, unleashing the most artful combination of insults Abby had ever heard. Full fucking kangaroo.
Coach Ackers dragged her away to boos and clapping. The stands rattled, both teams screamed at each other, adrenaline oozed, a perfect mirror to Abby’s turmoil. It satisfyingly scratched the scab over every grizzly wound.
Abby slipped on a new helmet. She ignored the dejected slump of her teammates at Coach Whitley’s suspension and the jeering as she took first base.
She searched the stands for Audie, then searched them for her mother.
While she didn’t find them, she felt them.
The field rippled under their influence.
While she’d survived the crash, Abby sensed the end.
As she met Kate’s gaze across the diamond, she knew she sensed it too.
Insley beat Colwood College to advance to the semi-finals, but a decade later, no one would remember the score.
They’d remember Abby getting hit and Coach Whitley getting ejected.
They’d remember Mick and T.K. going out for revenge the next inning—Mick giving the signal, a prominent middle finger, to T.K.
, who blatantly drilled the next Colwood batter in the thigh.
They’d remember how Colwood’s bench cleared and that the haggard umpire issued a final warning to both teams, narrowly preventing a full-blown brawl.
And while Insley won, it didn’t feel right.
Not to Kate. Not when the game cracked open under the pressure, spewing with the anxiety and rage that she and Abby skirted around, but never talked about.
Now that it threatened them on the outside, risking the game, Kate knew they’d hit more than an impasse.
That’s why Abby, with her bag packed, didn’t surprise her when she entered their hotel room. That was the final score Kate would remember that day. It might as well have flashed on the board hours ago.
“Thank God,” Mick said when the door shut behind Kate. “Tell her she can’t leave.”
Jill, T.K., and Mick stood helplessly, with the same worry everyone brought to Kate. The plea to keep Abby in check. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep answering the call.
“Don’t go,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” Abby adjusted the duffel bag on her shoulder and started for the door.
Kate blocked her path. “Why’d you do it?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Abby glared. “I’m the one that got hit.”
“It does matter. You don’t get to leave like this,” she said. Abby tried to brush past, but Kate put a hand on her chest. “Haven’t you risked our chances enough? We already have to play the semi-final without Coach.”
“Jesus, it’s just a game!”
Jill slid between them. “Guys, come on. Let’s not blame each other.”
“It’s a team! It’s not only about you!” Kate yelled.
“Then win without me.” Abby raised a brow at Kate, then glanced at their teammates. “That’s what I thought. You just want me here so I can help us win.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then why am I still a secret? You only want me so long as you don’t have to risk anything to have me.”
“And what have you risked? What happened tonight was all about you. You didn’t care about what it meant for anyone else.”
“Fine.” Abby dropped her bag. “You really want to have it out?”
Kate bit her lip to conceal that the prospect terrified her. She turned to their friends. “Can you give us some privacy?”
Mick’s eyes widened. “You sure?”
“Go, Mick.” Abby grunted.
Kate sat at the end of their bed as the door rattled shut. She didn’t want to scream. She didn’t really want to fight. As Abby stood across from her, unreachable, Kate still recognized the person she loved. The person she gave everything to.
“Don’t go like this,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
Abby’s brow pinched. Her lower lip quivered just once before she shifted her gaze to the baggage at her feet. “I can’t do it. I can’t stand by while you slip away from me.”
“I’m not.” Kate couldn’t bring herself to lie.
Not even in the heat of an argument. Not to Abby.
“I’m not trying to. I’m sorry.” She drew in an uneasy breath, gathering whatever flimsy strength she had left after weeks of anxiety.
“I know it’s not fair, but I spent over twenty years fearing God and imperfection.
That doesn’t just disappear. Not when I see my parents.
” A knot filled her throat. “Not when I feel like I have to choose between them and you. It makes me wonder if I feel this doubt and uncertainty because it is wrong.”
She’d hoped to find a hint of comfort in Abby’s gaze, but she received her so empty that it punched her in the chest instead.
“You mean we’re wrong?” Abby crossed her arms like it was disgraceful. “It’s love, Kate. How can that not be good?”
“Then why doesn’t it feel good right now?” Kate’s chin wobbled.
“Because you’re fighting it. Because you’re afraid. Because you’re letting your parents win.”
“And you’re not?” She shook her head, regaining momentum, building a case that she never considered unleashing before.
But this wasn’t her Abby. Not this angry, spiteful, version.
So, she didn’t need to be her Kate. “You don’t talk about your past, but it’s here, looming, all the time. Not just Audie, but your mom—”
“Don’t.” Abby shifted, her muscles coiled like she might pounce, and Kate nearly shuddered. She knew Abby would never hurt her, but she recognized the same darkness that exploded at the game. “Don’t talk about her.”
“Sorry,” Kate whispered, even though she wasn’t sure she should be. “Why can’t you see how much everyone cares about you? How much everyone wants to help you and see you succeed? Not just me but Isla, Mick, Jill, T.K., Coach, the whole team!”
“Well, maybe I don’t!” Abby paced, scrubbed her hands down the back of her neck. “Maybe I don’t care as much as everyone wants me to!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not whole!”
Kate didn’t realize they’d both been panting and screaming until that moment. Didn’t realize they hadn’t met eyes until then either. Didn’t realize that they both had tears rolling down their red cheeks.
“I can’t fix that for you,” she said with a sniffle.
Abby rubbed her eyes with a fist and snatched up her bag. “I know.”
“How can you leave like this? How can you give up?”
“What am I giving up, Kate? Huh? Berkeley?” Abby sighed.
Her body let go with it, losing inches in height.
“We both know I don’t belong there. And this fucking game.
” Her mouth drooped forlornly, and Kate nearly gave into it.
“I only came back to it because of you. I only felt it again because of you. And now…I don’t want to feel like I’m on the outside.
Like you might toss me aside whenever you fear coming out. ”
“But I can’t be everything for you either,” Kate said.
“I can’t be the only reason you keep playing or go to Berkeley.
I can’t stand by while you shut down until you blow up.
I can’t be the one to pick up the pieces.
Not when I’m struggling too.” She dabbed at her tears, stunned that this was where they’d ended up, but she couldn’t imagine another way through.
“You’re not the only one, Abby. It’s like you can’t see beyond yourself.
You’re always supposed to see me, but right now I don’t think you can at all. ”
Abby frowned. “And what should I see?”
“That I’m suffocating beneath you,” she whispered.
It was gentle but cutting. She almost regretted saying it, but it’d come out naturally, like it was the only answer she had in the mess.
“Well, allow me to help.” Abby brushed past her for the door.
“If you love me so much, why are you doing this?” Kate turned to face her. “Why can’t you figure this out with me?”
“Because I don’t need to figure it out. I know where I stand here.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I know exactly how much I love you. No one, not even God, can change that for me. Can you say the same for your parents? Can you even say the same for yourself?”
Kate couldn’t answer. The tears kept streaking, and her arms stayed tight across her chest because she’d never felt so cold or small or lost in Abby’s eyes. She loved her, but she didn’t know how to keep her. Not like this.
“I didn’t think so,” Abby said. Whatever sympathy, whatever hope, whatever love she spoke of just seconds ago, vanished. A glare overtook her bloodshot gaze. “You always played the game like a coward. You love like a coward. I have no doubt you’ll keep living like one too.”
Abby slammed the door, and while Kate shed plenty of tears through their fight, she let herself cry. Really cry. Into her hands, hunched over, covering her mouth to restrain a wail. She let go of it all but gained no clarity. The worst kind of surrender.