Chapter 27 Talk Shit, Get Hit
TALK SHIT, GET HIT.
GREY
The sun is blazing, the crowd is cheering, and I can't stop thinking about Molly.
My head's been spinning since last night and the kiss heard 'round the world. We went back to her place, and once again, I forgot the whole word existed for a little while. But the world was still out there. And the second we left, I felt it.
I tried to tell myself it was no big deal.
That nobody would care. That I imagined the looks and whispers and general feeling that I supremely fucked up.
And then I got to the Rambler's game and discovered that it was already much worse than I'd imagined it could be and in less than twenty-four hours.
It went around the bar last night and spread from there.
The second I got here, the team started in on me, wouldn't quit ribbing me until I snapped on one of them hard enough to shut them all up.
Then the crowd started to arrive. I could almost watch the news get passed around from one cluster of people to another.
All their disappointed, judgmental eyes were on me.
And then I spotted her climbing into the stands toward Cass, waving at Cricket, completely unaware of the heads turning, the whispers starting. When she sat, she spotted me easily. Waved with that bright, open smile that guts me every time.
And all those prying eyes turned to her. People leaned in to whisper. Point. Pretended to be discreet while they talked their shit.
I can feel my pulse in my eyeballs and try to take a breath.
God fucking help me if I hear one unkind word spoken to her. I'll end up in handcuffs.
I have fucked up the whole game. Lost track of the count. Made bad calls. I almost got hit by a foul ball, which is wild because I didn't even know the ball had been hit. I was too busy thinking about her.
And now it’s the end of the game. We’re about to lose. And it’s all my fault.
The game. The gossip.
If I hadn't given in, none of this would have happened.
I turn to the field, fold my arms. Pretend to watch the bottom of the last inning like I have one fucking clue what's going on.
Tate pulls up next to me, hooks his fingers on the chain link, pretends he's watching too.
"You look like shit, old man," he says so only I can hear.
I don't answer.
"What the fuck happened last night? I heard you and Molly kissed, heard everybody talking, but--"
"I fucked up. These are the consequences."
When I don't elaborate, he says, "You're not calling that an answer, are you?"
I huff. Stare for a second. "She hit the ball for the first time, grand slam, won the game. Ran straight for me, and I just…there wasn't anybody else in the world. She was so happy, and then she was in my arms and…" I shake my head, swallow my feelings. "I just forgot it was a secret."
"Do you want it to be a secret?"
I cut him a look. "Quit digging, Romeo."
"You gonna make it out of here without tearing somebody's head off?"
"Keep talking and find out."
He snorts a laugh, but it dies quickly. "I wouldn't be any better off if I were you, I'm sure." He pauses for a beat. "At the bar last night, everybody was talking about it, kept coming to the table to ask what we knew. Nobody said anything but fuck off. It's bad, Grey. What they're saying. "
Anger flashes through me. I grind my teeth, staring blindly at the field. "Tell me."
He sighs. "You know, the typical. That she's too young to know better, doesn't understand what she's doing, what you're doing to her. You're too old for her. You're preying on her. That your grandma would--"
My shock at the mention of her tears through me. "Don't." The word is sharp, hard. "Not that."
"Hey, you asked. They're calling you a predator."
"I don't give a fuck what they say about me."
"I know. But I'm pretty sure you give a fuck if they're talking about her. Probably to her face, and if they haven't yet, it'll be soon."
My hands ball into fists.
"But it's worse."
"Worse?" I'm afraid to know. I have to know. I meet his eyes.
Tate's face is apologetic. "They're saying she's…that she's…fuck, man--if I say it, you're gonna hit me. I'll just say, promiscuous."
Fury momentarily blinds me, my heart beating so hard, I hope I'm not about to pass out.
"You okay, man?" Tate asks from far away.
I shake my head, take a breath.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I just…I know you'd want to know. None of us want to see either of you hurt, and this…this has everybody worked, and it just happened last night. I'd maybe say just lay low, but you're everywhere, all the time. They're just gonna keep going until--"
"Thanks," I manage, locking my gaze on the scoreboard, though I couldn't tell you the score.
Tate lets go of the fence and starts to turn, but pauses, saying, "For what it's worth, I think you're good together. But this town…" He shakes his head. "They're not gonna make it easy."
With that, he heads back to the guys with a smile for cover, razzing Carlin for bringing his manga to the dugout to keep any incidental attention off me.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My pulse throbs in my neck as the game ends. I turn and head to the bench, crouching to throw things into my bag, hoping I look busy and nobody can see my face beneath the bill of my baseball cap.
Selfishly, I sneak another look at her. What has Molly heard?
I can't tell by the look on her face. Around her, people are eyeing her as they gather their things and begin to disperse slowly.
There's an older guy sitting just behind her and over a bit who's been staring at her the whole game.
He's maybe in his late fifties, worn ball cap shielding his eyes, jeans worn.
Working class. Never seen him before. Wonder what he's heard that has him so interested?
Is Tate right? Has anyone said anything to her?
The thought sends a furious slash up my middle as I glare into my bag at my hands, blindly shoving things in. I'd like to think that most people wouldn't, not with her being an outsider. They'll talk shit behind her back instead. But I might be giving them too much credit.
"Greyson," a stern, elder female voice says from just on the other side of the fence.
I look up, stand. Tip my baseball hat, saying, "Miss Evelyn, Miss Dottie."
I've known these women my whole life, and they've never looked at me with such contempt. I wish I didn't know why.
"You should be ashamed of yourself," Evelyn says, scowling, her eyes hard. "Dottie and I saw you last night, at the teacher's game."
"Kissing that girl," Dottie adds, voice dripping with judgment. "And in front of the whole town."
"God and everybody." Evelyn shakes her head. "Shame on you."
The dugout is silent. The crowd slows their exit watching, listening. Including Molly.
Dottie continues, "She could be your child, Greyson. Do you realize that? Your child."
The stone in my throat doesn't move when I swallow. A string of things I want to say piles up behind my clenched teeth.
"She doesn't know any better," Evelyn says, voice softening when she talks about Molly. "Bless her heart. She's new here, doesn't understand how things look. How things are."
"But you know exactly what you're doing," Dottie finishes.
I find my voice, dig it up from the grave. "All due respect--I think there's some misunderstanding about what I'm doing and what I'm not."
They laugh, bitter, mocking.
"You hear that?" Evelyn says to Dottie. "We don't understand. I suppose he's not doing anything wrong, just ruining her reputation, and his along with it."
"Your truck parked in front of her house at every hour says different," Dottie adds.
"Ruth Ellen would be ashamed," Evelyn says, and that's the one that lands. "She raised you better than this."
I can't breathe at the mention of my grandmother's name. Tate stands, but I cut him a look. There's nothing to do but stand here and take it.
"It’s true—that poor little girl doesn't know any better," Evelyn says again with hard, accusing eyes. "But you do."
It's a cold, easy blade through my ribs.
"We'll be praying for you both," Dottie says, but it's not a comfort. It's a condemnation.
With that, they tip their noses and walk away.
My guts twist, sick and painful.
Two women who I respect just flung every fear, every worry, every reason I had for staying away at me in front of a rapt, shit-talking audience. And every word hit me like a physical blow.
They just confirmed all the things I've been working so hard to convince myself aren't true.
But they're right.
She asked for this, for me. But I should have said no.
I knew it would end badly, knew this was a possibility, but I did it anyway.
And now, here we are. My sick brain lists out every time I've taken advantage of her, every decision I've made that preyed on her inexperience, all under the bullshit guise of helping her. Teaching her.
The only person I'm helping is myself.
My gaze finds Molly in the stands, watching me solemnly. She saw the whole thing, heard every word. Even from here, I can see the confusion on her face, the hurt.
This is what I've done to her. Exposed her to ridicule and judgment. Made her a target. And there's only one way to fix it. Only one way to try and repair the damage I've done.
She doesn't know how to protect herself, not against this.
But I do.
The truth of it hurts so bad, I can't breathe.
If I really care about her, if I really want to protect her?
I have to end it.
The loss is cold. Lonely. Familiar.
Should have known better.
I've never been able to keep nice things.