Chapter 48
FRESH HELL
GREY
The next three days were stacked with one fresh hell after another.
Saturday morning, I showed up at her house early with the gang in tow, chainsaws and muscles galore.
The girls came with them, including Cricket, who was so excited to paint, she couldn't see straight.
Molly's relief was palpable, the buffer effective.
We divided and conquered her parents, and with so many people there, it kept the heat off us.
The girls rallied around her fiercely and loyally, and the sight made me feel gratitude in my marrow.
I showed her dad how to use the chainsaw without losing a limb and left him with the guys to work on collecting brush and remnants for the burn pile and clear the trunk blocks they cut, lining them up on the side of the house to split later for firewood.
I barely saw her all day, despite being within thirty feet of her at all times.
The longing was so obvious and painful, I think they felt it from space.
I was so hyperaware of her dad watching, I measured every word, doing my best to prove I'm everything she says I am--good, safe, worthy.
It was exhausting.
Sunday was more of the same. We got the tree finished and they guys helped me start splitting. The girls seemed to appreciate this, and at one point gathered on the porch with lemonade to watch. And we all pranced around like performing monkeys for them, even Molly's dad.
My only solace was when I'd pick Molly up after her parents went to bed so we could steal a few hours, surviving on crumbs.
Still, crumbs were better than nothing, and I ate up every one.
It's Monday now, and this morning it was just me and her dad splitting wood, though his strength was gone. At one point he went in under the guise of getting something to drink and was gone for an hour.
Honestly, I appreciated a minute alone.
Three days of performing, three days of being watched, three days of best behavior, and I'm exhausted, frayed and worn and a little on edge.
Something is going to happen, I can feel it, like a pressure cooker about to blow.
Her parents have watched me like a hawk, like they're waiting for me to fuck up, to prove them right.
Just one more night. She's going to tell them to go tomorrow, the game the big thing on their list that they wanted to do. Once this is done, there's no reason for them to stay.
Thank fucking god.
I left early to get ready for the Rambler's game, which is where I find myself now.
Molly, her parents, and Cass and Jessa are set up by the fence like I suggested.
Molly looks as tired as I feel. I wish I could wipe her worry away, take it and carry it for her.
But I can barely talk to her when her parents are around, never mind comfort her.
When I got here, I was hopeful that I could survive the game and the whispers and whatever else might come at me.
But then the game started to slip away, errors and strikeouts piling up.
We've been trailing the whole game. My frustration has built to the point of snapping, the crowd restless and disappointed.
Drinking and getting loud. I can already hear some of the comments.
Ignore it.
Focus on the game.
Just get through it.
We lost so bad, it wasn't even close.
Some assholes in our crowd are actually booing as we shake hands with the other team. Heckling us as I pack equipment with the guys in the dugout.
On the other side, Wade Pruitt is draped on the bleachers surrounded by his boys, watching me. He takes a sip of whatever’s in his Solo cup.
My jaw tightens. I keep packing.
“God that was embarrassing.” Kyle’s voice carries from the bleachers, loud and loose. “I don’t know what happened to this team.”
“Used to be decent,” Wade says, his eyes still on me.
The knot of shitheads laughs, a mean, pointed sound.
“You know what the problem is?” Wade asks them.
“What?” Kyle’s playing along happily, eyeing me and smiling.
“Brooks is distracted.”
Kyle snickers. “That little librarian.” He says it like something dirty.
I want to reach down his throat and pull out his esophagus.
“Sweet,” Wade echoes. “Young. Young enough to be his daughter.”
“Ignore them,” Tate says from beside me, glaring at them along with Wilder and Remy.
I zip my bag and grab it. “Let’s go.”
We exit the dugout, but the only way to the parking lot is past them. I keep my eyes ahead.
Just get to the truck.
As we approach, Wade stands. I can smell the liquor on him from five feet away. He’s drunker than he looks, the polish worn off, his smile looser, meaner.
“There he is.” Wade falls into a lazy step beside us. “Rough one, Brooks. I mean, really rough.”
Keep walking.
“Never could hold onto it, not even in high school. A lead. A ball. A girl.”
I stop.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I stop.
“Something on your mind, Wade?”
His hands come up, drink in one, easy smile in place. But his eyes are glassy and rimmed with red. He’s been at it a while. “Just saying what everybody’s thinking.”
“Then everybody can mind their own fucking business.” I turn to go.
“Keep walking,” Wilder mutters, a mantra I guess we’re sharing.
Wade calls after me, “Maybe you’d coach better if you weren’t so busy breaking in the new librarian.”
Vibrating with rage, I turn. “Watch your fucking mouth, Pruitt.”
“Or what?” His smirk widens, his crew snickering behind him. “Whole town knows, man. Heard you bent her over in the picture books. Real classy, Brooks.
Fury is a living thing in my chest.
Tate’s hand finds my arm. “He’s drunk. Not worth it.”
I breathe. Nod. Turn to leave.
“That’s right,” that fucking fool says. “Walk away. Always walking away. But don’t worry, Brooks—” He’s loud enough now that everyone in the vicinity can hear. “When you’re done with her, I’ll take my turn. Bet she’s so tight, she whimpers when you—"
He doesn't finish.
I don't remember crossing the distance, just the sickening crack of my knuckles against his jaw, the shock on his face, the satisfaction that floods me even as I know I just destroyed everything.
I put everything behind the swing, all my weight, months of restraint snapping, a hundred whispers and a thousand looks about her. About Molly.
Three days of holding it together. Of being assessed and judged.
I knew something was going to break.
I just didn't expect it to be me.