13. Killian #2
As I walk around the field, I catch snippets of conversation around me—guys laughing, making jokes, completely at ease. This isn’t the dugout before a game where tension hangs in the air like humidity before a storm. This is something different. Something lighter.
Something way more fun.
“Kill!” Shepherd calls out, tossing me a whiffle ball. “Think you can hit this without breaking it?”
I catch the plastic ball in my hands, laughing to myself at how unbelievably light it feels in my palm. “Can you?” I call back to my brother. “You know there’s no tackling in baseball, right?”
Isla divides us into two teams with the efficiency of someone who’s clearly thought this through. She’s got a little clipboard—where did she even get that?—and she’s making notes like a real coach.
“I’ll be pitching for both teams since…” she gestures to her leg with a quick shrug. “Running is no longer my strong suit.”
Phew.
Good.
I don’t want her getting hurt.
She checks her list and continues, “Bishop’s team is Sutton, Tara, Jude, Layton, Brock, and Sebastian. The rest of you are with Killian.”
The game starts chaotically, with everyone laughing and joking around.
I take up second base, feeling oddly out of position.
It’s been years since I’ve played anywhere other than the mound but instead of me today, it’s Isla in my spot.
I have to admit, she looks good out there, all confidence and control.
And when I realize that I now have the perfect view of her sexy little ass in those ripped denim shorts… Fuck. Me.
Let’s get this party started!
Isla winds up and throws the first pitch to Layton, who swings and misses completely.
“Well, the good news, Layton,” she calls to him, “is that the air never stood a chance.”
“Listen,” he retorts with a laugh. “This bat is shit.”
“Uh huh, blame it on the toy,” Alaric teases as we all laugh at his expense.
“Nice pitch, Coach!” I call out from behind her.
She turns to me with a wink. “Thanks, Haynesy.” She pops her hip after Carter tosses the ball back to her and asks, “Are you checking out my ass while I’m up here doing all the work?”
“You know I am,” I shamelessly tell her. “It’s the sexiest ass I’ve ever seen on the mound.”
“Oh, my God, will you listen to these two?” Sutton shouts from the dugout. “They’re so cute it’s sickening.”
“But also get a fucking room,” Bishop jeers beside her.
I cup my hand to my mouth and shout to Isla, “You hear that, Coach? Hop says we need to get a room. I’m in if you are.”
She tosses her head back in laughter, that bright sound carrying across the field, before she says, “You wish, big guy. You wish.”
Don’t I know it.
She winds up for her next pitch and the game continues like this.
Easy, playful, completely different from the high-stakes baseball we’re all used to.
I find myself actually enjoying being at second base, watching Isla pitch.
She throws surprisingly well considering she’s never played professionally.
She’s got a decent arm and a wicked curve on that whiffle ball that has even Bishop nodding in approval.
Between pitches, she even keeps up a steady stream of heckling that has everyone in stitches.
“That’s okay, Brock. That swing had great personality!”
“Jude, you missed that one so badly I’m actually impressed!”
Jude takes a fucking bow. “Well, I do aim to please, Fallon. Thank you very much.”
My team is up at bat next, which means I get to stand in the dugout and just watch my girl.
My pretend girl. Whatever.
Watching her play the game I love…the game I sometimes forget that I love, is an unexpected joy, and I find myself gazing at her behind my sunglasses and wondering what other activities I might enjoy with Isla Fallon.
The next pitch is for Mackenzie. It comes in fast, and she connects with it, sending the ball sailing toward center field where Tara gets under it, loses it in the sun, and then trips over her own feet trying to recover. Mack cruises into first, grinning like she just won the World Series.
“That’a girl, Mack! Way to run it out!” Bishop cheers, clapping like a proud dad at a kindergarten recital.
Sebastian throws his arms up. “Dude. She is literally not on our team.”
“But she’s my friend.”
“I don’t care if she’s your therapist, man—”
“Hey, we’re all inclusive here,” Isla calls out from the mound as she also claps for Mack’s single hit.
Mackenzie blows Bishop a kiss from first base as a thank you, and I look away before I have to process that.
My first time at bat, I easily knock that sucker out of the park but instead of immediately running the bases, I sprint to the mound, turn myself around, and instruct Isla to hop on piggyback style and then run the bases with her on my back.
The sheer laughter coming from her as she shouts, “Go, Haynesy! Run it home! Take me home!” is now one of my favorite sounds in the whole damn world and a memory I will forever carry in my mind.
After an hour or two, who the hell knows…or cares, we’re all sweaty and laughing, completely caught up in the game, and I’m up again. I grab the red plastic bat from Shepherd and step up to the plate, feeling a strange mix of excitement and desire to impress Isla.
She’s standing on the mound with that playful smirk, twirling the ball between her fingers. “Ready to embarrass yourself, Haynesy?” she calls out.
“You wish, Coach.” I tap the bat against the plate, trying to find my rhythm. “I’ve been saving up all my best swings just for you.”
“Ooh, let’s see then.”
The first pitch comes in slow and I let it go, watching it sail past. “Uh oh. I think your arm is getting tired.”
“Nah. I’m just going easy on you,” she laughs, catching the ball from Carter.
The second pitch comes faster, and I swing, connecting with a satisfying crack of the bat that sends the ball flying hard to the right.
“Foul ball!” Brock calls.
When the ball gets back to Isla, she winds up one more time and I watch as it curves slightly, catching the evening light as it arcs toward me.
For some reason I tell myself not to swing but my body does it anyway.
The bat connects with a solid snap that sends the ball flying down the center of the field… right back toward the mound.
Time stops and my breath literally flies from my body when the ball rockets straight back at Isla’s face. I watch in horror as it smacks her square on the nose with a sickening thwack. Her hands fly to her face as she drops to her knees in the dirt.
“Oh fuck.” I shudder, the bat falling from my numb fingers.
The field goes silent.
Completely and utterly silent.
Fuck.
What have I done?
Oh shit.
I hit her.
Fuck!
“Isla?”
Oh God.
My stomach drops through the earth as I sprint toward the mound, my heart hammering so fucking hard against my ribs.
The plastic ball, so light, so harmless, rolls in the dirt away from where she’s sitting, hands still pressed against her face.
I slide quickly into the space beside her, my leg kicking up dust and my heart thudding so loudly I can barely hear anything else.
“Isla, fuck, I’m so sorry,” I stammer, reaching for her but not knowing where to put my hands. “Can I…can I see?” I ask gently, framing her face in my hands. “Fuck. Isla, let me see. Please.”
She lowers her hands slowly, and my stomach lurches at the sight. Blood is already streaming from her nose, bright red against her fair skin, dripping onto the front of her shirt. Her left eye is watering, and her cheek is starting to swell, the pattern of the ball imprinted on her skin.
“Jesus Christ,” I fret, pulling my shirt off to press against her nose. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to…I shouldn’t have swung so hard. I’m such an idiot.”
She blinks up at me, her voice muffled slightly by my shirt when she says, “Well...that was an unexpected surprise.”
Even now, even with blood running down her face and tears in her eyes, she’s trying to make a joke. Something lodges itself in my throat. Feelings I don’t know how to handle.
“Don’t move,” I tell her, keeping pressure on her nose. “Just stay still.”
The game stops completely. Shepherd and Bishop are already jogging over, and Sebastian is in full trainer mode, crouching beside her, checking her pupils with the flashlight on his phone.