Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
First team meeting of the season Monday at 3 in the clubhouse.
I’d anticipated the news. It was January, after all, and the season started end of February.
Cool. See you soon.
I usually had a snarky retort for Kellan, but I’d come to like the guy. Even went to bat for him in a vote to keep him on board last season after he’d confessed to screwing around with our team captain, Brady Donovan.
That had taken some guts. The kind I didn’t possess, so I fell pretty short where those two were concerned. I found their relationship both sweet and nauseating. Who the hell wanted to spend that much time together? I’d never felt that way about anybody. Though my friend Jasmine—guess that’s what she’d become—told me I was too busy sabotaging everything in an effort to protect myself.
One time we’d stayed up all night, talking about everything—well, almost everything. No way I’d put myself out there for someone I barely knew. But she’d broken through my defenses by recounting her own shoddy family situation, and we’d clicked. I wasn’t friends with many girls that I hadn’t already screwed around with, but she didn’t want anything from me, and that was refreshing.
And she might’ve had a point about this sabotaging thing. I certainly didn’t have many reliable people in my life.
Speaking of which. I grabbed a chip and shoved it in my mouth, vowing to only wait five more minutes. Some part of me thought I was doing this for Mom because Dad had loved her and given us a decent life, and it was hard to shake that sense of obligation, even eleven years later.
As I watched two men who looked pretty chummy enter the restaurant and sit at a table near me, I thought about the upcoming team meeting and being in the same space with Girard again. My chest felt tight. I hadn’t seen him since before the holidays, and I figured the distance would do me good. Help me get my head on straight. When Jasmine had told me she was bisexual, it intrigued me, making me wonder all kinds of things about myself. And Girard. Who happened to have a girlfriend.
Yeah, last season had proven quite an interesting one. We’d made it to the third bracket in the regionals—the lead-up to the big NCAA Division II World Series tournament that took place at the end of the season. I’d pitched pretty well, not that my stepdad would ever know if he hadn’t heard it from me. I’d give him a D for effort, but here I was again, waiting for him.
Just as I had that thought, Dad breezed through the door and sat down in the booth across from me. “Sorry I’m late.”
Story of his life. I no longer told him it was okay because when you stacked them all up, it wasn’t. I signaled to the server so we could finally order and get this obligatory family dinner over with.
Dad always went for the same thing anyway. Chicken soft tacos. Said they were better than at the places he frequented in Louisville with clients. Maybe that was why he tried to make a standing appointment here with me every couple of months. For the tacos rather than the company.
“How’s school?” he asked once the server had walked away to refill my soda and grab Dad a drink as well.
“Pretty good.” We’d just started back for the winter semester and, honestly, it was hard to believe I only had half a year left of college. Soon enough I’d have my degree in computer science, and I’d be looking for an IT job, so I wanted to enjoy this last stint of freedom, playing a sport I loved. I had no dreams of being drafted or asked to try out for any team, not like other diehard players. I was a good pitcher, even had some great moments, but we were a dime a dozen and plenty were better than me. Still, I wouldn’t turn down an opportunity if one ever arose. The idea of fading into oblivion after being part of a team sport for so much of my life made my stomach pinch uncomfortably, but hey, welcome to adulthood. Somehow, I’d figure it all out. Always had.
“Need any money?” Dad asked as he crunched down on a chip.
“No, I’m good,” I replied, knowing he’d be happy to pull out his wallet and throw more bills my way. It made him feel useful and maybe like he was doing me a favor, and I should’ve felt lucky that I’d never really struggled financially. But it also left a bitter taste in my mouth. “Baseball officially begins next week.”
“That’s nice,” he said distractedly, glancing at a text on his phone as the server placed our drinks in front of us.