Announcing Trouble

by Amy Fellner Dominy

  “I thought we lived in a scary world,” I say, “but I’m feeling much better about our planet now.”

  Bryan grins. “I told you the book was a little out there.”

  We get cookies and sodas and then look for an empty table. He points to a booth where a couple is getting up. “How about that one?”

  Of course it’s the same table I sat in with Garrett. A ghostly image of him smirks at me from the bench.

  I’m banishing you, Blondie!

  “Perfect,” I tell Bryan.

  We settle at the booth and I set my origami on the table. “It was cool that the book is about a different universe, but it sounds a lot like our own society. Like how they turned people into slaves with opioids.”

  “That’s what I love about sci-fi,” he says. “It gives you a different world to look at, so you can see this one more clearly.”

  I nod and smile because he’s so right and so…smart. How can I not like this guy? I reach for my drink and accidentally knock over the origami. “Oh. Sorry!” I set it right again.

  “Actually, that’s upside down.”

  Embarrassment floods through me. “It is?”

  “It’s the spaceship from the book. I figured you would ask me about it.”

  “Oh. Crap.” I smack a hand against my forehead. “I didn’t want to be rude, so I didn’t ask.”

  He straightens the spaceship. “It’s okay. Origami is a new thing. My mind is always racing, and I read somewhere that it helps if you give your hands something to do.”

  “Yeah? That makes sense. I should try it. It’s probably better than biting my nails.” I show him the evidence.

  “What’s got you worried?”

  “School. Finals. What I’m going to do with my life. The usual.”

  He laughs.

  “So what do you worry about?”

  “School. Finals. What I’m going to do with my life.” His grin is sweet. “A first date.” He stretches his hands on the table. My hands are a few inches away, our cookies forgotten. My heart skitters in my chest. I could slide them a little ways…just a little…and he’d meet me halfway.

  “I’m glad you could come tonight,” he says.

  “I am, too.” Bryan is the exact right guy for me. Thoughtful. Kind. He’s got a good sense of humor and he loves the same things I do.

  My throat tightens.

  And he isn’t the guy I’m wishing was sitting across from me.

  The vultures are back, swarming my stomach, my chest, my head. I hate myself right now. I don’t want it to be Garrett. I want it to be Bryan. But there’s no room inside me for him. Not with Garrett taking up all the space.

  I pull my hands back.

  Bryan watches until my hands have disappeared into my lap. “So you had a good time, but…?”

  “But…it’s complicated.”

  He pulls back his hands. “I don’t really do complicated.”

  “I never used to, either.”

  “It’s okay. That’s how it goes sometimes.” He stands. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your truck.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When I park in the garage and turn off the car, my phone buzzes with a text.

  And another.

  And another.

  And another.

  It gets set to silent while I’m driving, so multiple texts aren’t that unusual, but I’m immediately worried something’s happened with Mai and Anthony. I free the phone from my purse. My breath catches.

  Garrett.

  Can we talk?

  Text when you’re home.

  Are you home?

  Can I come over?

  Five minutes between the first two texts. Then three. Then two. As if he couldn’t wait. I press a hand to my chest where my heart is racing. Stupid heart. Nothing has changed. Garrett hasn’t changed.

  I type: Yes I’m home. No you can’t come over.

  My thumb hovers over the send button.

  What does he want to talk about? Why does he want to come over? What if he’s been thinking about me the way I’ve been thinking about him?

  The truck’s headlights flick off, and it’s suddenly pitch black. My heart goes from racing to pounding. My thumb wobbles. Shifts. Deletes.

  ME: Yes I’m home. Thought we already said everything.

  GARRETT: There in 5

  I drop my cell as if it’s the phone’s fault, then sink lower in the seat. So, so stupid, Josie. But my mind is already whirring ahead to what he’ll say. Maybe he wants to clear the air? Stop fighting? Maybe he’s felt the strain, too, and he wants to be friends again. Maybe he’ll say, I miss you, Josie. I like you, Josie. Or…oh God. Maybe he’s coming over to end the whole broadcasting experiment. Call it a failure and get Nathan back. It’s not working, Josie. Sorry, Josie. And if he does that, then fine. I’ll listen. I totally agree, Garrett. Or—no, I’ll pretend not to even know what he’s talking about. Like I haven’t noticed. Like—

  A car door slams.

  Shit.

  I step out of the truck as he gets out of his car. We meet on my driveway with plenty of space between us. He’s completely still, and yet I can feel the thrum of him…the thrum in myself because he’s near.

  Why him? Why is it him who makes me feel like this?

  His face is in shadows, his hair dark gold in the porch light. I don’t want him here, and yet there’s no one I’d rather be with.

  I try to read his expression, prepare myself for what’s coming. He looks as tense as I feel.

  “So he didn’t drive you home,” he says.

  My mouth opens, surprise filling my lungs and silencing my voice. He sounds upset. Jealous.

  “Did you have a good time? With Bryan.” He’s in front of me, his shape blocking the light, casting us both in darkness. There’s something sharp beneath the words. Something close to breaking. “Did he kiss you? Did you let him kiss you?”

  “Garrett.” His name is a plea, but I don’t know what for. I’m balancing on a high wire and on either side of me is a long fall. Do I want him to leave and end this before it can start? Or do I never want him to leave? Either way, I pay a price.

  “Did you?”

  My throat tightens with indecision.

  “Did you?” He reaches for one of my hands and rubs his thumb over my knuckles. “Did you?”

  I close my eyes against the dizzy rush of blood ignited by his words. His touch. “No,” I say.

  His breath gusts out as if he’d been holding it. He widens his stance and pulls me closer, or maybe I step closer. I’m like all the other girls pressed against Garrett Reeves. I’m exactly where I said I would never be.

  “What does it matter, Garrett? If I did or I didn’t? Nothing’s changed.”

  “I know what I said at my house.” His cheek is warm against mine as he bends his head to whisper in my ear. “But I was a fucking idiot. I should have kissed you. It should be me kissing you, not that asshole.” His hands skim up my arms to my shoulders and then into the loose waves of my hair. “You shouldn’t be going out with him, Josie. You should be going out with me.”

  I want to shake my head, but I’m caught in his hands. In the pull of everything I don’t want to feel for him and can’t help.

  “You’re still chasing baseball, Garrett.”

  “And I’ll never catch up. My arm is a mess. Plan E is a joke.”

  I pull back until there’s space between us again. It’s easier to think when he isn’t touching me. When I don’t want to be touching him. “Then you’ll come up with Plan F. There will always be another plan.”

  His eyes close for a second, and when they open, I can see exhaustion in their depths. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’ve got one more month paid with Kyle Masters, and I’m going to try whatever I can. That’s just who I am. What I need to do. But after that? I don’t know where I’m going to end up. If I’ll have to go to Dallas, if I can make this broadcast thing work. I don’t know shit right now.”

&nb
sp; He takes a breath and steps close again, his fingers tugging at mine until our hands are laced together. “I just know that every minute we’re not together, I want us to be. And that kiss we didn’t have? It was the best kiss of my life.”

  His words shred the last of my defenses. And when he bends to kiss me, I rise up on my toes to meet him. His lips are soft. Careful.

  I think I might die from soft and careful. I put my hands on his chest—not to push him away but to bring him closer. And when he moans, I stop thinking of anything at all.

  We kiss until my lips feel swollen and new. Until I know the texture of his face under my fingers and until I never want to taste anything but Garrett again. We kiss until I pull back because it feels so good that I’m scared.

  “Jesus, Walters.” He’s panting as if he just ran the bases.

  I want to smile because I’m happy it’s not just me, but fear is expanding with my lungs. How can I trust in this? In Garrett? He’s a guy with one foot out the door and I’m a girl who knows what it means to be left. “This is such a bad idea.”

  “I think it’s a great idea. I think it’s right up there with the wheel, and chicken on a stick, and the infield fly rule.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “I hate that you got dressed up for someone else.”

  “I’m in jeans.”

  “You’re beautiful.” His touch is restless, skimming my hair to my shoulders and down my arms.

  “Garrett, stop. This is crazy.”

  “Why? We’ve got a month before graduation. Before anything has to change, before any decisions have to be made. A month to see what happens.”

  “A month for it to end badly.”

  “Why are you thinking about endings?” His blue eyes shine like an endless sky. “This is a beginning. First inning, first at bat.”

  “You’re not seriously giving me a baseball analogy right now?”

  He brushes a grinning kiss over my mouth. “We’ll hang out, Walters. Where’s the danger in that? And you’ll tell the giggler to keep his hands off.”

  “He’s not like that. He’s a gentleman.”

  “Quit saying nice things about him. You’re denting my massive ego.” When I laugh, his eyes flare with a look that would melt a metal bat. “You have the best laugh.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. And because this is all too much and I need time to process and maybe to crawl under the bed and scream with happiness, I shove at his chest. “You have to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  “No. I’m going to walk with Mai.”

  He looks as if he might argue for a second and then sighs. “All right. Wait for me by the flagpole.”

  He turns away and he’s jogging to his car before I can sputter a no. Did he really order me to the flagpole? I fold my arms over my chest and watch him drive away. No way I’m going to be waiting for him.

  Effing baseball player.

  Effing lungs that are still breathless.

  Effing lips that are still throbbing.

  Effing heart that already misses him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Cooper Davies is coming to the plate.” Garrett’s voice is thick with worry. The Cholla Wildcats are down by one in the final inning against a team we should beat. A team we have to beat. The playoff picture is tightening, and Garrett isn’t the only one worried. I’ve come to like these guys, and I want them to win.

  “Davies has popped up both times at bat today, but now would be a great time to make contact,” I say. “The Wildcats are down to their last three outs.”

  There’s a sudden pressure on my hand, and my heart leaps with a whole different kind of feeling. Garrett works his fingers over mine and squeezes.

  Last night is still replaying in my head—has been all day—and I’m trying to adjust to this new reality. Whatever it is. Garrett’s grin was a little wider when I walked in today, but he’s been nothing but professional in the booth. So holding my hand is a little surprising and a lot, well, wonderful.

  Not that I’ll tell him that.

  He’s already acting way too smug. It’s amazing he could walk at all with the swagger in his step when I turned up at the flagpole this morning. But I couldn’t stay mad at him when he left the group—including Annette—to meet me halfway and thread his fingers through mine.

  Mai was with me and groaned in disgust. “You’re not going to be one of those gross couples who kiss all the time, are you?”

  “We’re not a couple,” I said.

  “Define all the time?” Garrett said.

  I’ve been stupid-happy ever since.

  Now, Garrett leans forward, his hand still clutching mine. “The pitcher is on the mound, toeing dirt off the rubber. He looks down to the catcher, watching for the signal.”

  I breathe in the hush of the stadium, the collective tension of nine players on the field, and the one at bat. The rest of Cholla’s team is lined up along the dugout fence, eyes fixed on Cooper. Logically, I know the white chalk lines mark a game diamond, but it feels like more than that. Like it’s a battlefield. It’s man against man even as it’s team against team. It all rests right now on one pitch. One swing.

  “Here it comes,” Garrett says, “and—” His voice drops. “It’s a fastball down the middle. Davies doesn’t take a swing. Strike one.”

  I swallow a frustrated groan. “That was the one he wanted, but Davies froze. Now the pitcher is ahead in the count and the pressure shifts squarely on Davies.” My blood feels fizzy and thin. There’s a tight, nervous ache in the pit of my stomach. The feeling takes me back to nights I sat in the stands watching my dad at the plate. Nights when the game rode on his bat. There were times when I couldn’t watch—when I had to pace beneath the stands—when I waited for the roar of the crowd to tell me what had happened.

  Garrett wets his lips. “Davies gives us his trademark wink as he sinks into his stance.”

  There’s a whiz of the ball leaving the pitcher’s hand and then a solid crack.

  Garrett stands so fast, the stool overturns and crashes behind him. “That’s going deep—it’s over the head of Brewster in left field,” he cries. “Cooper is in to second base with a stand up double!”

  I’m on my feet, right next to him. “He hit that fast ball right on the screws!”

  “The guys in the dugout are going crazy.” Garrett pauses so the outdoor mic can pick up all the cheers. “The Lions coach is coming out to the mound. Looks like a pitching change.”

  I nod even though the audience can’t see. “You can’t blame that one on the Lions’ pitcher. He hit his spot, but Cooper Davies went after it and crushed that ball.”

  “By the way,” Garrett says, “sorry about that crash, folks. That was my stool doing a cartwheel.” He rights it, and we both sit again.

  “That was…wow good,” I say.

  “Ridiculous good.”

  “Stupid good.”

  Our adjectives are rapid-fire, and I love how in tune we are with each other—how I don’t always know where he’s headed but I can jump in and we find a way to play off each other. According to Scottie, the number of listeners for our broadcast has tripled in the past week alone, even with a couple of clunker sessions. Everyone is asking for more.

  Normally, when we go to a pitching change, Garrett turns off the mic. But he leaves it on now, and I know we’re in for more fun. “Crazy good,” he says, keeping it going.

  “Oh my good,” I add.

  “That’s how the late, great Dick Enberg would have called it.” He puts a hand over his heart in respect. “For those of you who know your broadcast legends, you know that was his signature line.”

  “Why don’t we have a signature line?” I ask. “We’re great.”

  He laughs into his mic. “You’re right, Walters. We need a catchphrase. How are we going to be legends without one?”

  “Oh, so now we’re legends?” My grin is a match for his.

  “As soon as we
come up with a phrase, we are. Stuart Scott had boo-yah, Chris Berman had He could go all the way, and Walt Frazier’s was Posting and Toasting.”

  “Really? I thought that was Dr. Seuss.”

  I wish the audience could see Garrett’s smile. “Clever, Walters. Now apply that thinking to a catchphrase.”

  “I’ll put it on my to-do list, right after ‘call the game.’” Laughing, I point to the field where the new pitcher has finished warming up. Garrett quickly runs through his stats while Anthony strides to the batter’s box.

  Behind the fence, I see Mai sitting with fingers crossed. Inside her black leather lace-ups, I’m guessing her toes are crossed, too.

  All business now, Garrett says, “First pitch is a ball, low and outside.” He’s got his fingers gripped under his chin, his elbows resting on the counter.

  I copy his position so that my elbow touches his. He nudges me back and turns my insides into melted butter. We’re connected like that when the next pitch comes in. Garrett stiffens. “It’s a high fast ball. Anthony throws every ounce of strength into his swing…and fouls it off.”

  “You know he wants that one back.”

  “The count is one ball and one strike,” Garrett says.

  “It’s all riding on his bat. Can he lift the ball and this team?”

  As I say the words, the ball comes in hot from the pitcher, but Anthony is ready this time.

  Garrett jumps up again, and when the stool crashes, I don’t hear it because he’s shouting, “That ball is out of here. Anthony Adams hits a home run!”

  I join in. “Davies is across home plate for the tying run. Here comes Adams for the win!”

  “A walk off home run, folks. How about that!”

  “And Adams’ tenth home run of the season. This one couldn’t have come at a better time.”

  Garrett runs a hand through his hair, looking dazed and relieved. “Cholla Wildcats win a big game. Our playoff hopes are alive and well.”

  “That’s a feat you can’t beat.”

  “We’ll end our broadcast there, everyone. Hope you’ll listen in to our next home game where we’ll call all the action and try out more signature sayings. Until then, signing off for Cholla Wildcat baseball, I’m Garrett Reeves with Josie Walters.”