Announcing Trouble

by Amy Fellner Dominy

  He yanks off his headset and reaches for me, hugging me so tight my feet leave the ground. “I didn’t think we were going to pull that one out.”

  “I would have chewed off my nails if I had any left.”

  He sets me down and glances out the window. The teams have exchanged handshakes, and now our guys are celebrating on the field. His gaze moves from them to the counter with all the equipment and cables. I don’t have to hear him sigh to know he doesn’t want to be here, packing it all up. I know where he wants to be. Where he wishes he still was.

  “Go out there. I’ll get started on this.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t know where anything goes.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” I wave him toward the door. “Go on.”

  He’s like a kid who’s just gotten everything he wanted for Christmas. He stops at the door. “My house after we’re done here? We can brainstorm more sayings.” He unholsters his finger guns and adds a wink to the lip bite.

  “You know you look ridiculous when you do that, right?”

  He laughs. “You know we could be legendary? We’re good together. Good enough to win this contest.”

  “We’ll find out in May.”

  “Don’t need to wait. I’ve willed it to happen. It’s a vision quest.”

  “A what?”

  “Like the movie.” When I stare blankly, he says, “You’ve never seen Vision Quest?”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Then it’s a date. Saturday after your shift at the bookstore. How can we attain true greatness if you don’t understand the power of a vision quest?” He leans further in the door. “Plus, we can make out during the credits.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Well, in that case.”

  And then he’s gone, his laughter echoing in tune with the pound of his shoes on the ramp. A minute later, I watch him jump into the circle of guys. They swallow him up.

  Tears press against my eyes, sudden and hot. His joy hurts because I know it’s for baseball. For a sport he’d choose over me every single time. A fierce possessiveness rises in me. Because he may not have a choice. If he can’t miraculously pitch again in the next month, baseball won’t get Garrett Reeves.

  But maybe I will.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Brandi’s found my replacement. I knew she was looking for one—I am leaving at the end of May. But I’m still surprised when I get to the bookstore on Saturday morning and meet her in person. Lianne is sixteen with auburn hair, freckles, and bright green eyes. Brandi tells me she’s been part of the teen reading group and she volunteers at an after-school program, so she has lots of experience with kids.

  “I know I can learn so much from you,” she says a little shyly.

  It’s the right thing to say, but I’m still sad. I don’t like the idea of someone coming in and taking over my group.

  My kids.

  It’s a stupid reaction—even I know it. They’re not mine and I’m leaving. So I smile and lead Lianne back to the room. But for the whole hour, I’m heavy with a feeling of sadness I can’t shake. I’ve always hated goodbyes. Why should I expect this to be any different?

  …

  It’s a little past noon when I knock on Garrett’s front door.

  We’ve hung out during the week at school, we’ve texted and talked, and though I told him he couldn’t pick us up yesterday, he cruised by while we were walking, offering us candy to climb in. Idiot. We were saved by other drivers yelling at him to get moving.

  “So are you guys officially boyfriend-girlfriend?” Mai asked yesterday. When I said no, she tried to pin me down on what exactly we are. “I can ask my mom for some euphemisms,” she offered. “Naked friends. Bed buddies. Private-parts partners.”

  “Stop!” I begged, and then we spent the rest of our walk coming up with more. It was fun, laughing about it, but her question has stuck in my head. He’s still training. He spent the morning working with Kyle Masters. What if he had a breakthrough? Then what? He starts down a path I won’t follow. That’s why we can’t be boyfriend-girlfriend. Why this isn’t a date. Why I promised Mom I was only going over for the afternoon. And I didn’t use the word “date.” I said hanging out. I said contest-related. I said doesn’t-mean-anything.

  But my heart is pounding now as if it means everything.

  Garrett answers the door a second after I ring the bell.

  “Hey. I heard your truck.” He’s wearing the blue shirt that does sparkly things to his eyes. “You ready for movie magic?”

  “I’m withholding judgment.”

  Wild greets me with a loud meow of displeasure and a dismissive swish of her tail.

  “Your cat reminds me of you.”

  “Regal?”

  “Full of herself.”

  There’s a laugh from the kitchen. I slap a hand over my mouth.

  Garrett grins and heads that way. I follow more slowly. My face, I’m sure, is the flattering color of a Red Hot.

  “Mom,” Garrett says. “This is Josie.”

  His mom is standing at the counter, filling out what looks like a shopping list. I’d recognize her even if I hadn’t seen pictures. Garrett has her eyes and wide smile.

  “Hi.” I give her an embarrassed wave. “Sorry about that.”

  “You mean insulting my son?” Her eyes are a lighter blue than Garrett’s and so warm that I like her immediately. “I enjoyed it.”

  “Mahammmm!” Garrett says with mock affront.

  She pulls him close and gives him a quick peck on his cheek. “What are you two up to?”

  “Movie.” He shifts past her to a pantry door. “We got any popcorn?”

  “We will when I get home from the grocery store.” She looks my way. “I’ve really been enjoying your broadcasts.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  “Garrett was very lucky to find you.”

  “I didn’t find her.” He tosses a new bag of Lays on the counter. “She barged in on me. Practically begged me to take her on as my partner.” He pulls two cans of bubbly water from the fridge. “I thought she was going to cry if I said no.”

  My gasp is impressive.

  “Save that story for someone who wasn’t listening the day Josie barged in,” his mom says. “Poor Nathan really was out of his element. The job requires someone who loves the game.”

  I can’t help shaking my head. “I know the game, but I actually hate it.”

  “I’m changing her mind.” Garrett holds out both cans. “Lemon-lime or cherry?”

  “He’s failing to change my mind.” I take the cherry.

  She gives us an amused look. “I can tell you two agree on just about everything. I’m only sorry I can’t stay for the debate on what movie you’ll watch.”

  “No debate.” Garrett pops open his can. “Vision Quest. She’s never seen it.”

  “Shocking,” his mom says in a voice so dry, I laugh out loud.

  “You mean it isn’t the greatest sports film ever?”

  She reaches for an oversize gray purse and pulls it onto her shoulder. “You’ll have to let me know what you think.” She takes the list. “It was nice meeting you, Josie.” She turns to Garrett. “I’ve got a few errands to run before the store. I’ll see you later?”

  “Poker tonight at Cooper’s house. We’ll probably get pizzas.”

  “Sounds good. Text me if anything changes.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” I say as she disappears through a door into the garage. I turn back to Garrett. “Geranium and mandarin orange.”

  “What?”

  “Her perfume. Both scents reflect calm and balance.”

  “Which she is.” He sniffs, leaning closer to me. “I could make a comment about how good you smell, but I’m not going there. See?” He sticks out his chest. “I’m reformed.”

  “Yeah, right,” I scoff. “Are we going to watch this movie or are you going to blather all afternoon?”

  “Blather? Grab the chips, Walters. And get ready f
or epic.”

  Chapter Thirty

  There’s a TV in the family room, but he bypasses that for another room tucked at the back of the house. It’s got brown shag carpet, a foosball table, and an overstuffed couch with a flat screen on the wall.

  He sets up the movie while I sit on the edge of the couch and try to keep my knees from shaking. I was never nervous around Garrett when I didn’t like him, but there are moments now when I objectively think about his perfect looks, and his popularity, and how much more experience he has. I feel like I’ve come in to pitch to Babe Ruth. I got no chance.

  Garrett settles beside me and lifts an eyebrow when I put the bag of chips between us. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I lie.

  “You can use the whole cushion, you know. Sit back. Put your feet up.” He drags over an ottoman nearly as long as the couch. I shimmy back and put up my sneakers.

  “A little better,” he says. He shifts closer, and surprises me by planting a kiss on the side of my jaw. “You smell like boysenberries. Or maybe rhubarb.”

  “Rhubarb?” I push him away, but the silliness of his words relaxes me. “I thought you were reformed?”

  “I’ve relapsed.” He tosses the potato chips to the end of the couch and settles beside me—not quite touching, but too close to pretend we’re just friends. As the opening credits roll, he hits a remote and the panel of curtains slides shut until the only light is from the TV, and a movie that appears to have been made in a different century.

  Ten minutes later, my face hurts from rolling my eyes. “Can I get a cracker with this cheese?”

  “Give it a chance.”

  “That wrestling outfit…” I wave a hand at the TV where Matthew Modine is in a slinky one-piece that shows off his bits and pieces.

  Garrett hits the pause button. “It’s not an outfit. It’s a uni. Come on, Walters, I expected better from you.”

  “I expected better from this.”

  “You have to focus on the story. Not the low budget eighties filmmaking. Now can I hit play again?”

  “All right, but who is this Shute guy?”

  “You’ll see. It’s going to take a vision quest to beat him.”

  Though I hate to admit it, I do get into the movie. It’s one where you know exactly what’s going to happen, but it’s still fun to watch. By the end, I’m grinning as the Shute kid goes down.

  “Tissue?” Garrett asks.

  “What?”

  “You look a little teary.”

  “I do not.” I shove my shoulder into his. At some point during the movie, almost touching turned into touching. After I remembered to breathe again, it felt good. So good I think I’m going to miss the feel of Garrett every time I watch a movie.

  He laughs and hits the mute button. “Admit it. You liked it.”

  “It wasn’t horrible. But as sports movies go, it wasn’t the best or even the second best.”

  “Not even top ten, but it still fires me up every time. I first saw it with Uncle Max. It was after a club game where this kid hit for the cycle against me. After he had a single, double, and a homer, I got smart and decided to walk the guy. He caught a low pitch with the end of his bat and ended up with a triple. He was my Shute that day, and I got my ass kicked.”

  I scoot over a cushion so I can see him as we talk. I like looking at him. He’s still too pretty, but now I can see the disappointment behind his smile. The fear that pushes him. The scars that don’t show on the outside. “Did you ever get revenge?”

  “No. He got a homer off me the next time I faced him, and then he moved out of state. But I still think of him sometimes when I work on my drills.”

  “What kind of drills does Masters have you doing?”

  He shakes his head in slow motion. “I don’t want to talk about that with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you tense up. And then you get mad.”

  “I do not.” But I already can feel how tight my shoulders are. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? If anything changes? If it looks like you might have a shot?”

  “I’d tell you.”

  My eyes search his. “Because you wouldn’t have to be all that great to play at a junior college or even a D3 university. They always take a lot of pitchers.”

  “Josie—”

  “You don’t have to throw hard if you can hit your spots. They need—”

  “Josie!” He puts his fingers over my lips. “I don’t want to play D3 just for the hell of it. I don’t want to play unless I have a chance to go all the way. That’s what it’s about for me. I’m not trying to stretch it out so I can sit on a bench for another year. Okay?”

  Something unfurls in my chest. I think it’s a tiny blossom of hope. “Okay.”

  The TV shows a stripe of white static. Garrett reaches for the remote and hits the stop button. “Next movie we watch is One on One. College basketball.”

  “Is that from this century?”

  “Nope. It’s even older than this one.”

  I sit up and stretch. “Why not baseball? I would’ve thought that would be your go-to.”

  “I love baseball movies, but you’ve probably seen them all.”

  “Probably. My dad and I watched a bunch.” I smile in spite of myself. “He was awful to watch movies with. Spent the whole time critiquing the baseball parts—but every once in a while he’d make me pull up his training journal and add a note about something to try.”

  “He kept an online journal?”

  “Never missed a workout. Kept track of his exercise routine, training drills and reps, even what kind of protein shake he had afterward. I did a lot of the typing for him.”

  “It sounds like you were close.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “You going to tell me what that means?” His voice is soft. His hand on mine is tentative.

  “It means he left without looking back.”

  His thumb smooths a path across my knuckles. “You didn’t want to go with him?”

  The truth presses against my throat, burning. More than anything. I swallow, hard. “He didn’t deserve us, not after everything we’d already given up. After the promises he made.”

  “So you cut him out?”

  “He’s the one who left.”

  “But that’s baseball. What about us?” Garrett presses. “What if we’re together and I have a chance to keep playing only it means moving across country?”

  Go back to that? My head is already shaking. “I’ll wish you well.”

  Garrett’s hand slackens on mine. “That’s cold, Josie.”

  “I’m sorry.” There’s heat behind my eyes because I’m not cold, only careful. “It’s just the way it is.”

  When our eyes meet, his are cloudy with indecision. I try and tug my hand free, and that seems to settle something for him. He grips me tighter.

  “We said we’d see what happens. So let’s see. I’m not going anywhere right now,” he says. “And neither are you.”

  There’s a husky note in his voice that unravels me. “Why do you like me, Garrett?”

  “Because you’re smart and funny. You challenge me and you frustrate me and somehow even that’s a good thing.” His fingers wind between mine. “Because under all that sarcasm, you have a smile that gets to me.” His throat works over a swallow. “You’re like baseball, Josie Walters. Hard to get to know—lots of rules—but you bring out the best in me.”

  Tears swim in my eyes. No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.

  I kiss him. I press my mouth hard against his so that nothing can get between us. Not even the future.

  A breathless time later, we end up with our foreheads touching, our hearts racing.

  “I should go,” I say. “I promised my mom.”

  “Not yet. Stay a while longer.”

  As much as I like the idea, I pull back. “You have poker, remember?”

  His fingers slide from my hand to my forearm. “I can skip poker.”
r />   “You can’t. What will the guys say?”

  “Lucky me?”

  “Ha.” But his words and his touch send another wave of warmth through my veins.

  “Speaking of the guys, they’re really impressed with how good you are on-air.”

  “You’re not bad, either.”

  He widens his eyes. “Gee, Walters. I’m overwhelmed.” His fingers skate further up my arm. “Cooper’s grandfather thinks we could have a future in broadcasting.”

  “What does he know?”

  Garrett surprises me by saying, “A lot. He was a TV sports producer before he retired. Which makes me think…” His fingers still. “If I can’t play, broadcasting might be the perfect fallback plan. For you and me.”

  “Me?”

  “You like fallback plans. They’re very practical.”

  I’m scrambling to catch up. “You’re talking about broadcasting. For reals?”

  He purses his lips. “Reals is not a word, Walters. I’m not sure if I want a partnership with someone who is unfamiliar with the English language.”

  “Smart-ass.” I flick his chest with a finger. “What about your grades? Can you even get into a broadcasting program?”

  His expression is part irritation, part exasperation. But he says, “It’s possible that I did a little better on this week’s quiz.”

  “Ninety percent or better?”

  “Did I say I liked that you challenge me?” But his expression softens into something I think is embarrassment. “You were right, okay? As good as it felt to get back at my dad, it wasn’t my best idea. Besides, the bad grades were hard on my mom. Dad made her feel like they were her failure, too.”

  “So if you bring up your grades, you can stay here for college?”

  “As long as I have a plan that includes a potential paycheck, my dad won’t fight it. I’m still not going to settle for a cubicle. But a booth—with you—that’s got potential.”

  I’m excited for him, but… “I already have a partnership. With my mom.”

  “Do you love it?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Think about it. It’s just an idea. We’d have to get better first. Have to work at it to see if we could.”