Cry Baby

by Ginger Scott

  “Some college coach,” he teases.

  My mouth curves up, bashfully, and his laughter slows down. His mouth settles into a soft smile, and his eyes linger on mine in a way that speaks silently. That attraction I felt two years ago has grown by leaps and bounds.

  So has his.

  I shake myself awake, and take over the ball, checking it with him and dribbling back a few steps to give me some room. He’s used to my jump shot, and he’s probably expecting me to drive to my right just like he taught me. What he doesn’t know is that I’m the best three-point shooter at Ball State.

  I pull up, five feet behind the line, and let it fly. It doesn’t even make a sound when it falls through the hoop.

  He stares at the rim for a few seconds, and as I walk around him, his mouth hangs open in awe.

  “Not bad, huh?” I say, winking when he turns to me. His grin grows quickly.

  “Oh, it’s on,” he says, racing for the ball and taking it up top quickly.

  I dig in for defense, my arms wide, but his expanse just a little wider. He drives at me, and I close the distance, becoming more comfortable with our old aggressive game. I stop him on his first attempt, but he gets the rebound and makes his follow-up shot. I take the ball up and fake another three, and zip past him on the left.

  “Whooooo!” Tristan shouts, holding one arm up in the air with his wrist bent in respect of my nice touch. He’s impressed with my handling on the left side, and I beam. In a way, I think I will always be his student on the court.

  We play hard for almost thirty minutes, until my hair is wet and I have to twist it high on my head and his body is dripping with sweat. The entire time, the court belongs to us—our little kingdom. It has to end, but for now we have it.

  “Last shot, all or nothing,” Tristan says, one eye squinted more than the other as he dribbles back and levels me with a challenging stare and tight smile. His cheeks are dented with his confident grin, and I remember the first time I saw his dimples. I put him in his place that day, and I don’t plan on leaving here a loser today.

  “Deal,” I say, stepping close and guarding him aggressively. He fakes one way, and I stick to him, not falling for any of his moves, my eyes darting from his hips to his hands. I wait for every signal, and I’m a step ahead for each one, until he pushes the ball hard to the side and it bounces out toward the bleachers, no longer a part of our game.

  “What…”

  I don’t even get an entire word out before he steps into me and his right hand slides up my face. His eyes sink into mine, and they swim with regret and hope and longing. I get lost in them, and I feel all of those things in the center of my own chest.

  I take small steps backward as he walks with me until we both stop just under the hoop. My hands flatten against his chest, sticky from hard play and warm with the life beating through him. His head falls against mine and my eyes close, feeling the brush of his lips against mine, the fight of temptation.

  “I know you have school. I know your dad is moving, and I know your life is in Indiana. But you and I are here,” he says, his nose brushing against the side of mine as his opposite hand comes to hold the other side of my head. His fingertips thread into the loose strands of my hair, and my hands travel up his arms until I’m gripping his wrists, not wanting him to leave this spot.

  “This place is us. It isn’t all of the terrible things I survived, Riley. I come here and I see you, and I’m okay with just having that little bit,” he says, dusting his lips against mine with the last few words. His breath is sweet, like candy, and his body has gotten stronger with life.

  “You can have more,” I say, opening my eyes and feeling my lashes brush against his rough cheeks.

  “I won’t ask that,” he says, sweeping another strand of my hair back until his hands are buried. “I’ll ask for this moment right here, to kiss you now. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can kiss you again later. I don’t care when. I don’t care where. But just hold onto this,” he says, holding my hand to his chest, pressing it to him forcefully until I feel the heavy beat fighting inside. “Remember how this feels because I will never forget it.”

  I step to him and his lips crash into mine, his right hand sweeping behind my back to pull me closer, swinging me around with our kiss like they do in the movies.

  That’s us. A moment in time. This one. Two years ago.

  And god willing, one day in our future.

  I’ll hold on. I’ll always look for our place. I won’t be able to help it, because he’s that one for me, whether I have him or not. He’s my one. He’ll shape my expectations, and maybe…just maybe…there will be a time for us again.

  Epilogue

  Two years later

  Tristan

  * * *

  She was amazing. I didn’t tell her I was coming, because I didn’t want to mess with her head. It’s not often that a baller gets to play in an NCAA championship game. It’s less often that player is named MVP.

  Most of the crowd has cleared out, and I can tell that’s her dad talking to a few reporters by the tunnel to the locker rooms. He’s glanced up at me a few times. I bought a ticket from a scalper to get in. It cost me a few days’ pay, but it was worth it. Jaden wanted to come. He’s become like a little brother to me, and my mom’s gotten him involved with the church youth group. He would have liked to have seen Riley. I’m sure she would have loved to have seen him. Two tickets, though—that would have bankrupted me.

  I wait while her dad shakes hands with the reporters and gives one of them back a mic that was pinned to his collar. He waits with hands deep in his pockets, smiling at them as they leave and rush off to catch time with his daughter.

  I stand as he turns to look up at me.

  “Some game, huh?” his voice echoes over the empty seats.

  “I knew it would be,” I say, matching his posture, my hands in my pockets and my shoulders tight.

  He nudges his head to the side.

  “Come on down,” he says.

  I look at my feet, dirt on my work boots, and stains on the bottom of my jeans. I smile at the floor and nod, taking heavy steps that clunk on the metal risers until I get down to the court, level with him.

  He holds out a hand, and I grasp it, letting him pull me in for a hug with heavy slaps against my back.

  “It’s good to see you,” Riley’s dad says. He’s shorter than I remember, or maybe I’ve grown.

  “Same,” I say, exhaling some of my anxiety. Being here is harder than I thought it would be, but I wouldn’t have missed it.

  Her father glances down at my shoes, so I kick the toe against the floor.

  “Been working a lot. They leveled part of Old Town. They’re putting in a new city hall. I actually excavated the whole thing,” I say, looking up with a crooked smile. I’m a little embarrassed to be proud of that, but I am.

  “That’s awesome. I always wanted to drive some of that big equipment,” he says, and I laugh, because deep down we’re all still little boys that like to dig.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool stuff,” I say, my chest tight all of a sudden.

  Cheers echo behind him, and I start to realize that I’m holding him up.

  “You should go in there. See her celebrate,” I say, feeling a weight of sadness settle in. This isn’t our court. This place isn’t the same as home, and the emails, texts, and occasional phone calls we’ve had to keep our friendship alive doesn’t make up for real life contact. This is real Riley, and I’ve been holding on to make believe.

  “Stick around. I’ll let her know you’re here. She’ll want to see you,” he says, and I nod, swallowing down the lump forming in my throat.

  He pats my shoulder one more time and disappears through the tunnel. I look on, waiting to catch a glimpse, but all I see are reporters and families of other players. I’ve gotten dirt on the floor from my boots, so I kick it to the side and take a few steps out onto the glossy court.

  “You made it.” I’m almost afraid to tu
rn around at the sound of her voice. It’s been a while since I’ve seen more than just pictures of her on social media. I dream that voice and hold onto it whenever she calls.

  I turn slowly, and all grown up she’s still the same girl. She’s always the girl.

  “I like the braid,” I say, motioning to her thick hair, pulled back tightly.

  “I should have shaved it again,” she jokes, stepping closer. “Girls pull it.”

  I breathe out a small laugh.

  Passing time…it’s harder than I thought. I know she’s dated. I’ve dated, too. We don’t talk about it, but it’s there in the things we don’t talk about. It always comes back to Riley for me, though. She’s always going to be that bar—the one nobody can live up to.

  “What do you say?” She looks to our side, to the ball resting on the abandoned scorer’s table. Ushers are starting to sweep through the empty stands, and half of the lights have been killed in the arena.

  “I don’t know. This feels like home court advantage,” I say, biting my lip through a short laugh. Riley does the same.

  So many questions stuff the air around us. We’re both trying to put words to how we feel, but there just aren’t any. Eventually, I settle on memorizing her face. Her eyes have always been my favorite color, and I’m not sure which came first. I don’t think I knew that color existed until I saw her.

  “Let’s go,” she says, and I’m not sure what it means. I’m not sure if she does either.

  Her hand lifts at her side, and I hesitate for a second. If I hold it, I’ll have to let go at some point. I do it anyway. My fingers finding their spot, wrapping around hers and squeezing tight at the feel.

  I let her lead the way, through empty rows of bleachers into a tight hallway that leads to the still-crowded underbelly of the arena. Even when I try to free my hand, she holds me tight, fighting against every wriggle of my fingers until I get the point. I’m with her through all of this. Every reporter that comes to get a quote, every teammate that hugs her and she introduces me to—every coach or school administrator, half of whom she doesn’t even know. She takes me through her world—through the fantasy.

  I enjoy the ride.

  And then…she says something that makes this dream feel a little more real. She opens up possible.

  “You planning on sticking around Muncie?” It’s a local reporter, and the girl is young. She might even be with student news.

  Riley looks at me and I let my eyes widen, not sure how to react and braced for her to say yes.

  “I don’t know,” she says, leaving her gaze on me and smiling on one side. “We don’t really belong here.”

  A coolness begins at my tongue and slides all the way into the center of my chest. We and belong. Those two words mean more to me than to the reporter who’s asking Riley to repeat herself. They were meant for my ears, not for some news story. I told her she didn’t belong in my world once, but she did. She just didn’t belong in the darkness. She belonged in the light.

  I just never knew that she’d take me there with her.

  I never thought I belonged.

  I’m beginning to believe I do, though.

  * * *

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  This part is always the hardest. I have so much to say about this story, but I’m not sure I have the right words. This was one of those important stories for me. I’m not new to gang culture. The mentions of MS13 in the recent news weren’t shocking to me, nor are the horrible things many of these gang members have done.

  I had gang members in my high school. Looking back, I had gang members in my junior high and grade school, too. You see, I also haven’t been surprised by the ages reported for most of the gang members in the news. They begin young—when they’re moldable, and vulnerable.

  When they’re desperate.

  My research has been heartbreaking. Tristan’s story isn’t just fiction. Parts of it are very real, based on some tragic lives, not unlike many I’ve known personally. Sometimes good people become swept up in terrible things, and sometimes choice doesn’t exist.

  There aren’t easy answers, and I won’t pretend there are, but in it all, there is love. Somewhere. Often deep and hidden. And there is good. And that’s what this story is about.

  Tristan is the rare diamond that made it out of a deeply damaged mine. Riley is the kind of girl who would shave her head just to prove she belonged on the same court as the boys. I have loved living their story, dreaming it and hearing it in my head…ALL THE TIME. I hope you did too.

  The list of thanks is long. Firstly, to my family for rooting me on and telling me gritty is good and that I am capable. To my beta readers, Bianca, Jen, TeriLyn, Shelley and Ashley—I know sometimes I leave you with major cliffies. Thanks for always trusting me and taking the ride. Thank you to my editors, Tina Scott and BilliJoy Carson of Editing Addict, and to my publicist, rock and sanity, Autumn of Wordsmith. You guys make me feel like the hard stuff is possible.

  If you’ve enjoyed my story, the greatest gift you can give it, and by default me, is your review. You can leave it anywhere, really. I only get to do what I do because of the power of readers. Whether you blog, post your recommendations on your Facebook page, bookstagram, tweet, share favorite reads with your book club friends, or even just pass my name along to someone, your work and support is appreciated more than you’ll ever know.

  Thank you for giving my little story your time. I hope to give you more again soon.

  About the Author

  Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice Award-nominated author from Peoria, Arizona. She is the author of several young and new adult romances, including bestsellers The Hard Count, A Boy Like You, This Is Falling and Wild Reckless.

  A sucker for a good romance, Ginger's other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. When she's not writing, the odds are high that she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son field pop flies like Bryce Harper or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).

  * * *

  FIND GINGER ONLINE: www.littlemisswrite.com

  Books by Ginger Scott

  Cry Baby

  A Boy Like You

  A Girl Like Me

  The Hard Count

  Memphis

  Hold My Breath

  This Is Falling

  You And Everything After

  The Girl I Was Before

  In Your Dreams

  Wild Reckless

  Wicked Restless

  Waiting on the Sidelines

  Going Long

  Blindness

  How We Deal With Gravity