"JIL-LY! JIL-LY! JIL-LY!"
I drop into a crouch, taking cover behind the thick bark of a tree. My heart, which was pounding a minute ago, now bleeds like it was sliced right open. I close my eyes and pray that I'm wrong. He can't be here. There's no way.
A cheer goes up, and it's not long before I hear that telltale pop of a fastball hitting a leather glove. I don't have to look. That sound says it all. But still, my hand reaches out to draw away the branches that are hindering my view. I need to see it with my own eyes.
And there he is, warming up alongside the fenced-in bench that serves as a makeshift dugout. He has a giant contraption on his pitching arm, but that's not the one he's throwing with. Oh, no. He's crazy enough to be using his other arm, the one that didn't just get operated on. His movements are awkward, which I can tell even from a distance. My heart constricts, and I have the incredible urge to run down the hill and yell at him to stop. But I don't. I know better.
Lightning bugs start to illuminate the dusk. Maybe I can get out of here without him noticing me. Yet something deep inside me yearns to stay just to see how he's doing because I've been worried sick about him.
After two or three more tosses, he turns around and heads to the center of the diamond, where there's not even a mound. It's not what he's accustomed to, not after turning Kings Stadium into his personal playground. So why is he showing off in his hometown, pitching with his other arm in a stupid game that means nothing?
Gingerly, I take one step after another as loose pebbles slip beneath my cross trainers. I'm visible now, but the encroaching darkness is enough to shield me. There aren't any lights on the field. If he's going to impress them, he'd better do it fast. Throwing high and tight isn't a recommended nighttime activity.
"Bring the heat, Jilly!" a girl yells to him, and I'm not surprised when his shoulders stiffen. He's never liked when girls scream his name, and that hasn't changed no matter how famous he is.
He rears back and blows it by none other than…Kurt Nelson. Ah, so that's why he's doing this.
My lips curve into a smile when Kurt gets spun around after taking an aggressive swing, Jilly once again making him look like a fool for old time's sake. Kurt curses and spits in the dirt, glaring at Jilly from beneath his neon-green highway department cap, a clear indication that Jilly has nothing to prove. He's already won. He's not the one working on a road crew eight hours a day. Bruce "Jilly" Gillette is the lone success story to ever come out of Butesville. So why does he feel the need to rub it in when he's fresh off the operating table? Has he lost his mind?
He throws another one, this time nearly clipping Kurt on the chin. Kurt angrily hurls his bat to the ground and charges forward, only to be held back by Jilly's longtime friend, Rick Murphy. An argument erupts as the game comes to an abrupt halt and Jilly tosses his glove, hitting Kurt squarely in the chest before striding off the field.
"Get back here, you motherfucker! I'm not finished with you yet!" Kurt gestures wildly, trying to break out of Rick's choke hold and go after him.
Everyone's looking at Kurt, and no one notices how Jilly's readjusting his massive brace as he slips into the shadows. But I do. It's the first thing I'm aware of. That…and how he's headed in my direction.
I scramble back through the trees, desperate to put some space between us. I can hear his agitated breathing and how he's muttering to himself just like he always does, his long strides quickly covering the ground separating us. If I can keep still, he might just walk by me, too distracted by the drama he left in his wake.
His shadow passes over me, and I think I'm safe—until my phone gives me away.
The sound of a padded foot smacking against the side of a hollow log is followed by a singsong voice saying, "I'm thumpin'!"
Jilly pauses, craning his head around. "Hailey?"
Damn it.
Of course he knows it's me. He's the one who put that ringtone on my phone in the first place. He used to tease me about my mother's overprotective tendencies, how she's always checking up on me, even now. So he thought it'd be funny to link her pestering to the restless leg syndrome of that cute little rabbit from the Disney cartoon. He wanted me to smile whenever she bothered me, and I never had the heart to change it.
"Hey." I take a hesitant step toward him, weakly raising my hand, a far cry from the greeting I imagined in my head. That's when he was safely at the bottom of the hill and not giving me that tender look I know so well with those rich, brown eyes of his. The one that always seems to convey without words, "Are you happy? Because, if you're not, I'll do anything in the world to make you happy."
It's a look that I know belongs to me. The one I've never seen him give anyone else. But maybe that's changed now, too.
"What…what are you doing here?" He stumbles, unsure of what to say. But his voice is as deep as ever, rumbling through his chest and reverberating in the heightened atmosphere between us.
His eyes are shining, and I think he's glad to see me, but I just don't know if I'm glad to see him. I feel like I'm soaring now, but the moment he's gone, I'm going to come crashing back to Earth, and I'm not sure I'm up for the thud.
"Just out for a run, enjoying some alone time, communing with nature." I smile as I raise my head to look at him. I feel so shy all of a sudden, no doubt because of how things were left between us the last time we saw each other.
"That's good. That's good," he repeats, scratching the back of his head, nodding as if to emphasize the point that alone in the dark is exactly where he expected to find me. "I wish I could say the same."
"What, don't you like being the star?" I know the question is a mistake the moment it leaves my mouth by the wounded expression that crosses his face. I didn't mean to hurt him. I'm usually not sarcastic, but having him appear so unexpectedly has me rattled. We haven't spoken since that night in the library. It seems like a lifetime ago…or only yesterday.
But he hasn't changed. Not one bit. He's still the same Jilly I remember, and I think that's why I'm freaking out, why all of this is so hard to deal with. He didn't go off to the big city and let it corrupt him like I thought it would. He's still him, and that's what makes my heart ache all the more.
"What do you think?" He playfully raises an eyebrow at me, not taking offense at my tone.
"I think you love to pitch on such a big stage, but you hate what comes along with it." I take a step closer to judge his reaction since the daylight is growing dimmer by the minute.
His breathing becomes unsteady, and he gulps when the cuff of my sleeve brushes against his skin. "Pretty much." He exhales, unable to hold my gaze.
"But it didn't stop you from getting all that ink." I let my fingers lightly graze across his good arm, feeling the goose bumps rise to the surface at my touch. "I thought the Kings liked their players to be clean-cut?"
"Well, when you're as good as I am, they tend to make exceptions." He winces when I reach his elbow.
I stop, instantly alarmed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just a little tightness. That's all. I should've warmed up more before pulling a stupid stunt like that." He lowers his head, gently moving my hand away from his arm.
I feel a current of electricity shoot through me when his large fingers encircle my wrist, making it seem so tiny, just like that night when he held me in his arms, letting me know with every touch what true love feels like.
"Dude, where you at, man?"
I hear Rick's voice before I see him, and we instantly jump apart.
"Over here," Jilly calls out, and I can't tell if he's annoyed or relieved by the interruption.
"Oh, hey, Hailey." Rick glances between us, trying to figure out what's going on. "I didn't even see you there."
"Yeah, I gotta get going anyway. It's getting late." I hold up my phone as if to explain to Jilly that, if I don't leave now, my mom will go into full-out panic mode. "It was nice seeing you again."
Okay, how lame was that? Way to go, Hailey. Act like bumping into him aga
in means nothing to you. Like you're so over him that this tiny fix won't keep you going for another four years.
I turn and continue jogging to the parking lot. I can hear them talking to each other through the trees. Little does Rick know that I tipped Gayle off about him, urging her in an email to see if he'd let Jilly stay with him for a while. It was the only thing I could think of to help Jilly at the time. I just didn't know that Gayle had heeded my suggestion and that Jilly was already here.
But right now, I have to get away before things get serious. I can't deal with seeing Jilly so unexpectedly. I just want to go home and have a meltdown where no one can see me.
But I stop dead when I notice that my front tire is flat.
Shit.
I don't know how to change a tire, and Rick's a mechanic with his own garage. I should look at it as circumstances aligning in my favor. At least I'm not going to be stuck out here, waiting for roadside assistance to come save my ass.
I take a deep breath and get ready to sprint back to where I left Rick—and Jilly—when I hear them coming up behind me.
"So it is yours." Rick whistles through his teeth. "I passed it on the way in, but I wasn't sure who it belonged to."
"Good thing you mentioned it," Jilly answers him even though, the whole time he's looking at me, storm clouds are brewing in his eyes.
I shrug at Jilly as if to say, "What?" but his steely gaze only intensifies. Jeez, I forgot how moody he can be.
"Rick, do you think—" I begin, reluctant to ask for a favor after I so rudely ran away from him.
"Don't even mention it." He pats me on the back.
"You shouldn't be out here by yourself at night," Jilly seethes, stomping by me when I open the trunk, and Rick starts rummaging around for the spare. "It's not safe."
Rick wisely chooses not to get involved as he bends down and starts cranking the jack. He's all too familiar with Jilly's control issues. The three of us went to high school together. He knows how he is, and some things never change.
"Not safe?" I sputter, tossing my hair back in annoyance. "You've been living in New York for too long."
"What? Kurt's not man enough to walk up the hill and make sure you get home all right?" Jilly clenches his jaw, grabbing the tire iron and getting to work by removing the bolts with his free arm.
"I can do that, man." Rick stands up.
"No, I'm doing it."
Jilly cuts an imposing figure when he's mad, and Rick grumbles under his breath, backing away.
My eyes fly to Jilly as he fights with the bolts that seem to be welded on. He grunts as he struggles with them, his shirt riding up over his jeans. I look away, biting my bottom lip. He's going to hurt himself. He shouldn't be doing this.
"It's getting dark. Let me go down and bring up my tow truck and some better tools."
When Jilly doesn't respond, Rick groans, rolling his eyes at me before heading over to where he's parked next to the baseball field.
"You should listen to your friend, especially since you're already down to one arm," I chide him once Rick is out of earshot.
He pulls back on the tire iron, flexing his bicep, pretending to ignore me.
"What are you even doing here anyway?" I ask, my patience wearing thin.
"I'm back home for a while. It's where I usually spend most of my downtime." His declaration leaves me stunned.
"What?" I can't believe what I just heard him say.
"The city's only ninety minutes away. When I'm able to come home, I do." His back is turned, so he doesn't see the lone tear sliding down my face.
All this time, he's been going back and forth and he's never once come to see me. He's been in Butesville, hanging out with Rick, and he never even bothered to check in on me. I thought he'd left us all in his rearview mirror when he'd signed with the Kings, but apparently he just didn't want to see me. My stomach drops. Or maybe he didn't want to see me…with Kurt.
"I usually keep a low profile," he continues when I don't respond. "I don't go out much or anything. I crash over at Rick's, and we work on our bikes and play video games once I've slept through the majority of the day. It's been a while though."
"What brought you out here tonight? You sure put on quite a show." I lean back against the car, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
His movements cease and he doesn't answer.
The headlights of Rick's tow truck cast us in stark relief, making my eyes water even more. Perfect timing, Rick. Way to get your good buddy off the hook.
Jilly releases the final bolt and it clangs to the ground. Then he removes the busted tire from the rim. Rick jogs over, wheeling out the spare before Jilly lines it up with his good hand and slides it into place. It's obvious that the two of them have a long history of working together. I shouldn't be surprised that Jilly practically lives at Rick's Garage in his free time. The two of them were inseparable during high school, tinkering with ATVs and fixing up old motorcycles with parts they'd bought for cheap, scouring local junkyards. Yet it gives me a pang to know that he was so close this whole time and never reached out to me—not even once.
Rick gives him a hand up when he's done. It should be a comical sight since Rick is stocky and a tad on the short side, while Jilly is a hulking giant of muscle. However, Rick is a fitness fanatic, the entire one side of his garage lined with weights that are a part of his intense workout regimen. Ever since Kurt beat the shit out of him after a game for standing up for Jilly our junior year, Rick bulked up and learned how to defend himself.
"Follow behind us. I'm gonna drive her home," Jilly tells Rick without even asking me first.
"That won't be necessary." I start to open the car door when Jilly pushes it shut.
"Hailey, why don't you stop by the garage tomorrow and I'll hook you up with a new tire, all right? That donut we put on is only good for about sixty miles or so, give or take." Rick pats the hood of my car, shouldering the discarded remains of my busted tire under his arm. "Have a good night, and don't fight, you two." He smiles at me, his eyes full of mirth.
I hate that he knows something I don't know. Jilly must've confided in him for Rick to look at me like that. Jilly doesn't let many people in, but Rick is definitely one of the select few. If Jilly felt like there was still something between us, Rick would know.
"Keys?" Jilly holds out his hand, staring straight ahead.
"Here," I huff, relinquishing to him whatever control I had over the situation.
Rick's right. I don't want to fight anymore. Jilly's here. There's no point in resisting when there's nothing left to resist. I don't own his bruised and battered heart anymore—not even a piece of it. There's no danger in letting him drive me home because nothing's going to happen. If he wanted to be with me, he would have come after me. Our time in New York probably meant more to me than it did to him anyhow.
I get into the passenger's seat and buckle my seatbelt, trying to block out how his sheer presence is filling my tiny car. He stuffs his body behind the wheel, pushing the seat all the way back. Then he adjusts the mirrors to his liking before rolling down the window and shifting into drive.
He's not the most talkative guy on the planet, but when he doesn't say a word during the entire five-minute ride to Halpert's Pizza and Subs, I know that I've really lost him for good this time.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hailey
I can't believe he didn't talk to me.
I'm lying in bed, staring at the cinder blocks over my head, my Hello Kitty nightlight casting a faint glow in the corner. Jilly's in Butesville and if we hadn't bumped into each other tonight, I would've never even known he was here.
I throw my arm across the pull-out couch, reaching blindly for my phone. If he thinks he's going to get away with this, he's out of his mind. He can't just reappear out of thin air and blow me off like I mean nothing to him, like what went down in New York didn't happen. Where does he get off?
I shift positions and the metal rod running down the length
of the mattress juts into my back. I sit up and work the crick out of my neck. My anger spikes as I slam my fingers against the keyboard, swearing at the auto-correct when it keeps changing my words.
ME: WTF was that?
I toss the phone into my blanketed lap and chew on my thumbnail. He probably won't even text back.
My phone chimes, and I scramble to pick it up.
JILLY: What???
Not one but three question marks, like he can't even fathom why I'm so mad at him.
ME: You know what!!!!
Four exclamation points tops three question marks any day of the week.
JILLY: Tell me.
His gray text bubble fills the screen and I type away furiously.
ME: You couldn't even open your big-ass mouth. That's what!
I cross my legs underneath me, itching for a fight.
JILLY: You were always better at typing your emotions than saying them, so thanks for the electronic bitch slap.
I laugh at that, keying in my response.
ME: People with severe social disorders have an easier time expressing themselves than you do!!!!!
Five exclamation points. Take that, Gillette.
JILLY: Rick always thought I was an undiagnosed head case.
I frown, momentarily ashamed of myself.
ME: You're not.
JILLY: Gee, thanks.
ME: Where are you right now?
JILLY: In Rick's spare room. Very luxurious BTW. Where are you?
ME: Jeez, where do you think I am?
JILLY: I dunno…I hope not with Kurt.
I sigh, running my hand through my hair.
ME: Why would ya think that?
He doesn't answer right away.
ME: Are you pissed at me?
JILLY: I'm texting you, aren't I?
Okay, I have no idea what's going on here. I'm not with Kurt anymore. He knows that, right?
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