Whatever Life Throws at You

by Julie Cross

  “What about your blue balls?” I ask, half joking, half concerned.

  He nods, all serious. “Let’s just hope medical science finds a cure soon.”

  I shove him back, laughing before swiping my own access card that came with my internship. “I’ll donate to the research foundation.” I wait until he opens the door before casually adding, “And just so you know, I’m not exactly inexperienced.”

  He stops and stares at me. “No?”

  “No,” I say firmly. “I’ve done everything at least once.”

  And while I’m watching his expression go from curious to surprised, I convince myself that’s the only lie I’m going to tell Brody.

  Chapter 21

  Lenny London: is wondering if Annie Lucas ate my chocolate stash late last night? Make me brownies and you’re forgiven.

  13 minutes ago

  Annie Lucas: is in fact guilty of eating Lenny London’s gourmet chocolate and will be baking tonight.

  11 minutes ago

  Jason Brody Royals Pitcher: In the rotation tomorrow! Like this status if you’ll be at Kauffman Stadium tomorrow afternoon.

  5 minutes ago

  Dad asks me to ride home with him after work, even though my car is parked at the school a few blocks away. I have a feeling he wants to talk. Considering the way we left things hanging before California and the fact that I selfishly went straight to Brody’s after practice today instead of going to see Dad at work, it’s probably a task that needs to be dealt with.

  “I just got out of a meeting with Johnson,” he says when we’re pulling out of the stadium parking area.

  My stomach sinks. “Is it good news or bad news?” I blurt out.

  Dad glances at me, smiles, then pats my leg. “It’s good news. The club is happy with the progress I’ve made with three of their pitchers, and they’re going to give me a contract for the rest of the season and for the off months so I can help with recruiting.”

  “Are you serious?” I squeal.

  Dad’s grin widens. “Completely serious.”

  My brain spins and flips, turning all the negatives around in my head. “So they can’t come up with an excuse to fire you or anything like that? We can breathe easy?”

  The smile fades a little. “We can absolutely breathe easy, but there’s always a way to let a coach go, Ann. I can’t prevent every scenario. And next season is up in the air still.”

  I exhale and nod. “Okay, I can accept that. It’s better than living game-to-game.”

  We’re both quiet for a few minutes while Dad maneuvers through freeway traffic.

  “Did you enjoy your three-day vacation at Lenny’s?” he asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. He’s still not a fan of First Base and his family, though he tolerates Lenny.

  “Hey, it was your idea for me to stay there,” I protest. “Besides, Mom is probably gone now, and I can stay home—” He’s staring straight ahead, no longer making occasional eye contact with me. “Don’t tell me she’s still there?”

  “You heard what she said. Her show’s going to last a few months.” He’s still not looking at me.

  And oh God, a few months? “You aren’t seriously going to let her stay a few months? Really?”

  Dad’s jaw tightens, and his fingers grip the steering wheel more firmly. “You know what? I’m not asking your permission. I’ve never been very hard on you. I’ve never made you do something you didn’t want to, but Mom being here and you staying at home more often than not aren’t negotiable.”

  I’m fighting the urge to yell so hard I can barely think straight. “This is insane. She’s awful, Dad. You can’t even see it!”

  “Enough!” he shouts, and I clamp my mouth shut. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Annie. This is something you’re going to have to deal with, and I really don’t need to hear you constantly whining and complaining like a five-year-old.”

  I sink farther in my seat. A lump forms in my throat, and my eyes burn with tears, preventing me from responding.

  When we pull into the garage at home, Dad yanks the keys from the ignition but doesn’t unlock the doors right away. “Your mom’s cooking dinner, and Frank and some of the guys on the team are coming over.”

  “What’s the occasion?” I make no effort to conceal my own sarcasm.

  “We’re celebrating the fact that I still have a job,” he says, returning to his calm tone. “And no, you can’t stay at Lenny’s tonight.”

  I get out, slam the car door, and head straight to my room, texting Lenny along the way. I’d finally confided in her about Mom on the third night at her house. She would only take my weak excuses for staying over for so long before pushing me to tell her the truth.

  ME: she’s still here

  LENNY: seriously? why?

  ME: the gold digger possibilities have intrigued her enough to stick around longer than 48 hours

  LENNY: Maybe there’s a way to run her off again. Thinking…give me some time

  I close my bedroom door, lock it, and blast music as loud as it will go. I need to cool off before facing anyone else at this celebratory dinner we’re hosting. I ignore the random knocks on my door that happen over the next hour while I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling. I don’t notice the knob being jiggled or the door creaking open, so when Brody’s voice floats over the music, I jump and reach for the speaker, cranking it down.

  “Are you decent?” he asks before opening the door all the way.

  I sit up and cross my legs. My heart is already speeding up just knowing he’s in my house. Or more specifically—in my bedroom. “What are you doing here?”

  He opens the door but stays leaning against the frame. “Having dinner. Your dad invited me. Good news about his season contract, huh?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I roll my eyes and finally let myself look at Brody. He’s all hotness and muscle in his jeans and white and navy baseball tee. He gives me a smile like we’re about to pick up where we left off earlier today.

  “Oh boy, this should be a fun meal.” I slide off my bed and brush past him. “How did you get in my room, anyway?”

  “Picked the lock,” he says. “Your dad sent me to get you, and you didn’t open the door. I’m not big on failed missions.”

  “Lovely.” I shake my head, trying not to be amused by his breaking-and-entering skills. “Who else is at this shindig?”

  “Frank,” he says, and then lists the names of two other pitchers, both of whom have taken a recent liking to Dad and his coaching ways. Both of whom are young, too, like Brody. Though not teens, more early- to mid-twenties. It’s obvious Dad’s wisdom is absorbed only by the young players. The veterans are too full of themselves to be open to trying new things and correction.

  Brody and I walk into the kitchen, where Mom is dumping some store-bought pasta salads into fancy bowls that I’m pretty sure we didn’t own three days ago. Which means she went shopping after all. Did Dad give her a credit card? God, I hope not.

  Mom sees me before I have a chance to sneak past her and head into the backyard, where it looks like Dad is grilling something and Frank, Grams, and the other two pitchers are sitting around drinking beer. Well, Grams isn’t drinking beer.

  Mom’s gaze travels from my feet to my head, and she reaches for my shoulders, spins me around, and points me back toward the hallway. “Go put on something nicer and fix your hair, and put on some makeup.”

  I step right out of her grip, leaving her hands hanging in midair, before turning around to face her. “I’m not going to change just so I can have dinner in the backyard.”

  Mom notices Brody standing beside me, and her judgmental expression turns to sweet and syrupy. “Just a little lip gloss, maybe some mascara.” She takes me by the arm and tugs me in the direction of my bedroom again. “I’ll help.”

  In one quick motion, Brody hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me in front of him, glaring at Mom. “I think she looks fine.”

  “See?” I give her my best fake smile.
“I look fine.”

  When I open the back door to let both of us outside, I hear Brody release a frustrated sigh, but he doesn’t say anything. At least he’s keeping his promise to not join the Mom fan club.

  After saying a quick hello to the other guys, Brody tosses me Dad’s glove and produces his own glove and a baseball. “Want to play catch?”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “With you? No freaking way. You’ll kill me.”

  He laughs and heads out farther into the yard, even though I turned down the offer. “Come on, Annie, you’re not afraid of the ball, are you?”

  “When it’s traveling ninety-eight miles an hour? Yes, yes I am.”

  Frank and the other guys laugh, but Brody still nods for me to join him. “I’ll go easy on you, I promise.”

  Maybe he’s just trying to keep Mom from luring me inside for a new outfit. And maybe if he knocks me out, Dad will feel sorry for me and apologize for calling me selfish and whatever else he said on the way home. Besides, it’s a good way to force some distance between us and keep me from accidentally bumping legs with Brody or sneaking a kiss or two.

  I slip Dad’s old, worn glove over my left hand and tentatively hold it out to the side of my body. I cover my face with the other arm. “Okay, fire away.”

  Brody laughs at me but throws the ball anyway. It lands perfectly in the pocket of Dad’s glove without me having to move a single muscle or even uncover my face. And it was more like a toss than a real pitch.

  And yeah, I’ve played plenty of catch in my lifetime, but never with a pitcher whose fastball could kill me. I suppose Dad would have fit in that category back in the day, but never when I’d been on the receiving end of his throw.

  I return the ball with a good amount of force, and Brody isn’t as easy on me the next time around. Thirty minutes into our game, he’s got me diving in the grass to catch ground balls, getting grass stains all over my white tank top. I’m starting to wonder if baseball is Brody’s form of anger management, because tossing my body onto the ground and throwing an object at someone with as much force as I can muster is way more effective at cooling me off than loud music and studying my bedroom ceiling.

  “All right,” I say eventually. “I’m ready for the heat. Give me a fastball. I want to see if I can catch it.”

  Brody winds up like he’s going to do it. Dad glances over his shoulder, the grill smoking in front of him. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Brody stares at him, surprised. “Of course I’m not thinking about it.”

  And while my eyes are bouncing between them, he throws the ball to my right, trying to catch me off guard. My reaction is a couple seconds too late, so I have to really dive for it, reaching out my left-gloved hand as far as possible before my side makes contact with the ground. The ball just barely lands in my glove. I roll over on my back, groaning and laughing at the same time.

  I wave my hand up in surrender. “That’s it, I’m retiring.”

  Brody walks across the yard and stands over me. “Never take your head out of the game, Annie.”

  “Been watching High School Musical on your days off?” I say, and both the other pitchers laugh. I follow it up by singing a few lines from the HSM song “Get Your Head in the Game.”

  “I was going to help you up, but now I think I’ll just leave you here.” Brody drops his arms to his sides for a full five seconds, then eventually reaches out a hand. But of course he drops it as soon as I’m securely on my feet.

  Mom has now placed all the store-bought food in dishes to look like we’ve made it ourselves, and everyone’s heading to the patio table to sit down for dinner. Mom rushes over to me, dusting the grass off my back.

  “At least go wash your hands before you eat,” she says, hissing the words into my ear.

  I let the screen door slam a little too hard when I head inside to wash up at the kitchen sink. After I return, I have nowhere to sit but right between Mom and Brody. I slide my chair closer to Brody and keep myself busy piling large portions of everything onto my plate. Mom opens her mouth a few times like she wants to advise me on taking dainty womanly portions, but my glare shuts her up.

  That is, until the clueless number five mid-relief pitcher tries to make casual conversation. “It’s amazing how much your daughter looks like you, Mrs. Lucas.”

  Mom grins at him. “Call me Ginny, please. And I know, she’s just a miniature me. It’s surreal.”

  I shovel potato salad into my mouth, scowling down at my plate.

  “I bet you have all the boys following you around like little lost puppies,” the other pitcher says, like he’s Frank’s age and he’s trying to tease Dad, but since he’s under thirty, the comment doesn’t go over too well.

  Brody and Dad both shoot identical glares at said pitcher. This entire meal is going to be nothing but people glaring and chewing. Frank coughs loudly, as if to give the clueless guy a signal, but Mom interrupts, oblivious to the tension. “She did have a boyfriend back in Arizona. What a cutie…” She turns to me with that stupid smile again. “Whatever happened to him, honey?”

  I set down my fork, take a big gulp of Dad’s beer that happens to be very close to my glass of water, and before he can protest, I turn to Mom and say, “He’s gay.”

  “Gay?” she says, like she’s never heard the term before, and Dad simultaneously says, “What?”

  “Gay,” I repeat. “Homosexual. He likes boys. More specifically, one boy he met at church.”

  Awkward silence falls over the dinner table. I pretend to be like Grams, like I have no clue what’s going on in the world, and continue eating and stealing occasional drinks of Dad’s beer, even though I hate beer. It just feels like something I can control. I mean, how many things can he possibly reprimand me for in one day? I figure there’s got to be a cap-off point, and I’ve probably hit it already.

  After dinner, Brody finds me in the kitchen washing dishes and leans close to whisper, “Can you sneak out with me for a little while?”

  My face heats up. He’s on the other side of the room before I can even respond. I dry my hands and open the back door, calling outside to Dad, “I’m going to Lenny’s.”

  “Annie,” he says. “You’re staying home tonight, remember?”

  “I know that,” I snap. “I’m just going to return a shirt I borrowed. I’ll be back to tuck myself into my own bed tonight.”

  His eyes narrow, giving me that you’re-pushing-it look, but I turn around and head out the front door before he can argue. I walk a couple blocks, and Brody eventually pulls up beside me. I check to see if any neighbors are watching, and then I open the passenger door and hop inside.

  “You want to get ice cream or something?” he asks. “We can go through a drive-through, and no one will see us.”

  I hold my stomach and groan. “No, thanks. I ate way too much for dinner.”

  He laughs. “You might want to explore new techniques in self-control, or you’ll give yourself heartburn from potato salad overload.”

  Brody drives out of our neighborhood and down a dirt road that Savannah once told me leads to a lake. The sun has already set, but it’s still warm and clear outside. When Brody parks a good distance from the water, we can still see the path clearly thanks to the lack of clouds and the nearly full moon. I text Lenny as I walk beside Brody, through a dirt path leading to the grassy area in front of the water, where I assume we’re going to sit.

  ME: If anyone asks, I’m at your house right now.

  LENNY: ok. No problem. Yep…there you are. Apparently you’ve locked yourself in the bathroom. What are you doing in there? Dyeing your hair black in an act of rebellion?

  ME: I’m with Brody.

  LENNY: I sense a secret…

  ME: later?

  LENNY: uh huh

  I tuck my phone away before Brody can read the exchange. I’ll have to tell Lenny about what’s going on. It was practically torture keeping it from her these past few days, but I doubt Brody would approve of her know
ing.

  “Is this your favorite makeout spot?” I tease. “You bring all the girls here, right?”

  He wraps his arms around my waist from behind and pulls me closer until his mouth can reach my ear. A shiver runs down my back. “I have to tell you something very important.”

  “Yeah?” I say. “The L-word, right? All that practice earlier made you fall in love with me. I knew it would work.”

  He laughs against my skin. “You look…not only hot tonight, but also like many girls between the age of fifteen and twenty-two, so please don’t let your mom get you to start smearing crazy red lipstick all over yourself or gobs of eyeliner.”

  I lean back into his arms. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Smear a tube of red lipstick all over my entire body. Like everywhere…”

  “Well, if you do that, I’d be interested in seeing the finished product.” He slides a hand up my leg and rubs my right hip. “You’re gonna have a bruise here from that last dive in the grass.”

  “Probably.” Feeling extra bold, I tilt my head to look at his face. “Can we swim in this lake? ’Cause I really want to.”

  “I saw a bunch of people swimming last month, but I don’t think—”

  I escape his hold before he finishes. I wiggle out of my jean shorts, bravely showing off a pair of black panties. I walk down the rocks leading to the water in just my tank top and underwear. I glance over my shoulder at Brody. He looks relieved that I haven’t completely stripped naked. Seriously? Like I’m bold enough to actually skinny-dip with him.

  The water’s a little cold, but it feels good against my skin. I had gotten sweaty earlier playing catch, and it would have made Mom too happy if I’d gone inside and showered and changed. I get out to waist-deep water before waving at him. “Come on. Get in.”

  He stands there not moving, so I prod him some more. “Are you a boxers or a briefs guy? If you’re sporting some tighty whities, then I totally get your apprehension. I can close my eyes if that makes you feel more comfortable.”