by Radclyffe
“Yeah. I’m on my way out. Thought I’d send condolences before the game.”
“You wish.”
“Hey, it’s not personal, you know.”
Gina laughed. “What are you talking about, it’s always been personal. We’ve been trying to beat each other at just about everything since we were kids.”
Joe laughed too. “True enough. The only thing we never competed for was girls.”
“No need to do that,” Gina said quietly. “I got there first, remember?”
Joe winced. “Sorry. Sometimes I’m an ass.”
“No, you’re not,” Gina said softly. “You just don’t live in the past.”
“Maybe you should think about changing that a little bit yourself.”
Gina shook her head, keeping track of Carrie. Looking at her was the only way to dull the ache in her gut she’d been walking around with for two days.
Joe turned his head, followed her gaze, and murmured, “She’s probably a little out of your league.”
Gina snapped her gaze to his. “What the fuck?”
Joe grinned. “Language.”
Two kids, a boy and a girl, walked by holding hands. The taller one, a dark-haired boy, called hello to Joe.
“Hey, how you doing?” Joe called back.
“Great,” the boy said with a big smile, and the pair walked on, swinging their clasped hands, to join a group of teens by the Rivers’s bleachers.
“That’s my boss’s son,” Joe said. “The kid I was telling you about who had the surg—”
“Let me repeat,” Gina said slowly. “But what the fuck?”
“Just checking.”
“Checking what?”
“If you still had a pulse, bonehead. Mom told me about the emergency picnic. It was with Carrie, wasn’t it?”
Gina blew out a breath. Joe couldn’t wind her up any more than she already was over Carrie. “Yeah.”
“So are you bringing her to dinner?”
“I can’t even figure out if I should call her again.”
“What are you running from, Gina?” Joe said. “The only thing chasing you are ghosts.”
She would’ve argued if she could. If he hadn’t been right. “I gotta get ready for the game. You ought to do the same thing. Especially considering what a crappy outfielder you are.”
“Gina…”
“Good luck tonight, Joe,” Gina said softly and turned away.
*****
Carrie burned a strike into Harper’s glove for her last warm-up. Harper stood, nodded. “You’re ready.”
Carrie felt ready. She had the edge. She wanted to win. It wasn’t about beating the other team now—it was about winning the game. Winning was a pure desire, not personal, not retribution, simply the goal of the game. Sauntering back to the bench, she pulled off her glove and tucked it under her arm. She sat down and waited for the ump to call the coaches and captains. She knew exactly where Gina was without looking at her. Some radar pulled her attention every few seconds to a point on the field and there she would be. Talking to her team, clipboard in her hands, reading off the lineup. Standing to one side with the starting pitcher, undoubtedly reviewing their scouting report on the Rivers’s batters. Sliding her hands into the back pockets of her skintight black baseball pants, staring out at the field. Avoiding looking in Carrie’s direction.
Flann dropped down beside her. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” Carrie said, reluctantly pulling her gaze away from Gina.
“You looked good warming up.”
Carrie turned to Flann and caught a glimpse of Gina looking her way. She smiled. “I am good.”
A minute later the ump signaled the coaches, captains, and co-captains to gather in front of the dugout. Carrie, co-captain with Flann, followed Harper and Flann to the field and stopped in the semicircle facing Gina and the Hammers’ captains.
“Rivers is home team,” the ump said.
While he went over the obligatory rules review, Carrie finally looked at Gina. She’d braced herself for the contact, and still a shiver ran between her shoulder blades. Gina’s gaze, so raw and unapologetically hungry, was a thundercloud racing to engulf her, all rage and power. Carrie jerked and caught her breath. A smile flickered at the corner of Gina’s mouth. Carrie glared and Gina laughed. She’d felt it too.
“Let’s play ball,” the ump said, and the circle broke, releasing Carrie from the spell.
Chapter Twenty-one
At the top of the sixth inning, Carrie grabbed her glove, gearing up to head out to the mound with a score of 1–0, in favor of the Hammers. She wasn’t concerned. Softball was a game, and all games included intangibles—a little bit of luck, good or bad, could swing a close game to one team or the other. The Hammers were good, with savvy, powerful hitters who could read pitches and make something happen even when a pitch was perfect. Sometimes, a batter got lucky and connected with a good pitch that for anyone else would’ve been a swing and a miss, but for them was a hit over the fence. She’d given up a home run in the second inning to the Hammers’ first baseman, a brunette who hadn’t been hitting all that well all season.
But everyone turned the corner eventually, and tonight was the brunette’s night. She’d almost slammed another one out of the park her next at bat and was robbed when Joe practically climbed the fence to make the catch at the last second. And to complete the perfect storm, the Hammers were pitching well and the Rivers were hitting flat. Their big hitters, Flann, Glenn, and Rob, were grounding out or popping up. Carrie wasn’t worried about them—yet. Batters went through the same kind of slump pitchers did at times, and all it would take was one of them to connect for the tide to turn. She just needed to keep the score close until their bats got hot again. They had four innings left to play and home-field advantage, so they’d be batting last. Now was not the time to panic. Now was the time to bear down and use every skill she had.
Harper walked over. “You good to keep going?”
“Damn right.” Carrie surveyed the Hammers. Top of the order, their leadoff batter was already warming up, swinging his bat as if he planned to come out and blow one by everyone. She smiled. That one run stung worse than stepping on a nest of wasps, but despite their slim lead, the Hammers hadn’t hammered her yet tonight. She’d held them to that single run and no further hits. Between innings, Gina had switched her lineup, bringing in a power hitter she’d been holding in reserve. Maybe she thought—mistakenly—Carrie was getting tired. Maybe she figured her hitters were due for a kill. She was wrong.
“Okay,” Harper said, “if you can keep us close, we’ll find a way to get you some runs of our own.”
“They’ve got one run too many already. They’re not getting any others.” Carrie scanned the field for Gina, found her with her head bent toward a shorter woman, her expression even from this distance set and determined. Carrie loved looking at her. She loved the intensity that radiated from her, like a corona of heat shimmering in the air. She loved the way she stood, hands on her hips, legs slightly parted, strong, tight, wired with tension and power. She shivered, remembering the press of Gina’s body above her. Oh, bad, bad idea. Now was not the time to be remembering that, especially considering that all the times she’d mentally replayed it hadn’t dulled the thrill at all. She sucked in a breath and said to Harper, “Okay. Let’s—”
Somewhere from the vicinity of the Rivers’s bench, a phone rang. A few seconds later, another joined in. Harper grimaced and Carrie turned around to see Abby stand up in the bleachers behind them, her phone to her ear.
Flann, who’d been halfway out to the field, jogged back and pulled her phone from her backpack by the bench. Joe followed right after her and sorted through his gear, coming up with his.
Flann checked the readout and looked at Harper. “9-1-1 text. They’re calling us in. Sorry.”
“Go,” Harper said. “I’ll be over as soon as I finish here, in case you need extra hands.”
Abby came down the steps
and joined Flann. “Ride with me?”
“Sure,” Flann said. “Got details?”
“Not much,” Abby said. “MVA, multiple vehicles, multiple victims, on their way.”
“Right.”
“Hey,” Joe said. “Can I catch a ride back too?”
Abby nodded, and in seconds, the three of them along with three other Rivers players jogged toward where the vehicles were parked.
Harper blew out a breath and glanced at Carrie. “Well, we’re through the fifth, so the game’s official. We’re gonna have to forfeit.”
“I hate to give it up, but it’s just a game,” Carrie said.
“And there’s always a next time. Go home and rest your arm. We’ll take them tomorrow.”
“Damn right. Let’s go call it.” Carrie followed Harper over to the ump as Gina and her captain walked toward them.
“We have to forfeit,” Harper said. “We just lost half our team. Emergency over at the Rivers.”
The ump nodded. “Damn shame. Hope everybody’s okay over there.”
Gina held her hand out to Harper. “Sorry about this.”
“Happens sometimes.” Harper shook Gina’s hand.
Gina glanced from Harper to Carrie. “So tomorrow at three.”
“We’ll be there,” Harper said.
The others walked away, leaving Gina and Carrie staring at each other as their teams packed up on either side of the field.
“What happened?” Gina asked.
“Mass casualty alert in the ER,” Carrie said. “It’s always a risk when half your team are medical staff.”
“That sucks all the way around,” Gina said.
“Yeah, pretty much puts things in perspective.” Carrie grimaced. “A few minutes ago all I could think about was what I had to do to best you. Now…that seems a lot less important.”
“Yeah,” Gina said. “Listen, Carrie…” She paused as Margie and Blake hurried across the field to them.
“Hey, Carrie,” Margie said. “Harper’s heading to the hospital to see if she can help out, and Abby was our ride. Can you take us back to Blake’s?”
Carrie shook her head. “Sorry, guys. I came with Flann, so I need to find a ride myself. Come on, we can—”
“I’ll take you all where you need to go.” Gina glanced at the kids. “As long as you two don’t mind cramming onto the bench in the back of the cab.”
“Hey, no, that’s great. Thanks!” Margie held out her hand. “I’m Margie Rivers.”
“Gina Antonelli.” Gina turned and shook Blake’s hand. “Hi.”
He smiled, a shy but friendly smile. “Blake Remy.”
“I have to touch base with my team and help get the gear collected. Ten minutes?” Gina said.
“Same here,” Carrie said. “Meet you by the bleachers.”
“Got it.” Gina jogged over to her bench, thanked the ump, and signed the game sheet noting their win. Her team gathered bats, gloves, and other gear without the usual post-win celebration. No one was happy about chalking up a win by forfeit, even more so considering why the opponent had to forfeit. Being one game up in a best-of-five series was usually a nice position, but there was no sweetness in this win.
When everything was sorted, Gina shouldered her backpack and crossed to the other side of the field where Carrie waited with the teenagers by the bench. The night hadn’t ended the way she’d wanted it to, but she’d won an unexpected gift—a few minutes with Carrie. The anticipation of being near her, even with a crowd, lightened some of the darkness that had settled in her chest the last two days. She pretended not to notice Carrie watching her every step of the way, but she couldn’t prevent the force of Carrie’s gaze from lighting a fire inside her. By the time she reached Carrie, every muscle was tight and every nerve jangling. Carrie must’ve known, because her smile was satisfied. Maybe even a little bit victorious. Well, she was right. Gina was pretty much at her mercy, since just being around her made her head spin.
“Ready?” Carrie said brightly.
“You could say that.” Gina kept her voice low so Margie and Blake, standing with some other teenagers a little ways away, wouldn’t hear. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you before the game, so I’m glad—”
“It kind of felt like you were avoiding me,” Carrie said quietly. “If that’s the case, we’re both adults, and we can—”
Gina winced. “No, no! That’s not it. I wanted to call, but then I didn’t know what to say and—I’m sorr—”
“Hey, no. Forget I said anything. Really. It’s fine,” Carrie said. “I appreciate the ride tonight.”
“No problem,” Gina said, taking the hint. Sorry wasn’t going to cut it. She needed to say a lot more than that. She picked up Carrie’s bag before Carrie could, and they went to collect Margie and Blake. The bleachers were mostly empty, a few stragglers hanging around in the parking lot and on the field.
As they cut across uneven rows of cornstalks and pasture grass toward Gina’s truck, Carrie murmured, “Oh, terrific.”
The guy from Houlihan’s who’d hassled Carrie outside the tavern leaned against a beat-up Ford truck, a can of beer in his hand and a sneer on his face. Gina stepped quickly around to Carrie’s other side, walking between Carrie and the guy. Margie and Blake followed five or ten feet behind them, loosely holding hands and talking about some video game. As they walked past, he tossed the beer can in their direction, just far enough away from Gina he could claim he hadn’t meant anything by it.
“Fucking queers,” he muttered.
Carrie sucked in a breath, and Gina stiffened. She’d been here before. She knew how it ended. Not tonight, though. Not this time. She wasn’t seventeen any longer.
“Hey, thanks!” Margie called, as if he’d just congratulated them on winning an award. “You have a nice night too.”
He scowled, his face darkening as he tried to decipher what she’d said. By then, they were all well past him.
“Has he been bothering you?” Carrie asked.
“No,” Margie said, shrugging. “He’s just a jerk.”
“Be careful around him just the same,” Gina said.
“Don’t worry, we will be,” Blake said emphatically.
Blake didn’t look scared or embarrassed, and Gina was glad for that. Surprised too, at both of them. They seemed so sure of who they were. If she hadn’t known Blake’s story, she wouldn’t have guessed. He was just a boy. The girl with him, Margie, was just a girl, pretty, bright-eyed, confident. Two ordinary teens. Gina thought back to herself at that age, the secrets she’d kept from her family, from her friends. Only Emmy had known her, and Emmy hadn’t wanted anyone else to know about them. These kids were so different, and she wondered why she hadn’t been as brave or as honest.
“So, how’s it going, Blake?” Carrie said. “You look great. Nice T-shirt.”
Blake grinned. “Yeah, my mom got it for me. Kind of like, you know, a coming-out shirt.”
Carrie laughed and Gina savored it. Carrie’s laughter was exciting as the promises of sunrise. She unlocked the truck and everyone piled in. The ride to Blake’s house in town was quick, with the kids talking behind them and Carrie sitting silently beside her. The gulf between them was cold, and Gina knew why. At least, her part in it. She’d kept Carrie at a distance even while she was giving in to her need for her. She wanted Carrie, needed the light she brought to the shadows in her heart, but she didn’t want the risk. She’d hoped to take without giving. Her silence had created this gulf, and the chasm was killing her as surely as any price she might pay for being vulnerable.
“That’s it,” Blake said, pointing out his house.
Gina pulled over and the kids piled out of the truck. Gina hesitated before pulling away. “Take you home?”
“My car’s at the hospital, if you don’t mind driving me up there,” Carrie said.
“I don’t mind,” Gina said carefully, feeling her way along a precipice, uncertain of the path but positive if she misstepped, the fa
ll would be a long one. “But it’s early and we could grab a drink, some food somewhere maybe.”
Gina expected Carrie to say no, couldn’t blame her. She sounded desperate, but then she was. Carrie was all that stood between her and a long night filled with regrets and recriminations.
Carrie regarded her cautiously. “I’m still too wound up from the game to eat. Your team’s probably at the tavern, and I don’t really feel like socializing.”
“How about wine for starters? My place isn’t far, and I can take you back to your car later.”
“That works,” Carrie said.
Five minutes later, Gina pulled into the drive beside her house and turned off the engine. Still an hour to go before sunset, but cloud banks were building off to the west, making the night unnaturally dark. “Storm coming.”
“I can feel it in the air,” Carrie said.
“Wait right there.” Gina hopped out and hustled around to Carrie’s side. She opened the door and held out her hand. “Come out back with me and watch the lightning?”
Carrie’s eyes widened before she slowly smiled and took Gina’s hand. “Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“The temperature’s dropping,” Gina said as Carrie followed her down a dirt drive separated from a pasture by a board fence. The lights nearest the house were barely a glimmer on the crest of a distant hill. “Are you cold?”
“No,” Carrie said. “It feels good. I haven’t cooled down from the game yet.”
“Still up for a glass of wine?” Gina asked.
“That would be great. Thanks.” Carrie climbed the steps onto a wide back porch dominated just to one side of the screen door by a wooden glider big enough for three that swung gently in the rising breeze. A single rocker accompanied it. She sat on the glider.
Gina paused by the back door. “I’ve got white or red.”
“White.”
“Hungry?”
Carrie smiled. Oh, she was hungry, all right, but not for what Gina was offering just then, and tonight was not the night to tease about it. Her skin was as raw as if she’d scraped off a few layers in a slide gone wrong, and the shadows in Gina’s eyes said she felt the same. “I’ve still got game nerves—kills the appetite for a while anyhow.”