The Maxwell Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Alexander, S. B.

  Once I suited up, I headed down to the field. My route today wasn’t through the tunnel. Instead I exited the sports complex and followed a path down to a small opening leading to the stairs. The field was designed somewhat like a fishbowl. On the left field side, a small grassy hill curved down from the parking lot to the bleachers. As I climbed down, a few kids were lounging on the hill, their voices a whisper on the steady wind. I tuned them out, going through my breathing exercises as I gave myself a pep talk. Then I visualized my pitches in my head. Fastball. Curveball. Slider.

  Leaves kicked up around me, and so did the fragrance of freshly cut grass. Small, puffy clouds floated by, blocking out the sun every few seconds. I’d just planted a cleated foot on the field when I spotted Aaron walking out of the dugout, messing with his glove. I steeled my shoulders and tucked my glove under my arm. I glanced out into right field. I needed to get to the bullpen. I could breeze past him or I could walk out over the pitching mound then out to the bullpen. The problem was that Kelton was throwing to a boy at first base, so I had to walk by Aaron. Surely he wouldn’t give me attitude with Coach Dean standing outside the right field dugout. I started to jog, but didn’t get far. Aaron held up his gloved hand. I slowed my pace, but kept walking. He tagged alongside me.

  “So, are you going to pass out today, Lacey?” he asked, his blond hair curling over the back of his ball cap.

  Don’t let him get to you. “You know, I’m sure at one point in your life you were a sweet boy. But I think one too many baseballs hit you in the head,” I said calmly.

  We approached Coach, who had a concerned look on his face. I smiled. The tightness around Coach’s eyes relaxed.

  “I see you didn’t have any problems with losing your sports bag.” He looked down at me with a cocksure smile on his face as we walked past Coach, his green eyes alight with pleasure. Then he glanced over his shoulder and back at me. “I was sad to hear that my plan got Tammy in trouble.”

  Keep it together. “Should we walk back to Coach and tell him your confession?”

  “You can tell him. But it will be my word against yours.”

  I had to get through tryouts. “Hopefully, I’ll get a chance to pitch to you today. Maybe then I can knock some respect into your thick skull.”

  He smirked. “I look forward to it. And if you do make the team, I’ll make it so you never pitch again.” He lost his smile as his eyes hardened. “Oh, and again, you can tattle all you want. Remember—my word against yours.” Then he trotted off.

  I stilled for a minute as the words sleaze and asswipe flittered through my mind. Was he serious? Stay focused. He’s only trying to scare you so you’ll pass out again. He’s messing with your mind. The Maxwells had said Aaron would get into my head. That was it. Besides, I’d come too far to let a creep like him scare me out of my dream. Never give up. My mom’s advice rang in my head. I took a breath then jogged out to the bullpen, repeating, Fastball. Curveball. Slider.

  When I entered the bullpen a boy named Todd was warming up.

  “Glad you could join us, Robinson,” Coach Lee said. “You’re two minutes late. Is this how you want to start?” He glanced at the watch on his right wrist.

  Holy crap! I hadn’t even made the team, and I was already getting my butt handed to me.

  “No sir,” I said as I glanced at Todd, who had fear stamped on his baby-face. Todd and three other boys cowered at the snap in Coach’s voice.

  “Todd, take a seat. Lacey, warm up,” Coach Lee ordered.

  I went through my normal routine. My pitches were all over the place. What the heck was going on? I’d practiced yesterday. My arm was loose. Stop thinking about Aaron and pitch the damn ball, and find your flippin’ zone. I laughed.

  “Something funny, Robinson? Because I don’t think you should be laughing at the way you’re pitching,” Coach Lee said as he caught my last ball.

  “No sir.” I glanced at the boys sitting on the bench—their eyes downcast at their cleats or the ground.

  “Mmmm,” he said as he threw the ball back.

  I continued to warm up, rotating among fastball, curveball, and slider. My arm got looser, my pitches better. I’d wanted to practice my slider a few more times, but Coach Dean called everyone in.

  The five of us vying for a spot on the team trudged out. Coach Dean had three pitching spots available. I’d watched each of the boys pitch, and they were good. I especially worried about Todd. He had a wicked fastball. I couldn’t say how fast his clocked, but his delivery was smooth, high cock of his leg, balance in his delivery, and a beautiful snap when the ball hit the catcher’s glove. While his fastball was good, he had a perfect splitter pitch. I tried to throw a splitter, which was really a split-finger fastball, but my hands weren’t big enough. In order to execute it flawlessly, the ball had to be choked deep into the hand, and Todd had big hands.

  No sooner had we settled in the dugout than Coach Dean called my name. I grabbed my glove and headed out. The stands had several spectators, and I immediately homed in on Kade, who was sitting next to a man with honey-brown hair much like Kade’s. Was that his dad? My gaze lingered for a second before I continued to scan the crowd to look for my own dad. He sat on Kade’s right. Relief washed over me. I’d reminded him last night before he left for work, but I hadn’t known for sure if some problem at the club would prevent him from being here again. He nodded and smiled. The two men in my life were here to support me. I could do this. I swept my gaze over the rest of the stands. Becca sat next to my dad, and Kody sat next to his. The only other person I would’ve liked to be here was Tyler, even with the tension between him and Kade. Tyler had a doctor’s appointment this morning to get his arm looked at, and then he was off to the away game. Three rows behind Kade sat Greg Sullivan and two guys who seemed too old to be on school grounds. Actually, the hairs on my neck rose when one of them pointed at me. I’d wondered if those were the men who Hunt had said worked for that Pitt guy.

  “Lacey.” Coach Dean’s voice broke through my concentration. “Since you didn’t get to finish pitching last week, you’ll be facing two batters today. Aaron is up first.”

  My wish came true. Maybe I should try to ruin one of his arms so he couldn’t throw. Then he might falter in tryouts and not make the team.

  Mark Wayland ran out of the dugout in full catcher’s gear. “Same setup as last week, Lacey. Remember your follow through like yesterday,” he said as we walked out to home plate. “One for curveball, two for fastball, and three for slider.” He handed me the ball.

  “Got it.” I walked out to the mound, turning the ball inside my glove. Fastball. Curveball. Slider. Zone. When I stepped onto the mound, I dug my heel in the dirt around the rubber.

  Kelton and Kross were sitting in the dugout. Coach had other boys I didn’t know playing the field.

  I threw a few warm-up pitches to Mark. Aaron took a couple of practice swings before crowding the plate. As usual, I checked to ensure the field was ready. I wound up and released. Coach Lee, who’d resumed his umpire position, called it a strike. My shoulders relaxed. After two more pitches, the count was one ball and two strikes.

  A few of the spectators screamed, “Strike him out!”

  Inwardly, I smiled. Outwardly, Aaron didn’t. He glowered at me. He was probably waiting for me to plant my face in the dirt like I did last week. Not going to happen. At least, not with him. If anything, he fueled my adrenaline, making me dip into my zone. Maybe I should hold true to my threat to knock some respect into him.

  Aaron kicked one foot out of the box, a sign he needed a minute. He wiped his hands down his pants while he kept the bat between his legs. Then he rubbed both hands together before gripping the bat. He crouched into his stance and swung a few times.

  Coach had said that Aaron was a good ballplayer. His batting average every season teetered on four hund
red. I couldn’t worry about his average. I only needed one more strike. I inhaled and watched Mark for the signs. I adjusted my ball cap, my gaze traveling from Mark to Aaron. He released one of his hands from the bat and pointed to the outfield. Was he doing what I think he was doing? I gripped the ball tightly. He was good, but he wasn’t Babe Ruth. I had to take him down a notch. The crowd jumped to their feet.

  Mark called time. “Lacey,” Mark said, jogging up to me. The infield joined him, surrounding us. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s doing that to intimidate you.”

  “I know. He’s being a dick.”

  “No. He’s playing the game,” one of the boys said. “I can tell you’re in your zone, so don’t break the momentum. You’re doing great.”

  “One more strike is all you need. Get him out. It will boost your confidence to pitch to the next batter. Capiche?” Mark tapped me on my glove.

  I didn’t know he was suddenly my shrink. Regardless, I welcomed his encouragement. It was good to know he focused on the game, and not on threats or rivalries.

  I nodded and covered my mouth with my glove. “Fastball?”

  “Slider.”

  Worried, I raised my glove to shield my eyes. I didn’t want anyone seeing my expression. My slider was weak. Sure, I practiced it, but it wasn’t the pitch to use on Aaron if I wanted to strike him out.

  “You have a great fastball. But that’s what Aaron is expecting, or another curveball. He’s good at reading pitches after he has a chance to see them. He won’t be expecting a slider. Besides, it looked good yesterday when we practiced.” Mark tapped my glove again then my shoulder.

  My stomach clenched.

  “Lacey, I’ve seen you pitch,” the dark-haired boy at shortstop said. “Your slider is good. You’re in your zone. Stay in it,” he said, and he jogged back to his shortstop position.

  You’re in your zone. Don’t blow it, I silently chanted.

  I went through my breathing routine as I planted two feet on the mound. Then I got into position. The grip for the slider was similar to the fastball, but the placement of the fingers was different. I gripped the ball, making sure my thumb was holding it tight, along with my middle finger. I let out a breath and released the ball, following it all the way into Mark’s glove where it made a resounding snap. In an instant, I tensed every muscle, waiting for Coach Lee’s sign.

  “Strike three,” he called.

  Aaron’s head jerked toward Coach Lee. “Bullshit. That wasn’t close to a strike,” he yelled.

  Coach Lee ignored him as Aaron slowly walked back to the dugout, tossing a death glare over his shoulder at me. Sore loser came to mind. But as fast as the term hit me, it was gone when Coach Dean called Renee to bat. So much for rejoicing at my awesome feat. I’d had a feeling Coach would make me pitch to Renee given his statement. I hadn’t dwelled on the thought of me pitching to Renee again. Sometimes the anticipation leading up to an event could be scarier than the event itself, the way giving blood was, for me. I’d psych myself out every time. I hated needles. I hated to be poked. But the needle poking me wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be.

  Renee slipped on her helmet, grabbed her bat and swung it a few times before stepping into the batter’s box.

  Kelton ran out of the dugout, pointing to the boy who’d been playing shortstop. I guess they were exchanging places. While Kelton warmed up, Renee trotted out to the mound.

  What was she doing?

  “Hey,” she said. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. You ran off at lunch and again after psychology. Then you didn’t show up in the locker room. I wanted a chance to talk to you. Don’t see me as someone you once knew. Try to see me as Aaron. You did so well pitching to him.”

  “Probably because I don’t like him. And he’s a far cry from resembling anyone I knew.”

  “Try anyway. I’m just another batter.” She ran back to the batter’s box.

  I didn’t know what to think of Renee’s pep talk.

  “Okay, people. Let’s continue,” Coach Dean shouted from the dugout.

  Mark crouched down into his catcher’s position, giving a signal for a fastball. Renee nodded, curling her lips higher on one side. No. No. No. Why did she have to smile? All of a sudden a bead of sweat trickled down my temple. My body heated. My fingers became icicles as they gripped the ball so tight I wasn’t sure I could release it. She’s not your sister. Yeah. Tell that to my freaking brain. My familiar bumblebee buzzed in my head. Without another thought, I threw the ball. It sailed down to home plate, narrowly missing Renee’s head. She stumbled backwards out of the batter’s box.

  “Lacey, girl?” Kelton said, running up to me.

  “I don’t think I can do this, Kelton,” I whispered.

  A few of the infielders crowded us.

  “Leave,” Kelton bit out.

  They went back to their positions.

  Then Mark trotted up. “What the—”

  “I got this, Mark,” Kelton said. “Let me handle her.”

  My head shot up. Handle me. How was he going to handle me?

  Mark shook his head and went back to home plate.

  “Kade wanted me to give you a message. Are you listening to me, Lacey?” He shook me.

  “Yeah.” No. The buzzing in my head was loud, and I didn’t warm to the idea of someone handling me. But I wasn’t in any state to argue with him.

  “God, forgive me for this. I promised myself these words would never leave my lips for any girl,” Kelton said.

  I rubbed my neck.

  Coach Dean came out to the mound. “Lacey?”

  “Coach, I got this,” Kelton said. “I promise she’ll pitch.”

  Coach raked his hand across his head. “Hurry it up. We don’t have all day.” Then he trotted away.

  I wiped the sweat from my brow.

  “Lacey, I…love the crap out of you,” Kelton whispered.

  “What!” My jaw hit the dirt.

  “Kade’s message. Kade’s. Not mine. My brother is fucked up. How do you put ‘crap’ and ‘love’ in the same sentence?” His blue eyes swam with embarrassment.

  A wave of warmth flowed over me. Even though Kelton’s tone was a little rough, his voice sounded like Kade’s. The word family whispered in the back of my head. God, Kade continued to surprise me. He knew this would be rough for me, and he took every measure to ensure I would be fine even when we were angry with each other. A smile split my lips more at the pain on Kelton’s face.

  “He knows you two haven’t made up yet, but he said it might help,” Kelton added.

  “Do you have a problem with love?”

  “Not the time, girl. You okay?”

  I nodded once.

  “Good. Now, get your ass in gear and pitch the fucking ball.” He hit me on the ass and took his position at shortstop.

  I wasn’t sure Kade’s message would help, but it was good to know he loved me, and for that, I pitched the ball.

  This time the ball soared over the plate, and not Renee’s head.

  “Ball,” Coach Lee called.

  I inhaled the fresh air as I caught the ball from Mark. He flashed the curveball sign for the next pitch. This time, I concentrated on the grip of the ball, the plate, and Mark, making sure I didn’t look at Renee. When I did, the ball hit Mark’s glove dead-on, with a thud. The count was now two balls and one strike. Same thing. Don’t look at her.

  Mark sent the ball back to me. Then he gave me a signal for a slider. I readied the ball and my stance. As soon as I planted my foot on the ground, the ball left my glove and then…crack! The ball met the bat and flew into the outfield. Damn slider. I had to practice that pitch more.

  Renee ran the bases, and I wanted to run with her to bask in my own joy. I hated that I didn’t strike her o
ut, but I didn’t have a panic attack. Letting out all the air in my lungs, I relaxed every muscle in me as the boy in center field chased the ball. It rolled against the fence. When he picked it up Renee slid into second base easily.

  Then Coach Dean called me in. As I jogged to the dugout, Todd ran out.

  “You did well,” he said. “Nice pitching to Aaron. Better you than me, though.”

  “Thanks. Good luck,” I said.

  I couldn’t tell what Coach was thinking. Did he like how I pitched to Aaron and Renee? I gave it my best—at least with Aaron I had. With Renee, my performance was less than stellar, but I didn’t quit and I didn’t pass out, and that alone I had to celebrate.

  Chapter 22

  The headlights of my car bobbed along the dark country road as I drove out to Kade’s house. He wanted to talk, and I’d never had a chance to answer him. I could’ve texted him, but I wanted to surprise him. When tryouts ended, I spent some time with Renee, apologizing to her for my behavior in the lunchroom, and I owed her a huge thank-you for the little pep talk we had at the mound. Becca had joined us in the girls’ locker room, and the three of us sat and chatted for over an hour. I shared the story of Mom and Julie. I definitely owed it to Becca, but I’d hoped telling Renee would help me get past my issue with her. I couldn’t say if it had or it hadn’t yet. But as I examined her features, I felt the need to touch her to make sure she wasn’t my sister. I didn’t, though. She’d probably hit me. They were both sympathetic, and while I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me, I did appreciate the tears they shed with me.

  When we finally walked out to the parking lot, only a few cars remained, and Kade’s wasn’t one of them. I didn’t expect to see Dad either, since I’d told him I wouldn’t be home right away. I also asked if he would lift my punishment, if only for the night. I explained to him I needed to apologize to Kade, and I didn’t want to do it over the phone. He studied me for the longest time before he obliged. Instead of one night, he lifted it permanently with one condition: if I stepped out of line again, he wouldn’t hesitate to ground me for the rest of the school year. I assured him I would do my best to stay out of trouble, but I didn’t make any promises. After I’d gotten home, showered, and changed my clothes, Dad gave me money to pay Kade for fixing my car.