by Hazel Grace
“Sounds easy for you then, Mr. Hayes,” Veronica claims through the phone. “I’ll make sure any potential buyers have funding before bothering you with their interest. Also, would you like me to email you over some places to buy?”
I bring my beer to my lips and pause, thinking about laying roots in my old hometown. The pros outweigh the con, the only con.
Sawyer.
The pros were that I knew everything in this town, the good places to eat and what times the cops changed shifts. I probably don’t need to know that last fact, but it was clockwork here. And living here would mean reuniting with some old buddies and having a job doing what I love where I ran shit.
I could be happy here.
I just needed to learn the art of being invisible so that I didn’t run into her every damn day of my life.
“Mr. Hayes?”
“Yeah...Veronica, send me a list.”
“You gotta sit on the bench this game, buddy, I can’t have you making your injury worse,” I tell Lucas, my first baseman, as he tries to stand on his left ankle.
The kid is going to go places, he has an eagle eye for a baseball, and he can whip it quickly from third to first base without flinching. I’d have scouts beating on my door to take him. But not if he doesn’t listen and take it easy.
And fall in love with a girl who is going to tear his heart out of his chest as I did.
“Coach, please,” Lucas pleads, trying not to wince in pain. “I’ll be alright.”
“Just one game,” I tell him, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Scouts aren’t going to be at this game. We’ll get your sprain looked at, continue to ice it at home, and you’ll be as good as new in no time.”
Lucas frowns, bowing his head. “One game, Coach, I can’t afford anymore.”
I get it kid, trust me.
“One game, it’s all you should need.” I pat his shoulder, and he limps toward the dugout. “Lucas, crutches, I want you on them for the rest of the week.” He peers over his shoulder at me, and I catch him rolling his eyes before he continues. I would’ve done the same thing at his age but given Coach Anderson a harder time. I probably would’ve thrown out a couple of cuss words or thrown a bat or glove, but thankfully, Lucas isn’t me. He’s focused on the present while, when I was his age, I was full throttle on the future.
“Colson,” Coach Anderson calls from the outfield. “Ready for the scrimmage?” I give him a wave, clicking the top of my pen, leaning against the fence to observe my players.
Coach and I split the team into two, letting the guys play against each other while we each take a side. It was good to give them a little competition on the field rather than just practicing day in and day out.
I watch my first hitter walk up to the plate, a small quiet kid who doesn’t converse with the guys much. I don’t offer any words of encouragement, wanting to see what pitches he responds to. I’m still new to learning everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, so this will be a good way for me to make notes.
Our pitcher slices the ball over home plate, going to the inside of it.
Geezus fuck, not this shit again.
I force myself to clap my hands. “Alright, Bobby, you got this.” The ball is sent back to the pitcher’s mound as he winds up over home plate. The pitcher sets up and throws the ball inside home plate again. “C’mon Bobby, we’re on strike two. The inside of the plate isn’t the damn plague,” I rebuke.
“I beg to differ.” Sawyer’s words strike me like a lightning bolt.
I whip around, startled to hear her voice after I was just thinking about her weird quirk. She stares at me, straight-faced and innocent through the other side of the chained fence, dawning a fitted sweatshirt and skinny white jeans. Her red hair cascades over her shoulders, looking too good to be on a dirty baseball field.
My baseball field.
“What are you doing here?” I snap through knitted brows.
Her eyes widen in fake shock. “Oh, I thought this was our thing, showing up where the other one didn’t want them.”
My nostrils flare. “We don’t have a thing, and I was helping out a poor, clueless man,” I counter, turning my back on her.
“You were helping out by embarrassing me in front of my date,” she sneers. I roll my eyes. Since when did she go back to dating the boring and predictable?
“Don’t worry, Bases, you had no problems moving on to the next one before.”
“Get your head out of your ass and get over it,” she calmly tells me like I legit have nothing to be pissed about. “I sure as hell have.”
Those words.
I focus on my breathing because it's the only thing I can do to keep me from losing my shit in front of my team. They ignite in me the need to make her prove it. I see the way her cheeks flush, the way she timidly came to my door and flinched at my anger. The seventeen-year-old Sawyer that I know tries to hide her shit.
My first batter strikes out, how, I don’t know because of the redheaded distraction behind me. So, I concentrate deeply on my second hitter in the lineup.
The ball comes over the plate—on the fucking inside.
“John,” I bellow, gripping my clipboard. “Swing at the ball.”
“Gosh,” Sawyer mutters. “You still have a shitty attitude when no one sees the ball as you do.”
“You need to get the hell out of here, Bases,” I reply through clenched teeth. John lets ball number two go by him without attempting to swing. Which makes me mutter, “What the fuck.”
“Step back a little from the plate, John,” Sawyer yells by my ear. “You can crack that ball on the bottom of the barrel, just be ready to run.”
I whirl on her. “Would you just get the hell out of here, I’m the damn coach, not you.” She gives me a once-over but not in a ‘I want to fuck you right now’ kind of way.
Shame.
Her eyes slowly turn into slits. “You suck at encouragement.”
“I don’t remember it that way,” I chide. “I recollect telling you how good you sucked dick and that you could get whatever you wanted if you asked nicely with that sweet little facade you wore so well.” I turn to face the field. “That sure as hell wore off quickly.”
John’s bat collides with the ball, not giving Sawyer a chance to respond, and it sails right over shortstop’s reach. Sawyer makes a “whoo” sound, clapping her hands as he runs toward first base, and I look heavenward.
Doesn’t matter how many times I tell her to take a hike, she’ll just come back with some smart ass comment about what I did and stay. So, we watch a few more of my players play in silence until we get three outs and the teams switch sides, rushing into their dugouts and grabbing their gear. Coach walks in our direction, his eyes squinting before they widen at the sight of the pain in the ass behind me.
“Sawyer Boyd,” he greets with a giant smile. “Is that you?”
“Hey Coach,” Sawyer beams. “How are you doing?”
Fucking Christ, now we’re going to have a reunion?
“Very well,” Coach replies. “I thought that was you over the fence there. Just couldn’t leave my third baseman while the ball was in play. He got hit in the chest last week, so he’s a little edgy, and I have to keep him mentally in the game.”
Sawyer sucks in a sharp breath.“Ouch, I bet that had to hurt.” Coach chuckles and rounds the fence to give Sawyer a hug.
“It’ll make a man out of him.” He motions toward the field. “C’mon, you can help me manage my team, I could use another eye.”
“That’s cheating,” I protest like a fucking child. I don’t want her here in my space, with my team where I can see her in those tight, should be illegal, pants.
“Your head is getting a little too big, Hayes,” Sawyer quips with a smug look. “You could use the competition.”
“You don’t want to fuck with me, Bases,” I warn under my breath. She doesn’t hear me or she just ignores it, either way, she continues onto the field with Coach chatting away like old buddies
.
I pull my attention away from her, so I can’t give my dick a chance to show appreciation for the way her sweatshirt hangs off her shoulder slightly, exposing tan skin and a need for me to bite down on it.
God, she’s annoying as fuck.
Just like in high school, only grown up with more curves wrapped and molded into every man’s wet dream.
Focusing back on our scrimmage, Sawyer keeps positive vibes throughout the game, standing over home plate to encourage the guys. They beam and smile at her and when one of her players hits the ball, she runs behind them, urging them to run faster and harder while I’m hoping she does a repeat and trips down the baseline.
When the game is over, Sawyer’s once white jeans are smudged with dirt, her hair is in a messy bun atop her head, strands falling all around it. She looks like a baseball goddess on the field, not giving a shit about the dust and dirt. Or that she just got fucked, hard in the back of a truck.
My body shivers in pure hunger, watching her stride toward me, in what feels to be slow motion. The way her hair carelessly floats in the breeze around heart-shaped face. Her arms moving at her sides gracefully and confidently. The sway of her hips that beg for my fingers to delve into her soft flesh.
I grind my teeth, this is fucking ridiculous.
Glancing down at her shoes, I notice she isn’t wearing her sandals anymore but grass-stained sneakers.
“Where did you get the shoes?” I ask, nodding at her feet. She peers over her shoulder toward the dugout.
“I think his name is Joshua.” She looks back at me. “Nice kid.”
“He’s a little man whore,” I grumble. Like me. “Go give them back.” She chuckles, shaking her head, which makes a strand of hair fall to cup the side of her face.
“I wasn’t going to steal them. I just came over here to say good game.”
“Yeah, sure. What was the score?”
A lopsided grin appears on her freckled face. “I wasn’t counting.”
“You always count. Shit’s annoying.” She shrugs, blowing off my comment. “Alright, let’s get this over with. You came to bitch at me about the coffee shop incident, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” she admits, tightening her bun. “But it was more fun to watch you lose.”
“We’re even then or are you going to show up at all my scrimmages to irritate the hell out of me?”
She lets out a mirthless laugh. “As much as you deserve it, I’ll stop under one condition.”
I raise a brow. “And that is?” She hits me with a serious look.
“Text my sister so that she stops harassing me about if you’re going to call or not. I have no fucking clue what you’re doing, nor do I care, but either put her out of her misery or commit.” She cocks her head to the side. “You can handle two options, can’t you, Hayes?”
“Just as good as you can, Bases,” I convey, meeting her shitty little stare.
Her plush lines set in a fine line when her cheeks pinken. “Good.”
“I’ll text her, but I’m not going to sugarcoat it.” She gives me a curt nod and brushes a piece of hair away from her face.
“Then we’re even.” She gives me a quick wave. “Take care, Colson.”
She begins to walk away, but I halt her with my words. “Bases.” She stops to look over at me. “Truth or dare?”
Her eyes narrow. “What?”
“Truth...or dare.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, no. Been there, done that.”
“Humor me then.” Her hands clench into fists, and she shifts her weight to one leg.
“Truth,” she finally says.
“Was it worth it?” Her furrowed brows deepen until she realizes what I’m talking about. I wanted to know if her deception got her what she wanted. That it was something she didn’t spend sleepless nights thinking upon.
Because I did.
I wondered if she ever felt remorse. If she regretted it. If she regretted me. If there was ever a chance in hell that I would ever be able to lay it to rest. Because no matter how many years passed, from time to time, it sauntered into my brain for days until I either drank it, fucked it, or smoked it away.
“Why would you ask me that?” she mutters so quietly that I almost didn’t hear it.
I pull a pack of Marlboro’s out of my back pocket. Coach is going to bust a fit with me smoking on school property, but I’m a fucking adult and outside, so he can kiss my ass.
I shrug. “Just curious.”
“I already told you,” she croons. “But you didn’t listen then either.”
“Yes or no, Bases. I don’t need a lecture or itinerary of the event.” Her chest lifts and falls slowly.
“Yes,” she finally says. “Because it showed me how much of an asshole you really were.” She turns on her heels and walks away while I take a hit from my cigarette. I hear Coach’s voice bitching at me to put it down, but I zone him out. My focus is still locked on the girl I fell in love with a long time ago.
And I hope I never see her again.
But that’s like wishing for world peace and unlimited blowjobs. Not in my lifetime.
Ten years ago
"Bases!" It's the anger in his tone that makes me flinch then freeze in place. Like I just stepped in wet cement, suspended involuntarily.
I want to move. I need to move. This hallway just became a danger zone and there are no bunkers for me to hide in.
I hear his shoes pounding on the tile floor as he approaches, the hairs on my arms stand on end as lines of goosebumps prickle my skin.
But I don’t turn around, hoping to dissipate into thin air any second now, clenching my history book to my chest as a buffer. Anything to safe keep me from the royal verbal beating I’m about to receive.
And for what now, I have no idea.
The footsteps stop suddenly, a soft exhale leaving my lips before being startled by Colson’s voice appearing right by my ear; angry, breathy, and centered.
“Did you do it?” Slowly, I turn toward the voice, meeting brown eyes that look onyx black now, shooting razor-sharp katanas at me. My heart seizes in my chest as he knits his brows.
“Do what?” I stutter, hating that my nervousness reveals itself in my tone. Whispers start seeping around us, but it doesn’t stop his scowl bulldozing into me.
Sluggishly, I glance around the crowded hallway full of curious classmates eyeballing us like a sideshow, and we’re the starring roles. I shift my weight to my other leg, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment.
“Bases.” He snaps his fingers in my face, seizing my fleeting gaze back to him. “Did...you...do it?” I take a deep staggering breath, clenching harder to my history book.
“I don’t know what—” He clasps my forearm, yanking me behind him and down the hallway. His fingertips angrily dig into my flesh, and intuitively, I jerk back my arm, which only makes him add more pressure.
“Colson, let me go,” I seeth through my teeth in a hushed tone. He ignores me as students move back against their lockers to let us by.
I can feel each and every pair of eyes that we pass burning the back of my head as my backpack bounces up and down at the hurried pace Colson has set. I catch glares from girls as he possesses my arm, like I want it, and smirks from guys because they must share the same “caveman” personality as Colson does.
Suddenly, I slam into Colson’s back as he opens a random door, shoving it open to heave me into the empty classroom. I stumble in, my heavy backpack almost making me face plant into the floor and I study our surroundings.
The lights are off, but the room is illuminated by the sunlight piercing through the windows. Empty desks line up next to each other while several bookshelves cram the walls filled with extra and probably outdated textbooks. A few photo projectors sit lonely in the corner, covered in laminated periodic tables and graphs. This must be a storage room for extra things that aren’t—
I’m swung around by my elbow, making me almost lose my footing again and causing
me to come face to face with the boy with anger issue-like tendencies in front of me. My back is to the door, one of my books in my backpack starts to dig into my flesh, but I don’t move.
I can’t because he’s so freaking close.
“Do I need to repeat myself or did you get it the first two times?” he bites out. He’s in my face, smelling like mint gum and something woodsy, evading my senses.
I’ve seen Colson angry before at practices, but this is a whole other level for me. His whole face is fierce with rage, his breathing is erratic like an angry hyena that I saw on a National Geographic documentary once. The only difference is his eyes are ripping holes into me instead of his teeth tearing my throat out.
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter, taking a step back and racking my mind to think of what I could’ve possibly done to make him so mad.
“Gavin,” he deadpans, giving nothing else away but my space. He counters my retreat with a step of his own toward me.
Okay, still not helpful.
“I know who he is.” He raises a brow, cocking his head, obviously still not happy with my answer. “What about him?”
“Are you fucking serious?” I open my mouth but close it.
God, is he going to chastise me now about kissing Gavin over him? That was last week, and what did he expect me to do? I wasn’t going to kiss the guy who makes every encounter a stressful situation for me.
Besides, he looks at me like I’m his irritating little sister that follows him around all the time.
When I do the exact opposite.
“Gavin,” he repeats like his name is sour in his mouth. “Are you dating him?”
I shake my head. “No.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle. “No?”
“I wouldn’t say— “ He leans forward and slams his palm against the door, next to my ear, making me jolt in surprise.
“What would you say, Bases?”
“He...he just asked me to go to the movies,” I spout, receding back again. The door stops me, pinning me between it and the hazardous body in front of me.
“And you said yes?”