“Damn, Hollis.” His head falls to the side in sympathy, but I also see the relief in his eyes. I understand it because I feel the same relief whenever I remember what happened. I’m coming to terms with the fact it was a truly awful thing, even though it wasn’t worse.
“I missed the first two innings. Jordan finally came looking for me with my father’s keys. There was a scout for the local community college there who never got to see me play. Maybe for a lot of players that isn’t the end of the world, but for a girl who wants to play this game in college, any school open to the idea of putting me on their roster is a big deal. They took that away from me.”.
“Did the guys get kicked off the team? Expelled? Suspended at least?” His questions are so full of hope. I’m about to dash his outlook on humanity.
“It was parents who locked me in there. Three in particular, including Jordan’s dad, Bill.”
The way Cannon’s mouth hangs open isn’t rehearsed or pretend. His eyes drill into me, unblinking, waiting for me to say, “Psych!” or, “Just kidding.” Oh, how I wish I could.
Cannon twists in his seat, letting go of my hand for a moment while his gaze drifts off into the place where the pavement meets the horizon.
“You deserve to play, Hollis. No, you deserve to start.” He’s so resolute in his words, his mouth closed tight to punctuate the finality of them while he shakes his head. His eyes haze and it’s almost as if he’s playing out an argument with someone else in his head, preparing to defend me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean over the console and press my lips to his cheek, holding his jaw with my hand. His head moves in slow motion, turning to face me, his mouth opening with a faint breath. Our eyes meet briefly, his falling lashes my only clue that his close just before mine. He palms my cheek as his mouth captures my bottom lip, and in a single heartbeat, we’re kissing.
Nothing about the moment is rushed, and every pass of his lips against mine is tender and sweet. Light tastes of my tongue with his are tempered by measured suckles of my top and bottom lips. He takes his time, shifting enough in his seat to steady my head in both of his hands. The way he holds me makes me feel cherished, and this is now one more thing that’s going on my list of things to really, truly adore about Cannon Jennings.
13
Cannon
Walking in on a conversation and having it go stone-cold silent is never a good sign. That’s what just happened, and I know my uncle and Zack were talking about pushing out Coach Taylor. I heard enough before I came down the stairs to get the general idea of their discussion.
The fact they aren’t bringing it up now, in front of me? That means they don’t trust me to know the details. That’s both good and bad. Good morally because I don’t want to be a part of something I don’t believe is right, and bad because I can’t prepare anyone for what might be coming.
Would I warn Hollis, though? Should I now, even though what I know is really just a bunch of bitching and whining over runny eggs at the breakfast table.
I don’t know what time Zack got in last night, but I know he was drunk. I heard him vomit, twice. After Hollis dropped me off, I called Tory and spent most of the night playing video games with him and his brother and Lucas. I suspect Zack was out with a few of the baseball guys, getting support for his bruised ego.
If anyone tries to take this out on Hollis, I am going to lose my shit.
“How’d practice go yesterday?” My uncle tests me with that question.
“Ask Zack,” I say without meeting his gaze. I stuff a mouthful of eggs and potatoes in my mouth.
“I wouldn’t know. I got sent home,” Zack grits out, shoveling food into his own mouth to avoid talking.
Clearly, they’ve already talked about what happened. Everything about Zack’s tone is rehearsed. The awkward silence, broken by the occasional scrape of a fork along a plate or the clunk of a full coffee mug on the table, is meant to flush me out. I don’t fall for any of it.
“What do you think your dad will think, Cannon?” My uncle changes up his route.
I shrug, eyes focused on my now half-empty plate as I scoop up more food.
“You think he’ll be okay with moving your family across country so you can throw to some girl?”
I drop my fork at that comment, my chest tightening into a thick ball right where my ribs meet. I push the plate away, done, and unfurl the napkin my aunt always rolls up for us at the table. I run it over my mouth and chin.
“I guess we can ask him when he gets here,” I say, standing and taking my plate to the sink. I meet my aunt’s eyes as I do and get the sense that she’s had to suffer through this conversation all morning.
“Speaking of, he might get in tomorrow,” my uncle says. His chair drags along the floor as he stands.
My buzzing nerves instantly calm at that bit of news. My dad is sensible, even if he’s competitive. He and I have had long talks about what might happen if I get recruited by places where Zack doesn’t have a shot. My dad’s helped me realize that even though Zack and I formed this dream together, I can still forge out on my own if that’s what’s best for me. Uncle Joel seems to think carrying Zack is my responsibility. I
