“One, two, three—Eagles!”
“Hollis.” I say her name just as the cheer breaks behind me. She blinks twice, her expression never changing, then moves her focus to the dugout where her gear sits in a pile.
“Hey.” I reach out toward her as she moves toward her things. When she brings her arms in close to avoid my touch, I feel a punch to my gut. I didn’t do this right. I fucked this up.
I wallow in my own self-pity until my uncle marches back to his truck, leaving my cousin to swim in his alone. There won’t be any lights coming on. Tryouts are done when the sun sets, and with the gray sky looming above, that’s a little earlier tonight.
“Jennings.” Both Zack and I turn at the sound of our name being called. Coach’s form is barely visible in the dwindling light. He’s alone, most of the players well on their way to the parking lot. His daughter is in the dugout under the yellow glow of lights that barely work. She looks furious, something I can read from her posture even this far away.
“Both of you,” he begins, and we move closer to him.
My heart pounds in my chest, the rush of adrenaline from everything I’ve done and said, and the fear of being called out for something unexpected. Stronger than my fear of Coach, though, is my crushing dread that I messed things up with Hollis. That I broke her trust and told her secret. I’ll run a thousand miles if that’s what Coach asks me to do, if it means I might be able to make it up to her. My intent was good. She must know that.
“Sorry, Coach,” I say right out of the gate. My cousin doesn’t call me a kiss-up this time, and he’s probably mad that I apologized first.
“Fix this.” Coach wiggles his finger between us then points over his shoulder with his thumb toward Hollis.
“And you.” He shifts his position, closing me off so he’s speaking only to Zack. “I want you to look deep inside tonight and assess yourself. You have decisions to make.”
Zack swallows loud enough that I hear it.
“Yes, sir,” he says.
His eyes shift to me briefly. I can’t apologize for giving him his due. He did that all on his own.
“Come ready to throw tomorrow.” Coach’s eyes square with mine and I nod, uttering the same, “Yes, sir” that my cousin did.
Coach Taylor turns his back on us and heads toward the back of the gym where his office is, whistling toward the dugout to let Hollis know to follow. My cousin leaves me standing there alone, too caught up in his own drama and misplaced rage to stick this out. I take every bit of my punishment, though, from her first steps from the dugout when the lights inside go out to the point where she reaches the walkway that splits in two directions. Hollis will either head toward me or her father’s office, and I can’t help but feel that the direction she chooses is a commentary on who makes her feel the safest.
I’m not totally surprised when it isn’t me. Still, it hurts like hell.
22
Hollis
I’ve already cried my cry. I’m not doing it again. I’m not living it again. I did it and it’s done. Every time my dad asks if I have anything he needs to know, though, the damn tears threaten to show their ugly side in the corners of my eyes.
“I need to know if I have to report something.” His face is stern, and it’s hard not to feel attacked. It isn’t fair; I’m not the person who should be getting grilled about this.
“It’s handled,” I say, leveling him with another blank stare. We take turns blinking at one another as if it’s a contest.
I don’t know why it’s our method, but it is. When I was a kid and did something wrong, my father would look at me, wordlessly, and blink through a long hard stare until I broke under the pressure and admitted to everything. As I got older, I learned the same trick worked on him, only I used it when he told me no for no good reason. Throw in a “Please, Daddy,” and the world was mine.
“I hate this world for you. You know that, right?” He finally gives in and doesn’t force me to make this into something bigger. Maybe it should be. What Zack did isn’t okay, but I don’t want to be the poster child. I just want to play baseball. That’s it. If my face shows up in the newspaper, I want it to be for an All-Star bid or for some college that’s taking a chance on a girl who can catch.
“I’ll change it. This world will be just fine when I’m done.”
He laughs at my confident response, but it’s a sad laugh. It breaks down some of my bravado.
“I might be a little late here, you know,” he says, holding up his scoring book filled with charts and notes he made from today’s tryout. He flops it down on top of the four others from his assistants.
“I’ll help,” I say, putting my finger on the spiral binding of one of them. He pulls them away and gives me a sideways glance.
“I know, I know. Coach’s daughter can’t be involved. No showing favoritism. Just . . . tell me. What did Coach Dixon think of my sixty time?”
My father smirks and a genuine laugh finally slips out from his wind-burned lips.
“I don’t have to read it to tell you he said you got a slow jump and need to work on breaking faster.”
I pull in my brow, scowling at him.
“You said that. And I know.” I sigh.
I sit back in the chair on the opposite side of his desk and put a foot up on the corner, near his mug that reads World’s
