Dirty Curve

Echo pops to his feet, holding a hand out to the umpire as he jogs over to me on the mound.

I wipe my brow on my sleeve, staring down the next batter as he makes his way toward the plate, but I shift my attention to E when he puts himself in front of me.

He spits, lifting his glove up to cover his mouth, so no dickheads can read his lips while he bitches me out. “Bro, what the fuck are you doin’?” he hisses. “That’s the third motherfucker you’ve hit.”

“He’s talking shit.”

“Newsflash asshole, they all do. Don’t forget who’s got their dick swinging in his face every at bat.” If the cameras weren’t on him, he’d be glaring at me right now. “I don’t know what’s going on, but suck it up, bitch. You want to be pissed at something, be pissed at the fucker who hit a double off you and leave his ass stuck on that base.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s right, fuck me.” He punches his glove with his closed fist. “Right here, baby. Hard and fast, just the way I like it.”

I can’t help but laugh and Echo’s grin slips.

He hits my left arm with his glove, pointing my way as he gets in position behind the plate. Echo tugs his catcher’s mask back in place, and the umpire gives us the go.

So, I force my anger back into its true form, a burning sense of disappointment, and do what my boy asks, what my team needs.

I do my fucking job and strike out the next two batters, allowing the third to hit out of spite, knowing Coop will make the out in center. And he does.

In my peripheral, Coach crosses his arms, spitting to the side as he eyes me, but mine move to the seat two spaces left of home plate, still empty two innings in.

It fucking stings.

Thankfully, I’m the next at bat, so when Coach tries to approach me, I have an excuse to push past him, grab my shit and get right back onto the field.

‘Cause I’m a glutton for punishment, my eyes cut right back to the seat, the one my girls are supposed to be sitting in, and my heart drops to my feet, nearly knocking me over on its way back up.

The seats are no longer empty, but my girls, they aren’t sitting there … my mom is.

My mom is at my game.

I walk to the fence, slapping my palm against the warm metal, and I couldn’t stop the smile on my face if I tried.

My mom smiles sheepishly, slipping Bailey’s bow into her hair.

Tutor Girl.

Fuck me, that girl. She wanted me to know she sent her.

With the confidence of a shark in a fishpond, I step up to the plate, spinning to point at my mom before I get into my stance.

I wiggle my fingers, wrapping them tightly around the grip and lift my hands high above my right ear.

I know what he’s about to serve me, and I’ll let him have his glory … ‘cause after that I’m going to make a fool out of him.

I take the strike, and then I nail his slider, taking first base.

When I look up in the stands, my mom’s on her feet, her hands folded in front of her and I see it. For the first time in a long time I feel it, my mother’s pride.

My lungs inflate and I clench my teeth together, ‘cause goddamn, it’s a lot.

She’s here, at my game in our hometown. It’s more than I’d ever expected and until this fucking moment, I had no idea how much I wanted this.

I have one person to thank for it, and I’ve got a feeling she’s watching me right now from her hotel room, so I look into the camera along the first base line, knowing they’ll zoom in as I do and say something only she’ll understand.

“No lie.”

From there, I rock the fuck out of the rest of the game, showing my mom exactly what I’m capable of.

And when I get back to the girl waiting on me, I might just beg her to let me do the same.

After the game, I try to talk to my mom, but the bus is set to head back to Avix in an hour and to keep up my charade of being on it, I have to stick with the team.

My mom asks me to call her when I get in so we can chat, and after a quick promise to her, I run into the locker room.

I take a hurried shower and bag my shit up to make the equipment manager’s life easier, and make my way toward the exit, but as I step from the locker room and into the hall, Coach is there.

He’s leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. Turning his head my way, he grabs the toothpick between his lips. “First out, as always.”

“Yes, Coach.” I nod, mentally noting it’s a quarter to three, and the hotel’s latest checkout time is four o’clock.

“What happened out there today, son? You wasted pitches, added to your count, that’s two fewer batters I can give you at Friday’s game.”

Licking my lips, I look off. “Sorry, Coach.”

“Sorry,” he muses. “That what you’d tell the scouts if they asked?”

“You mean the ones that didn’t exist?” I look back to him, unsure of why I threw that out just now.

The creases at the corner of his eyes deepen slightly. “I told you, I called them off.”

“You also told me I was out fucking off, but I was with the boys. And you, the way they tell it.”

His brows cave. “I didn’t say you were doing anything other than what you just repeated. It’s not my problem if you read into it differently.”

Unease stirs in my gut, and I nod.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m so used to doing stupid shit that I jumped to conclusions my own damn self.

His features tighten, and he licks his lips. “You got something to say, son, say it.”

“Last night and this morning felt off.” I shrug. “I meant to be back to my hotel early. I didn’t plan on getting fucked up.”

His eyes narrow farther. “Then I guess it was no different from every other night for you, huh?” I pinch my lips together, unsure if the indignation I’m picking up in his tone is real or in my head. “You go out and get fucked up, break all the rules I set, and then you call me to clean up your mess. And then you repeat yourself. I’ve done it more times than you remember, but all of the sudden, you’re upset with me for wording things the way I did when I was helping you out?” He kicks off the wall, his arms crossing over his chest as he studies me.

Guilt and a nasty sense of embarrassment sweeps over me. I haven’t gone off like that in a while, but it’s not his fault he’s unaware of the changes I’ve made in myself. He can only base my behavior on what he’s seen, and he’s seen a lot of bullshit from me over the years.

“Sorry, Coach,” I tell him, meeting his eyes with the respect that he deserves and hoping he can read my honesty for what it is. He is there for me and has had my back more times than I can count. I can always depend on him to do what’s right by me and I shouldn’t have let my emotions get to me today when I thought Meyer bailed on me.

Same goes for last night. I never should have allowed any of that to happen, and that’s on me, not the man that gave me a place to sleep it off. I would have been angrier with myself had I gone back to Meyer like that, loud and unaware of what the fuck I was doing.

After a second, the man pulls me into him and pats my back.

As he steps away, he squints. “You know you can tell me if there’s something going on, something you’re worried about … maybe someone?”

My lips curl, but I drop my eyes to the ground before looking back up. “I’m good, Coach.”

He raises a brow, but I shake my head.

I’m not ready to share anything with anyone, not yet. She tripped out at the thought of being caught up in the media before, so it’ll only get worse.

Xavier steps out of the locker room, Neo and Echo right behind him.

They slow as they pass us, nodding their chins and saying bye to Coach.

“I need to get to the airport,” he says, a small frown written across his forehead as he digs into his pocket, pulling out two more of the pills he gave me this morning, the ones I must have forgotten in his room. “Here, take these, now, get some electrolytes back into your body and get some rest on the ride home.”

I toss them in my mouth, washing them down with half of my Vitamin Water.

He nods, scowls, and then pats my shoulder as he begins to walk away, but he pauses after a couple steps, turning back to me with a grin. “Hey, uh, what’s ‘no lie’?”

A laugh leaves me, and I lick my lips. “A message for a friend.”

“Right …” His mouth twitches. “Check in with me after your exam on Thursday, huh?”

“Yes, Coach.”

Damn near bouncing on two feet, I wait for the man to hit the exit, and then I cut in the opposite direction.

A half hour later, I’m walking through the hotel lobby, and out into the garden that leads to our rooms, but as I’m making my way over, my eyes are called to the left.

I pause where I stand, and something in my chest tightens.

Meyer sits on a towel in the grass, Bailey lying on her back in front of her. She leans over her, making it easier for Bay to play with the length of her mama’s hair.

Her hair.

It’s down, maybe even curled a little.

For me?

It seems longer somehow, and Bailey’s enjoying it.

I don’t realize I’m walking closer to them until Meyer’s eyes lift to mine.

I’m not sure what she sees on my face, but her chest rises with a full inhale, and the softest of smiles curls her lips.

Taking the last few steps to get to her, I bend and grab her by the hand, hauling her to her feet.

She gazes up at me, worry pulling at her forehead as her eyes move between mine. She opens her mouth, but she doesn’t get the chance to speak because I cover her lips with my own.

My hands glide into her hair and at first, I kiss her slowly, before pressing my mouth against hers more firmly. The sweet scent of cinnamon and vanilla fills my lungs, conquering my mind, and pushing me forward. I take her long hair in my free hand, wrapping it around my palm as I pull her bottom lip between my own, giving both little tugs. Opening my eyes, I lean back to look at her.

Her cheeks are flushed in a way that has my body heating and me dying to see more of it, but it’s her eyes that I can’t look away from.

They’re bright and open, the deep brown shining with an added copper glow, but more than that, it’s what I can’t see that has my muscles flexing. There’s no tension in sight, no pull between her brows and no hesitation in her touch. It’s as if she’s with me right now, fully. Completely. Her fears and anxiety tucked away, at least for now, and this time, when my hand falls, freeing her hair, it’s her who pushes forward, reaches up, and pulls my lips back down to meet hers.

All I can think is fucking finally.

Finally, she’s doing what I wanted by taking what she wants.

And it seems my Tutor Girl wants more of me.

Thank fuck, too, because I’m not sure I could ever get enough.