Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(96)

“Maybe,” says Dad. “But you’ll still be able to play a couple      of innings on Monday. They’ll need you to close the game out.”

Mom takes off her pearl necklace. “I talked to Mrs. Rowe last      week. She said that Ryan has a rare talent.”

“He does,” says Dad. “Baseball.”

“No,” bites out Mom. “Writing.”

Dad rubs his eyes. “Explain to your mother you’re not      interested in the writing.”

“Ryan, tell your father what Mrs. Rowe told me. Tell him how      much you enjoy her class.”

My shoulders curl in with the anger. I hate their constant      fighting. I hate that I’ve caused them to fight more. I hate that they’re      fighting over me. But what I hate more is the feeling that everyone else is      controlling my choices. “I love baseball.”

Dad releases a sigh of relief.

“And I love writing. I want to go to the competition.”

Dad swears under his breath and heads for the fridge. I turn in      my chair to face him. “You’ve never let me walk away from a competition before      and I don’t like the feeling of giving up. I’ll miss one game. And this is      recreational league play. It would be different if this was spring season.”

Dad pops open a bottle of beer and takes a swig. “What happens      if you win the writing competition? Are you going to give up pitching against      the best team in the state for a piece of paper that says congratulations?”

“I want to know if I’m any good.”

“Jesus, Ryan. Why? What difference would it make?”

“I’ve been offered the chance at a college scholarship—to play      ball.”

Dad stares at me and the dishwasher enters the rinse cycle.      “Have you been talking to college scouts behind my back?”

Yes. No. “The recruiter made sense. He said their pitch coach      can help me with my placement issues and teach me to break the tell on my      pitches. They’ll pay for me to go to school and I can get free coaching. I can      train with them for four years and then go for the pros.”

Beer sloshes from the bottle when Dad throws out his arms.      “What happens if you get injured? What happens if instead of improving, you lose      your edge? You’re a pitcher. There is no better time for you to go after your      dreams than now.”

“What if...”

He stalks across the kitchen and slams the beer down in front      of me. “Do I need to remind you how much money we’ve pumped into you? Do you      think the coaching we’ve paid for over the years is cheap? Do you think the      equipment, the Jeep we bought you were free?”

My gut aches as if he punched me. “No. I don’t think they were      free. I’ve offered to get a job.”

“I’m not looking for you to get a job, Ryan. I’m looking for      you to do something with your talent. I’m looking for you to make a name for      this family. I want to know that the years your mother and I have sacrificed      financially, emotionally, with our time are not in vain.”

Mom calmly folds her hands on the table. “He does have talent,      Andrew. You’re angry he doesn’t want what you want. You’re angry he’s choosing      something different.”

“Baseball is what he wants!” Dad’s knuckles turn white as he      grips the back of the chair.

“You have no idea what anyone in this family wants.”

His voice shakes as he talks. “What do you want, Miriam? What      will finally make you happy? You always wanted me to run for mayor and I’ve      agreed to it. You wanted me to expand the business and I am. I have done      everything to make you happy. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want my family back!” Mom screams. Over the past months, my      mother has been sarcastic and rude to my father. But in seventeen years, I’ve      never known her to scream.

The shock wears off Dad’s face. “You can’t have it all! Do you      want your friends to know that your son is gay? Do you want your church to know      your son is gay?”

“But we could talk to Mark. Maybe if he agreed to keep it a      secret—”

“No!” my father roars.

I lean back in my chair, disgusted with them. Disgusted with      myself. Since Mark walked away, I’ve been so obsessed with the fact that he left      that I never really listened to what my parents were saying. It makes me realize      that I probably never really listened to Mark either. No wonder he left. How      could anyone live with so much hate?