This Is Falling(64)

“Yeah, why? You know him?” I say, hoping like mad that this situation doesn’t get any worse.

“Nah, Tucker’s just a * name. That’s all,” he says, and Cass smacks the side of his arm with her bag. “Ow! Anyway…it’s a terrible idea because Nate’s going to be looking for you. And if he looks for you, and you’re not there, he’s going to play like shit. And he can’t play like shit.”

“But what happens if he sees me sitting next to Tucker?” I ask, not really sure how that’s any better.

“Yeah, you got me there. If he sees that he’ll play like shit. Huh…well, let’s get a move on then. I don’t wanna miss my brother’s crappiest game since little league when he was twelve,” Ty says, flinging the door open in his wake and waiting for me in the hall.

I stare at the door for a solid five seconds, weighing my options—weighing everything Ty said. And in the end, I know I’m going to his game. Not because I want to be there for him to see, but because I want to see him. Because I need to see him. Because I need to tell him I love him and end the fussy fuss.





Nate





My head is not completely in the game. It’s a crappy Ivy League team, so I know the competition won’t be too tough. If ever there was a game not to be fully invested in, this was it. I just needed to show up enough to make a good impression on coach, not make him regret bringing me in and playing me over his senior catcher.

I keep looking in the stands, waiting for Rowe to be there. But there’s still thirty minutes before game time, so I try to distract myself with a few rounds in the cages.

“Hitting with a little extra heat today, huh Preeter?” Coach Morris has been trying to get me to unleash my swing during the last few exposition games. He’s right—I’ve been swinging timid. And Rowe was right, too—I’ve been dipping my shoulder. I started working on that last week, and I’ve been striking the ball better ever since. I was excited to show off in front of her today, but now all I’m excited about is seeing her here period—knowing she doesn’t hate me.

“I’ve been working on it, yeah,” I say between grunts and swings.

“Good, well…whatever it is you’re doing, do more of that,” he says, going back to the charts on his clipboard before laughing and adding under his breath, “That’s what they pay me for. Coaching wisdom. Do more of that.”

Coach Morris is half the reason I’m here. He’s one of the best hitting coaches in college, despite what he says. And if I can come out of here with a halfway decent swing, I might really have a shot at catching in the majors.

I take a few more rounds, then my pitcher calls me out for warm-ups. Even though I tell myself I’m not going to look, the row of seats right behind the dugout is the first place my eyes go to when I jog out on the field. Ty’s always the first thing I see—probably because my eyes are trained to look for him after so many years of having him come to my games. But then they fall immediately on Rowe. She can’t see my eyes clearly through my mask, so I take this opportunity to really stare—long and hard.

God, I’m an idiot. If I could get one redo in life, it would be to go back to that moment outside the Thunder’s stadium—in that very second when I realized it was Sadie standing behind me. I wouldn’t even bother to turn around. Instead, I’d just grab the sides of Rowe’s face and kiss her, like one rude show-off in front of my ex-girlfriend. And not because I give two shits how it would make Sadie feel. Actually, I don’t like the idea of making her feel bad. But if it would wipe away all doubt in Rowe’s mind and make her realize how much she means to me, then I’d kiss her for hours right in front of Sadie just to prove my point.

“Preet! You ready?” Cash is tossing the ball, playing with his grip, ready to warm.

“Yeah, sorry. Just waiting for someone to show up. But it’s all good. She’s here,” I say, sliding the mask up on top of my head so we can throw for warm-up.

“Which one, that sexy little blond thing next to your brother?” he asks, and I smile and shake my head.

“No, that’s my brother’s girlfriend. But feel free to tell him you think his chick is hot—he likes that. Mine’s the other girl, darker hair, long-ass legs,” I say, waiting for him to throw back to me so I can turn around and take her in one more time.

“You mean the one that dude’s hitting on right now?” he says, and I just hold up my hand to halt his throw. What. The. Fuck?

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” I grit through my teeth. Cash walks up next to me, putting his elbow on my shoulder.

“So, I’m taking it—he’s not supposed to be here?”

“No. And in a few minutes, he won’t be breathing,” I say, tossing my mask from my head, and dropping my glove to the ground before I break into a jog.

Rowe doesn’t see me coming at first, but Ty does. I make eye contact with my brother, and mouth a few choice words, but he just shakes his head and laughs. Without even hesitating, I hop the small wall in front of the seats and climb up the two rows to the dugout row where the big bodybuilder man is now sitting way too f*cking close to my girl.

“Hey, who the f*ck are you?” I ask, unable to stop myself. I passed civil and polite twenty yards ago, and I’ve gone straight to crazy.