Cinderella Steals Home (23 page)

And whenever I saw him, it only made me want to keep going, to keep singing.
 

But now I guess I'll never know what that's like.
 

I look at my phone, and while there's still nothing from Doan or anyone else, a calendar alert pops up reminding me that we have a baseball game today.
 

My heart drops.
 

Baseball.

And Doan.

I'd known that I'd see him there, of course, but it hadn't exactly been something I'd given a lot of thought to, and I definitely hadn't remembered that we have a game this morning.
 

I glance at the clock and realize that I need to be at the field in half an hour. For a second, I consider staying in bed and wallowing, but then I think of Justin and Dad and my other teammates, and how we all really do want a shot at the postseason tournament and silly pig trophy even if they don't mean all that much, and I know I'm not going to let them down by not showing up.

So I drag myself into the shower, dig out my baseball uniform, find my bat and glove, and force myself into my car.
 

I think of nothing but Doan the whole way to the field.
 

I'm not sure what he's going to say to me, but I know now that I won't breathe a word to him.
 

This is his decision. He's doing this.
 

If he didn't show up last night because he wants nothing to do with me, then I'm not going to go crying to him about it. I'll let him have what he wants, which is none of me.
 

And if he didn't come because he's got some great reason I can't think of, then he should be sprinting over to me first thing to throw himself at my feet and beg for my forgiveness.

Or something like that, anyway.

But this is all on him.
 

He did this to us, and if he wants to fix it, he knows exactly where to find me.
 

I pull the car up alongside the diamond and notice that Doan's pick-up truck isn't in the parking lot. I'd promised myself I wouldn't look for it, but who are we kidding?
 

I'm a freakin' mess.
 

Justin and Dad are both in the dugout and greet me cheerfully. I'm pretty sure my brother has no idea what happened, and I hope my eyes aren't as red and gross as they were an hour ago.
 

"How was work last night?" Justin asks.
 

"Oh," I say, trying to keep my voice light and airy. "It was good. What'd you do?"
 

"Doan and I shot some pool and grabbed a couple pitchers of beer," he says with a shrug, and it's obvious to me that he has no idea how much his words sting me. It's like a thousand wasps all decided right now is a great time to attack, and they're all going after my heart.
 

I drop down onto the bench and try hard not to seem rattled, but I'm pretty sure my breathing's funny and my head feels like it's about to blast off into outer space.
 

I mean, what?

Beers? And pool?
 

That's
what kept Doan from coming to Gemma's last night?
 

There's no emergency. No one's dead or in the hospital. No car accident. He hasn't broken an arm and probably didn't even lose his phone.
 

All of those things, of course, had passed through my mind on a loop as possible explanations for why he didn't come.
 

But no.

Beers. And pool.
 

With my brother.
 

Is he
kidding
?
 

Suddenly, I'm not so much sad as I am downright livid. How dare he do this to me? How dare he play me like this? How could he possibly --
 

"Hey, guys."
 

I freeze, right in the middle of my mental assassination of Doan Riley.
 

Because none other than the victim himself has just strolled into the dugout like he doesn't have a care in the world, tossed his bag aside and greeting the rest of us all casual and cool.
 

Like his insides aren't being slowly ripped out the same way mine are.
 

And I'm just sitting here wondering if this is really my life.
 

I immediately start rooting around in my bag, refusing to look at him, anger definitely still coursing strong through me.
 

Beer and pool.
 

I shake my head, trying to keep a bitter laugh from creeping out.
 

And then something happens.
 

I'm not sure why, exactly, I feel compelled to look up at Doan Riley at this exact moment, but I do, and my eyes meet his, and there's a stunning sadness behind them that disappears right away, but I saw it, and it's not what I expect.
 

So for the millionth time in what feels like five minutes, I'm confused all over again.
 

I wait just a second for him to approach me, but he doesn't, and he breaks our eye contact a few beats later.
 

I start to feel myself getting closer and closer to snapping when Dad stands up and calls the team to a huddle around him. I make sure to stand as far away from Doan as possible; I can't even see him from where I am, and that's a good thing.
 

Dad gives us a pep talk that I don't hear, then sends us off into the field to start the game.
 

As I reach for my glove to take my place at third base, Dad reaches out and stops me.
 

"Hey," he says. "Wait. Holly. Are you okay? You seem distracted."
 

I shake my head. "No, I'm good."
 

"Are you sure?" he asks. "You can DH today if you need to."
 

"No way," I tell him, knowing that means I'll just sit on the bench and wallow in my own miserable, angry thoughts. "I'm fine. I just want to play baseball."
 

I'm pretty sure my cheeks try to smile for the first time in the last 24 hours when I realize how true it is.
 

This baseball diamond, even if it means Doan's right under my nose, is the only place I want to be to get through this.

I need the game.

So I do what I know best and jog out onto the field and over to third base.
 

Doan pitched in our last game in California so he isn't on the mound, and for some reason, he isn't in the bullpen, either. He's hanging out in the dugout with a couple other guys.
 

But I'm determined now to only focus on the game.
 

It's why I'm here.
 

And I refuse to let my eyes wander over to him, to see if he's looking at me first.
 

He won't be.
 

Right?

He is.
 

I break my own promise when I look at him, but quickly glance away when our eyes meet again.
 

What is with him?
 

He's making me nuts. I can't take much more of this. I'm not going to be able to play baseball if this is how it's going to be.

We're going to have to talk about this, one way or another, because not knowing is going to make me crazy.
 

And just like that, the top half of the first inning is over, and I realize I haven't seen a single pitch.
 

That, you might be able to guess, isn't a great thing when you're on the field.

Oops.

I wander back into the dugout. I don't bat until sixth, so there's a reasonable chance that I won't be up at all in the bottom of the first.
 

I'm not sure what comes over me, but the next thing I know, I'm throwing my glove to the bench and marching right over to Doan Riley.
 

"Let's talk," I say, interrupting his conversation with another pitcher.
 

Ben looks at me with raised eyebrows before shrugging and getting up off the bench.
 

Doan doesn't meet my eye.

    "Well?" I say at last.

    He finally looks at me. "Holls, I don't think I can."

   "Don't," I say through gritted teeth, "call me Holls."

    "I -- I don't know what to say," he says.

    "Come with me. We're not talking here."

    I ignore the fact that he's just said he doesn't want to talk to me, turn and walk out of the dugout and head over to the fence near the parking lot.

    I'm pretty sure I'm mad enough to make a scene if he doesn't follow me.

    And he might realize that, too, because when I turn around, he's right behind me.

    "Well?" I demand for the second time.

   He lets out a sigh. "I don't know what you want me to say, Holly."

    I lift my eyebrows. "You've gotta be kidding me."

    "Okay," he says. "Fair. I know what you want me to say. Look, for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry I wasn't there last night. But I couldn't be."

    "Why?"

    He lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "It's so damn complicated."

   
"Beers and pool with my brother is complicated?"
 

    "I'm sorry," he says.  "Look, if you want to talk about this, it isn't going to be here. Come with me after the game."

    "We're talking about this now, Doan, or not at all and this is the end. Your choice."
 

    "We're in the middle of a game, Holly."

    "I don't give a damn about the game."

    Doan looks back over at the field, then down at me. He sighs, then motions me to follow him. We walk over to his truck and I get into the passenger seat.

    He pulls his phone out of the console, shoots off a text to my brother to tell him not to expect us back for the rest of the game, then squeals out of the parking lot without a word to me.

    "Well?" I demand.
 

    
The irony of leaving in the middle of a game isn't lost on me when the only reason I'm here in the first place is so I don't let my teammates down.
 

    He shakes his head. "Wait, okay? Just wait. We'll talk when we get there."

    "Where are we going?"

    "Holly,
please
!" he says, and I'm not sure he's ever taken this pleading but also scarily harsh tone with me.

    I do as he says and flop back against my seat in silence, arms crossed over my chest.
 

    Doan accelerates down the road, and I watch as the speedometer creeps higher and higher. I weigh my irritation with him for asking me to be quiet with the growing beads of sweat popping up on my hands.

   "Hey," I finally say. "Maybe slow down?"

    He doesn't look at me. "I know how to drive."

    I suck in a breath. "You sure about that? You do remember how we met, right?"

    He throws up his hands in the air and slams them back down on the wheel. "Have you ever let me forget? Just once? Have you ever let me forget?"

    "Maybe I don't think you deserve to forget!" I yell back. "Maybe you're exactly who I thought you were this whole damn time, Doan."

    "Or maybe you have no idea what you're talking about."

    My eyes flash as I turn in my seat to face him. "That," I hiss in a low growl, "is because you never tell me anything about you."

    The engine's roaring louder than I've ever heard a car engine before. It's almost like it's screaming beneath all the stress Doan's putting it under.

    "Doan," I say, my voice calmer than before. "I really think you should -- "

    I'm still looking at him when I see his eyes grow wide and his mouth drop open but no sounds comes out.

    And I'm still looking at him when the sickening crunch of metal colliding with metal streams into my ears, the overpowering smell of burning rubber fills my nose, and the darkness closes my eyes even though I'm positive they're still open.

   
I'm still looking at him when everything goes black, the world fades away and the only sound I hear is nothing.

***  

    I wake up what feels like minutes later and find myself staring at a white ceiling in a room with white walls and a faint, steady beeping humming away from somewhere behind me.

    I blink a few times and try to sit up and then Dad's face is inches from mine and I almost scream.

    "Jeez!" I exclaim, then I start coughing and can't stop.

  
 
Dad backs away, but he doesn't go very far. "Holly!" he cries, and there's a strange sense of relief in his voice, and I don't understand it. "Take it easy. Don't overexert yourself. Justin, get the nurse."

    My brother scurries past the foot of the bed I just now realizing I'm lying in.

    "Huh?" I say between sputtering coughs.

    "You're okay," Dad breathes, and he finally backs away enough for me to feel like I can let out some air. "Thank goodness, thank goodness."

    "Of course I'm okay," I choke out, but I have to admit, I'm a little worried about why talking suddenly seems so hard. "What the heck, Dad?"

    He just shakes his head and presses his thumb and index finger into his eyes. A few seconds later, he looks at me.

    "You were in an accident, Holly," he says. "In Doan's pick-up truck during the game. Do you remember?"

    I raise an eyebrow and think back but the last thing I remember is demanding Doan follow me out of the dugout at the game.

    "Nope," I say. "But I'm pretty sure there's no amnesia going on here. I remember everything leading up to whatever accident you're talking about."
 

    Dad looks at me and laughs, but there isn't a lot of humor in the sound. "Okay," he says. "Well, I guess that's good. Your brother went to get the nurse. She should be here any minute."

    "Doan's car?" I ask.

    Dad nods, and I feel a pit form in my stomach. I still don't remember what happened but if it was bad enough to land me in the hospital and put
that
look in Dad's eyes...well, I'm not sure I want to know the details.