Full Count (The Catcher Series Book 1) (24 page)

             “Yeah, I remember that now, not wanting to wear the
pink shirt because it was girly,” I chuckle, feeling successful that I remember
something from my childhood even if it isn
’
t significant.
When I turn the page I encounter some more vaguely familiar memories. I think
they are only resonating with me because Skyler told me stories to go along
with them in the hospital. It
’
s two pages of Halloween
trick-or-treating photos where I
’
m dressed as Buzz
Lightyear. I gasp when I see one of me and Skyler in the hospital, me with
bloody teeth and him pointing at his bandaged
bunny
bite on his leg.

             “Whatcha doin, sweetheart?” I hear from behind me.
Did
he really just call me sweetheart in front of his mom?
I wonder nervously,
hoping my cheeks aren
’
t turning pink as a result. They
feel heated, so I assume I look like Barbie.

            Just as I open my mouth to answer him, I feel his
hands on my shoulders gently begin to massage me.
Wow my muscles are tight.
He
takes the breath right out of my lungs, so his mom steps up for me and says, “We
’
re looking through old photos to help her remember.”

            His hands are gentle on me, but I
’
m
so tense that it still hurts - a good hurt. I
’
m
hypnotized. And then to top it off by making the butterflies in my stomach turn
into spastic moths, Skyler whispers in my ear, “You could
’
ve
woken me up. You know I wanted to do this with you.”

             “Yeah, um,” I stutter, trying to ignore the tornado
he sends through my entire body down to my toes. He continues massaging me,
which doesn
’
t help my cause. His fingertips have a magical
touch that ignite all of my feelings. I take a deep breath to collect my thoughts,
and manage to say, “She just had them out already, and you looked really tired.”

            The three of us spend the rest of the morning looking
through our past, and things start clicking very slowly. I
’
m
not surprised that softball is my calling with how much we played baseball as
kids. Once I see and hear enough to believe I
’
m a rockstar
pitcher, I ask Skyler if he will catch for me. He
’
s
hesitant at first, but eventually we go down to the neighborhood park and start
throwing the ball around to warm up. Sitting around for the past week and a
half has made me restless; I have to go do something.

             “How
’
s it feel to throw the
ball around?”
he questions me.

             “It
’
s good, but I
’
m
kind of nervous to try pitching,” I admit. What if it
’
s
not the same? What if my softball career is completely forgone? Then what?

             “Just throw a couple. We
’
ll see
how you do,” Skyler suggests, squatting behind the plastic home plate we
brought with us.

            Taking a deep breath before the first pitch, I focus
on his glove and nothing else. Without thinking too much, I whip my arm around
in a circle and hop to throw the ball towards Skyler. I
’
m
not really sure what to think until I see Skyler
’
s
relieved face, and then I can breathe again. I guess it
’
s
good enough, at least for now.

            He throws it back to me, and my confidence grows with
each pitch as I vary the kinds from curveballs to fastballs, surprising him
each time I regain my composure on the pitching plate. I love being out here,
and I love the control I have over the field and myself. It
’
s
the kind of sport that can be played with nine people on each team plus
numerous specialty coaches or between two people with the love of the game. It
can go from slow and quiet to a quick double play or pickle or inside the park
home run and deafening energy. That
’
s the excitement that
keeps me wanting to play.

            The accuracy I
’
m throwing is
pretty incredible from my view; however, I don
’
t know what
my trusting catcher thinks. I assume the way I
’
m throwing
is ingrained in my muscle memory, so it
’
s not really
taking much of my effort. “I want to try something that we used to do,” Skyler
tells me, coming towards me after I could
’
ve thrown at
least three batters out to end an inning.

            Nervously, I ask, “And what is that?” I notice a
piece of cloth in his hand, and my insides start tumbling. Skyler steps behind
me and gently places the cloth over my eyes. “Sky, stop! What are you doing?”
I don’
t step away from him because I
’
m
afraid of the cloth catching on my stitches - but I
’
m also
afraid of what he wants to do.

            Lowering the blindfold, he explains, “B, we used to
do this all the time. It
’
s what set you apart from
everyone else and made you so good. Your accuracy and speed is unbelievable.
All this does is get you to focus.” He lightly grabs my shoulders and tries
shaking out my nerves, and I decide to give it a try. “If you don
’
t
want to do it, I won
’
t make you.”

             “You
’
re my coach, right?” I
laugh lightly, rubbing my sweaty palm on my athletic shorts.

             “Yeah, technically,” he chuckles back.

             “And this worked before?” I hope.

             “It did,” he confirms. “You just have to focus.”

             “Just be careful of my stitches,” I warn him.

             “I know,” he says.

            Reaching around my head again, Skyler rests the
blindfold over my eyes and ties it so it isn
’
t too tight
against my stitched forehead. It just barely grazes the top of my eyebrows; he
’
s careful not to irritate my wound. “You ready?” he calls out
to me.

            I feel the pitching plate beneath my feet and twist
the ball around in my glove to get the right grip for a fastball. With a deep
breath first, I try to focus on where I think he
’
s
squatting and throw the ball.

             “Whoa!”
Skyler shrieks, startling me.
Guess I wasn
’t quite ready. Oops.

             “What? I
’
m sorry! Did I hurt
you?” I rattle off as he approaches me to exchange the ball.

             “It just took a bad hop; didn
’t quite
get to me,
” he counters. “Just focus, really focus, on my glove. The
plate isn
’
t moving. Imagine being in a big game and it
depends on you.”

             “Okay,” I apprehensively accept the challenge.

             “I
’
m sitting behind home plate
watching you and critiquing you,” Skyler adds as I feel his lips against my ear
while he whispers. A tingling feeling runs from my neck down my spine as he
brushes past me to go back to home plate.

            My heart is racing, and it
’
s
mostly from the butterflies Skyler gives me when he gets close to me. I
’
m actually thankful I can
’
t see him, which
makes me wonder if that
’
s why he did it in the first
place; he knows his attractive looks are a distraction.

             “Focus,” he reminds me, and I go through the
necessary stages. First I imagine his glove in the perfect strike position,
then a big crowd in a big game and Skyler watching.
Wow, that
’
s a lot of pressure.
Deep breath, and I throw it.
The snap of the ball hitting the glove takes me by surprise, but suddenly I
feel different. Relief overcomes me, and the lead weight I
’
ve
been carrying around the past week and a half has lifted off my chest.

             “Sky,” I warn him of my timidness. I know he
’
s going to be walking the ball back to me, and with my muscle
memory in tact, I can feel some of my other softball memories slowly
approaching me. It
’
s a rush that I can
’
t
explain. The feeling of thousands of images and videos in the form of memories
being thrown at me is too fictional to believe, but it
’
s
actually happening.

             “
You still got it, B,
” Skyler
compliments me. When I hear him near me by stepping on the plastic plate, I
step away out of protectiveness. I
’
m trying to figure this
out on my own without being pushed. “Hey… are you okay?” he picks up on my
imbalance.

             “Will you do something for me?” I wonder, literally
on the verge of tears. Some scattered memories start flooding back in waves,
and I want to try something to see if it will trigger more, as if I
’
m not overwhelmed enough yet. I wonder if this is how it felt
for my grandma when she was battling a severe form of Alzheimer
’
s
a few years ago; at times she seemed to know everyone around her and the
memories attached to them, but then those grey, cloudy eyes would appear to
show they had been blown away. I want to grasp onto the idea that these
memories flooding back will stay with me forever now, but it may not be the
case. It
’
s frustrating to think about it like that, and
for a moment I share a prayer with my deceased grandma to help me.

             “Sure,” Skyler replies with shakiness in his voice.

            I reach my arm out, still blindfolded, and wait for
him to take my hand. After he does, I retrace my step back towards him, and
quietly demand, “Kiss me.” A gust of hot wind soars between us, and surprisingly
I get goosebumps on my legs and arms. His hand strengthens its hold on mine,
making me a little apprehensive despite the kiss being my suggestion. I
’
m not even sure he
’
ll do it yet, but it
doesn
’
t matter. Regardless of if it triggers my memories
or not, I know I like him even without knowing every little memory we share.

             “
Buzz, I-
” he stammers but cuts
himself off.

            A moment of silence lingers between us, and I realize
he doesn
’
t want to do what I asked. I must
’
ve
read the signs wrong.
Well, God, this is embarrassing.
At least I
’
m blindfolded and can
’
t see him. “Oh… I
’
m sorry. I just thought-” I try.

             “Stop,” he interrupts me forcefully. He grabs the
back of my head, and I immediately think he
’
s going to go
for the blindfold. Instead, he steps up to the plate and gently holds me and
leans in, pressing his lips on mine.

           
How could I have ever forgotten Skyler Swanson?

            Suddenly I feel like I
’
m in a
whole new ball park. I literally lose my balance as my mind is overwhelmed with
more returning moments from my life that I had forgotten. Not everything that
comes back to me is directly related to Skyler, but our connection revives
enough that I know it isn
’
t the first time we
’
ve kissed. Our lips break apart as I fall into his arms,
completely trusting that he
’
ll catch me.

             “B, stay with me. Are you okay? Please fucking say
something!” he panics, assuming I
’
ve lost consciousness.
His kiss
was
pretty good.

24 Skyler Swanson

 She asks me to kiss her after throwing a pitch while
blindfolded, and my heart starts fucking pounding to break free from my cold
chest. It has only been a little over a week since her accident; I don
’
t think it
’
s possible for her memories to
come back this quickly. Her stitches in her forehead haven
’
t
even been taken out yet. I just don
’
t want to get her
hopes up if the kiss doesn
’
t magically bring everything
back. But I can
’
t resist her. When our lips touch, I feel
what I
’
ve always felt with her. The sun suddenly is
shining brighter, the wind softer, and my life fuller. There
’
s
passion and need being exchanged between us until she collapses in my arms.

             “B, stay with me. Are you okay? Please fucking say
something!” I react to her jelly knees and limp arms. I catch her under her arm
and quickly reach to untie her blindfold. Thankfully she
’
s
breathing, but her eyes are closed. “
Buzz!
”

             “Ah, just hold on,” she whimpers loudly, like she
’
s fighting a demon inside her. I just hope that demon isn
’
t more effects of brain trauma. The way she
’
s
holding her head tells me it
’
s exactly that.
God, I can
’
t lose her.

             “I can
’
t ‘hold on
’
if you need help,” I argue. I have no idea if I need to get her to a
hospital or what is going on with her, but I
’
m worried as
fuck.

             “I remember,” she blurts out, but I
’
m
not sure if I hear her correctly. I fumble with my hold on her as my feet
stumble beneath me. We
’
re a hot fucking mess.

            Finally I just kneel on the ground and let her sit on
my lap, which makes her stop shaking. Looking into her eyes, I see Buzz, my
Buzz. I have seen that look so many God damn times, but nothing compares to it
in this moment. “You remember what, sweetheart?” I wonder, trying to bite my
cheeks from smiling too soon. I want to wait until she tells me before I get
too excited and ruin her break-through moment.

             “You… and… us,” she stammers with water pooling up
in her eyes. For fuck
’
s sake she
’
s
making
me
emotional. I have a feeling she doesn
’
t
remember everything - like the shit that happened with Chase - but clearly she
remembers enough.

             “Buzz, there was no ‘us
’
unfortunately,”
I confess, still holding onto her so she won
’
t slip off
me.
But fuck I wish there was.

            Her eyes roll as she smirks playfully. God, I missed
that smile -
her
smile. “Sky, there was always an ‘us
’
and
there always will be,” she poetically tells me.

            After hearing that, all I want to do is kiss her
again, but I can
’
t. Glancing towards the street behind her
I notice a pack of guys including Alex, Benny, and Sam approaching us with
baseball gloves of their own in their hands. They might as well be wolves; Alex
looks like he
’
s about to tear me to shreds.

             “Not if they have anything to say about it,” I
whisper in Buzz
’
s ear, causing her to flinch and turn her
head in their direction.

            When she looks back at me, I
’
m
fucking hypnotized by her beautiful sea green eyes. They
’
re
brighter for the first time in a long time, even before her accident. If hope
was tangible, it would be in her eyes. “Us against them, who wins?” she sings.
God,
I just want to fucking kiss her again
. This is some of the highest
restraint I
’
ve ever practiced, and I honestly don
’
t know how I
’
m fucking doing it.

            Sighing deeply and increasing my hold on her, I
answer, “Us, every time.” Alex
’
s eyes drill into me when
he recognizes it
’
s me and Buzz sitting on the ground in
the middle of the field, but I really don
’
t fucking care.
She fucking remembers me and whatever it is that we had, and I
’
m
not completely sure if she still feels something for me but at least we
’
re on the same team.

             “What the hell are you guys doing here?” Alex
shouts, slamming a baseball forcefully into his glove. Benny and Sam stand
behind him as if Alex is their leader and they
’
re all
resembling the snooty punks that think they are better than the Sandlot kids.
Evan, or “Smalls” as we used to call him, Tommy, Brandon, and Luke continue
past us, not wanting to get involved in our family shit. I don
’
t
blame them. They came to the park to play ball.

             “He was helping me pitch again, like we used to do,”
Buzz remains calm as she answers. She clearly doesn
’
t
remember her brother hating us together.

             “Like you used to do? What, like you suddenly
remember?” he snaps at her, and I actually think I hear some of Beth in his
voice, which scares me. He may not be supportive of me and his sister together,
but he
’
s always favorable towards Buzz alone.

             “Don
’
t treat her like that,” I
command softly, mostly under my breath out of frustration.

             “Actually I do remember. The blindfold helped
trigger some things,” she defends herself. She sounds strong, but I feel her
lean into me like she needs me. I know I need her to survive this.

             “
Shut up,
” Benny replies
dumbfounded. His eyes light up as if Buzz is the fuel to his fire, which is
kind of weird to see. “Why was she blindfolded? She just got out of the
hospital and she has stitches in her forehead!” He says this like I have no
idea she was in an accident at all. They
’
re clearly
fucking against the blindfold idea, which is exactly why I never wanted anyone
to find out about it when we started doing it.

             “Would you fucking shut up?” I yell, continuing to
not stand up. If Buzz still has noodle legs, it won
’
t help
our case at all. Plus I have her in my arms - I don
’
t need
anything else to feel superior to them. “Blindfolding her is part of her
pitching. It helps her focus.”

             “She pitches to you with that on?” Alex questions
curiously. His anger has turned into surprise mostly, but it still lingers.

             “Yes,” I answer firmly.

             “What if she hits you in the balls?” he mildly
chuckles as he asks me the question that everyone is thinking.

             “She won
’
t. I
’
ve
always trusted her, and she
’
s never done it. It
’
s the same as her pitching to me with her eyes closed. You saw
that this spring. Stop acting so fucking surprised,” I contest. Everyone stands
around us in silence awaiting our next move. No one knows where we go from
here; they obviously have no idea of the actual closeness between me and Buzz.
It isn
’
t just some fling with her, and I think they
finally realize that.

            Leave it to Buzz to fucking break the ice again. She
jumps off me and wraps her arms around her brother
’
s neck
and squeezes him. I notice she whispers something in his ear, too, but I can
’
t hear a word of it. All I know is that his posse continues
onto the field behind us as he waits for me to stand up and face him. Buzz
steps back so me and her brother can have a fucking moment together.

             “I guess I owe you an apology,” Alex starts,
crossing his arms over his chest. I raise my eyebrows at him to show I see
right through him. “I
’
m not going to give it to you right
now; I
’
ll just owe you.”

            “Whatever, jackass,” I groan.

             “All that matters is that she remembers,” he mutters
softly, like it really means something to him that the old Buzz is back.

             “No. That
’
s not all that
matters. There
’
s no way she even remembers everything,” I
disagree, stepping closer to him to get in his face. We are pretty equal in
size, but me fuming gives me a little edge. “She has brain trauma, in case you
fucking forgot. Her memory coming back isn
’
t the only
thing she needs to be over this.” I watch his eyes grow concerned as he looks
over at his sister who is watching us from afar. Benny is standing next to her,
but they don
’
t appear to be talking. “Did you know that
last night I picked her up from your house because your fucking mom couldn
’
t be bothered to turn the TV down at 1:00 a.m.?”

             “No,” he admits, shrugging in defeat. “How did you
know?”

             “Buzz called me in agony,” I proclaim.

            I watch Alex pinch his nose between his eyes and
sigh, and I really hope he
’
s done being pissed off at me.
All I want is for his sister to be okay, and he just needs to fucking
understand that.

             “
I don’
t want you to hurt her
again,” he tells me, but not in an accusatory way.

             “
Then don
’
t
fucking make me,” I declare. “Don
’
t… don
’
t
set me up with other girls or tell me what I can and cannot do with her. I
’
ll protect her now. I want to be with her, and I
’
ve
wanted that since before the accident, and you know it.”

            He takes a moment to really think about it, and for a
second I
’
m kind of nervous he
’
s still
going to say no.

            Without a sign of sarcasm, he says, “Whatever
happened to bros over hoes?”

             “She
’
s not a hoe,” I defend
her, not even having to think twice, and brush past him, purposely hitting my
shoulder into his. I approach Benny and Buzz who are standing far enough away
that they couldn
’
t have heard us.

             “I assume that didn
’
t go well,”
Benny announces. He looked hopeful that maybe Alex will come around until I
walked away from him the way that I did. Now he just looks disappointed again.

             “Not the fucking greatest,” I start telling him, but
I can
’
t leave it like that after seeing Buzz
’
s
face fall. Her brother and I both mean so much to her that I know it
’
s important we work through this and be better for her. “But I
think I may have gotten through to him.”

             “He
’
ll come around,” Benny
encourages me, giving my arm a slap before he heads towards the guys on the
field.

             “Hey!” I call after him. When he spins around to
face me again, I add, “Does this mean you have?”

            Looking amused, he says, “I
’
ll
see you guys later.”

            Later that afternoon after Buzz takes a nap on my
couch, we
’
re waiting for my mom to make us grilled cheese
sandwiches when she leans over and whispers, “Can you help me wash my hair
today?” She cringes when she says it, and I
’
m not sure if
it
’
s because the idea sounds painful to her or if she
thinks I won
’
t do it.

             “Yeah,” I assure her, reaching to lightly scratch
the top of her head. My fingers slide through the grease coated on her hair.
The last time she washed it must’ve been when Gerty did it in the hospital. “We
’
ll just have to be careful of your stitches.”

             “Ugh, just forget it,” she whines. “I
’
ll
put on a hat.”

             “As cute as you look with a hat on, I think you
should wash your hair,” I snicker. A well-deserved slap comes across my arm. “What?
I
’
ll help you,” I laugh.

            After our classic grilled cheese snack, Buzz and I
walk over to her house so we can wash her hair. I grab the stool from the
vanity in her bedroom and bring it into the bathroom as she
’
s
feeling the temperature of the water as it comes out of the faucet in the
bathtub. A folded towel is lying on the edge of the porcelain to help comfort
her neck as she lies backwards on the stool. Her head hangs over the side of
the tub, and I support it with my hand so she won
’
t strain
her neck. The water from the faucet is barely grazing her hair, but that
’
s my intention. The force from the water will easily irritate
her stitches, so I grab the cup I brought up from the kitchen, fill it with
water, and gently pour it onto the top of her head, careful not to dampen her
forehead.

             “You comfortable or do you need to move?” I wonder
after she shifts herself a little closer to the water.

             “I
’
m fine. I just want to make
sure all my hair-” she tries explaining.

             “I got it,” I stop her, pouring another cup over her
hair. “Just relax.” I know she isn
’
t used to being
helpless. But every time someone plays with my hair I enjoy it. I want her to
feel the same sensation.