Rounding Third (24 page)

I smile because Brax truly is a great friend—not only to Crosby, but also to me. He’s consistently been typecast as the party-loving friend, who is only concerned with himself, but that’s far from the truth. He’s an honorable friend.

He unlocks the doors of his truck with the key fob. It’s a nicer truck than Crosby’s because it was brand-new when he got it senior year for his grades.

The Brentwoods are the only family in Beltline who don’t rely on agriculture or the factory. Mr. Brentwood is an entrepreneur, a self-made millionaire through his development of apps. No one would have any idea how much money Brax had because his family lived in a modest four-bedroom house in the downtown area with no land. His parents wanted simple living when they moved to Beltline, and although it was an insult to us, they’re a nice, neighborly family.

I grab my phone to text Jen.

M
e
:
I’m going home. I’ll be back later.

N
o answer
, and I assumed as much. Jen’s alarm, if she had one, would go off around eleven, at the earliest. She’s one of many college students who selected the late afternoon and evening classes.

“So, you guys are, like, together again, right?” Brax asks over the low hum of country music sounding out of his speakers.

“Yeah,” I answer for the second time.

“You love him again?”

His eyes never veer my way, concentrating on the two-lane road ahead.

“I never stopped.”

He nods his head. “Yeah, you two were…are pretty fantastic together.”

I reach over and pinch his arm. “Is that your sweet side?”

A flush of pink creeps up his neck. “Hell no. Crosby’s happiness is priority.” His eyes focus on the road, ignoring my eyes watching the side of his face. “Jeez, El, let it go.”

I straighten my back as we pass the sign welcoming us to Beltline, biting my lip to stop the smile that’s begging to shine through.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re practically bouncing out of your seat in excitement. I’m not a dick.”

“I never thought that.”

“Sure you did. When I didn’t try to save him.”

My heart hurts from his admission of guilt. He thought he could have saved his friend.

“I never blamed you. Crosby’s demons are his and his alone.”

“Did I tell you about this girl I screwed the other night? She actually admitted she wanted to make her way through our roster.”

He changes subjects so fast that my head spins, but it spins to Noah’s house as we pass by.

Brax slams on the brakes, and I jolt forward. He throws his arm against my chest to stop me, but the seat belt clicks to lock.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, slowly moving over to the side of the road.

There’s fresh yellow paint, and the porch that once was falling down is now fixed in place. Her once wild grass has been cut, neat and fresh, and mulch has been laid down along the trees. Windows, you’d see your reflection out of.

“Did Mrs. Ford sell?” Brax asks.

I shrug because I didn’t hear of anything.

“Is she seeing a new guy?”

I shrug again because Mrs. Ford hasn’t much left her house since the accident. My parents regularly bring her fresh produce and eggs from the farm, but my mom never mentioned her house being redone.

Brax puts the truck back in drive, and my eyes soak in the new house until it’s out of sight.

Soon, we’re passing my family farm.

“You want me to drop you off here for a while?” He takes his foot off the gas.

I shake my head. “No, we’re here to see the Bishops. Let’s go to the store.”

“The store? It will be busy at this time,” he reminds me.

But we have no choice.

“I know.” I made a scene with Xavier weeks ago, and I can do it again.

We pass two other farms before the downtown area of Beltline comes into view. Brax drives us there, slowing at each drop in speed, showing how much he knows about this town. He parks in front of Uncle Wally’s store, but there’s a
Closed
sign on it. Usually, he’s here at the crack of dawn, but then again, he could very well be with Aunt Darla in Colorado, I suppose.

Brax turns off the iginition, and we each step out. Standing on the sidewalk, I stare at the large Bishop’s sign, and my heart constricts.

“Let’s go.” Brax takes the reins, and I can’t thank him enough for it.

He grabs my hand and weaves us through the parked cars. We step over the hump of grass with trees in the middle and dodge two cars. Brax is right. The place is packed. There are only two sparse carts available in the front.

We stand inside the doors, looking around for Mrs. Bishop, but there’s no sign of her.

Finally, she emerges out of the office door. Her red hair is pulled back into a hairnet, and her white apron is covered in dirt. She can often be found in the butcher part of the shop. She’s probably assuming the slaughtered cow, chicken, or pig is Crosby. The woman has been ruthless in her quest to demolish him.

She stops at a cash register, and then I notice the chaos of the store has quieted with the customers peering over at us. Every limb in my body weighs heavy, and my feet are sinking in cement when she stares over at us. Kedsey’s gray eyes peer back at me and narrow quickly.

Brax squeezes my hand in his and steps forward, giving me an extra pull to get me started. I fumble forward, but he doesn’t stop until we’re on the other side of the register, in front of her.

Two years have aged her. Now that we’re close up, I spot a few speckles of gray hair have mixed in with her red hair. Wrinkles and dark circles are present along the outside of her eyes.

“Braxton, Ella.” Our names leave her lips with disdain, making it known that she’s aware we’ve been sleeping with the enemy.

“Hi, Mrs. Bishop. Can we talk to you for a second?” Brax speaks first since my voice is lost somewhere I can’t find.

“No. I’m busy.” She punches some numbers in the cash register and then breaks away from people, pulling us over to the side. “I know why the two of you are here, and I will not step back from this issue. Crosby Lynch has no place in this town.”

“Please, Mrs. Bishop. Listen to us. It was a mistake, and I’m sorry for Kedsey, but it was a car accident,” Brax pleads his case.

“Braxton Brentwood, what do you care? You are what this town is about, and I’m not going to stand for this craziness of bringing some hero back to reclaim his life. It’s a lie. He should have gone to prison for what he did.”

My blood boils with each word that leaves her mouth, but my parents taught me to respect my elders and never talk back.

“He’s coming, no matter what.” Brax lets go of my hand and crosses his arms over his chest, as though that’s the end of the conversation.

His intimidation tactics will not work on Mrs. Bishop, like they do with the freshmen in his booth at the bar.

“Not if I can convince Sheriff Greg to stop him at the border.” Mrs. Bishop matches Brax and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve always been a good boy, Braxton. Don’t let him deter you.” She looks over at me. “I guess you’re a lost cause.”

“Go to hell, Mrs. Bishop.” My hand flies up to my mouth when I realize what came out.

Brax chuckles next to me before biting his lip to stop himself.

“What, Ella?”

I swallow and own what I said. The wrath of Ella Keaton to Mrs. Bishop has been brewing for two years.

So, saying a quick prayer that my parents don’t disown me, I continue, “You heard me. It was an accident. Crosby wasn’t doing anything wrong. Kedsey unbuckled herself. She was an amazing friend.” I look up at the stained ceiling of Bishop’s, as though Kedsey is high in the clouds. “I’m sorry,” I whisper and square my eyes toward Mrs. Bishop. “She wasn’t perfect, Mrs. Bishop.”

Her arms tighten further, but she says nothing.

“She partied with us, she drank with us, she smoked her first cigarette with us. We were teenagers, and the more you pressed your thumb down on her, the more she wiggled to escape. She wasn’t even going to return to this town after she went to college. She and Noah had plans. They were going to make a life together. Kedsey wasn’t some virgin Catholic girl.” Tears prick my eyes, and I swallow the lump that’s quickly blocking my airflow. “She was pregnant.”

Brax and the crowd listening gasp, and Mrs. Bishop’s eyes become slits.

This was common knowledge since the coroner was married to the town gossip. I’m not sure how many believed her, but I knew it before then. I’d found out when Kedsey told me the afternoon before the accident. She and Noah had snuck off Friday during lunch and taken the test. They were scared but happy.

I’ll leave out the details that they didn’t miraculously conceive and that it wasn’t their first time, and,
bam
, she was pregnant.

“Ella Keaton”—Mrs. Bishop’s arm extends that pointy finger toward the door—“get out. I never want to see you again.”

I glance over my shoulder to the stunned faces.

This is the moment. I have half of the town’s ears right now. It’s time to save Crosby.

“He’s a good guy. He’s done nothing wrong, and you’ve convinced this town to loathe him for something any one of us could have done. The blood tests revealed no alcohol and no drugs in his system. He was stone sober. Give us a reason to hate him, to ban him from this town,” I challenge her.

Brax holds my arm to stop me from approaching her.

“One reason. You want a list? He’s a self-centered high school jock who thought he had the world in his hands. Do you really think, if he’d gone to Vanderbilt, that he’d have stayed faithful to you? Get real, little girl. He would have dropped you. You think you love him. Guys like Crosby Lynch only know how to love themselves. As far as him wanting to reclaim what’s his, it’s a load of bullshit, and I’m not letting this town get hurt by another self-centered bastard.”

The people gasp at the fact that she swore. Mrs. Bishop is the most Bible-preaching lady in the county.

“Crosby isn’t Mr. Bishop.”

Her face only reddens, becoming meaner, but she needs to hear this.

“I understand your grief over being left behind in this town, but Crosby isn’t him. He’s kind, he’s sweet, and he’s determined. He’d never do anything to me or this town. He removed himself from this town and my life two years ago, and I won’t let you shame him into disappearing again. He will show up here Saturday, and so help me God, if you stop him, I will make sure my family cuts you off.”

Brax steps in front of me since I’ve been inching closer and closer to her, my anger quickly becoming uncontrolled.

“It might not happen until I take over that farm, but give me a reason to take this shop down with you. She was my best friend, and I miss her every damn day.” Tears sting my eyes. “Crosby and I lost two of our best friends that night, and I refuse to let you be the reason I lose another.”

Tears fall from my eyes and my body trembles. Brax quickly covers me with his body.

“Get her out of here, Braxton,” Mrs. Bishop says.

“I’m with Ella. My family bought this strip of real estate, and I’ll evict this shop when it’s my time to take over. You might not be here, but that’d leave Xavier with nothing. This is a great town, and people love it from the moment they step into the downtown area, but you’ve made it a nightmare for most of the past two years. You need to move on, Mrs. Bishop, and let others decide on their own. We all loved Kedsey, so let us remember her for the full-of-life beautiful girl she was, not the girl of the mother who poisoned Beltline with her hatred toward a boy who made a mistake.”

That earns Brax a few aahs from the customers, and even I’m staring up at him in awe that this is Braxton Brentwood, sticking up for his friend.

“The choice is yours,” Brax finishes. He tucks me into his arm, escorting me out of the shop.

U
nable to sit
around any longer and wait for Ella’s return, I head to the batting cages. The newspaper article will be out Friday, and in five short days, my cleats will be at the first place I felt like a king—the hot corner of Bengals Field at Beltline High School.

Images of people with pickaxes, ready to demolish me, continue to haunt my nights. The only time I’ve thought differently was last Sunday when I was able to sneak in and out of Creighton’s Hardware without problems. Hell, Mr. Creighton knew it was me and didn’t say a damn word. Mrs. Creighton’s shaky hands packed my stuff until he took over, and it spoke more than having no greeting.

I’m a cancer in that town, and if it wasn’t for Coach Weathers, I’d be backing out of this charity event, but he didn’t turn his back on me when I was trying to get Noah out of the car. Nope, he was right there, under the tree. The tree that took away his carefree days of running around with his kids.

Decision made, for Coach, I’ll put myself out there to be crucified.

I use my swipe card and swing my bat bag over my shoulder, walking down the dark hallway. Entering the room on my right, I flick on the dim lights, and the four batting cages lined side by side illuminate, putting my restless body as easy as a caged animal being set free. For now, the threat is outside, but not forever.

I hook my phone up to the stereo and play the radio since I’ve grown sick of my pump-up music. I’m in search of new music that revs me up.

I grab my bat, set up the pitching machine, and practice a few times. Still haunted from the visual of what’s waiting for me in Beltline this weekend, I whiff on the ball the first three times.

Taking Coach Weathers’s basic advice to me since I was ten, I step back, take a breath, and get back in the box. I do as he taught me as a kid, a kid who put too much stress on himself. I lived and breathed baseball until the accident. It was my life, and if I want to admit how much, I’d say Ella was put second in my life due to baseball. If that wasn’t the truth, I wouldn’t have convinced her that we’d make it at separate colleges.

I swing, and the ball hits the back wall. I set my feet up and slam the next one. Soon, I seem to be on a roll, and all I’m concentrating on is that ball and hitting it toward the wall. The anger, anxiety, and sadness pour out of me the more the bat connects to the ball.

My melancholy mood breaks away, and I’m slamming hit after hit until that damn “Thrift Shop” song starts playing.

Whiff.

Whiff.

Whiff.

Air. That’s all my bat is hitting—fucking air.

Noah’s screams are in my head. His pleas to save him. My legs lose all strength, and I collapse to the ground, crawling to a safe corner before a ball smacks me. As the ball machine keeps firing at me, like the fingers from that small town, I’m swallowed into that night.

My head is buried between my legs when the song switches again. The pitching machine is out of balls. I pick one up, throw it and it dings against the metal machine down the alley.

“Fuck this.” I stomp down to the machine, replacing all the balls into the machine, and I’m on my way back to the hitting box when Saucey, Ollie, and Derek walk through the door.

“Oh, man.” Saucey rubs his hands together. “I see a double or nothing coming on.”

I shake my head. “I don’t have any bets in me tonight.”

“Oh, Lynch, take your skirt off,” Saucey eggs me on.

But I position myself to hit the ball.

“Don’t miss!” Ollie screams as the ball is let out of the pitching machine.

I slam it against the back wall, best hit I’ve had all day.

The next ball is swinging out.

Ollie speaks again, “I hear your girl has been with Brax all day. What’s with that?”

Whiff.

Fuck.

I turn around, and a ball hits my back. I jump around until the sting diminishes.

“Watch out, Lynch.” Saucey laughs.

Some days, I’d like his head to be a baseball and introduce it to my bat.

I walk out of the cage, and Derek’s there with his bat.

“You mind?” He nods.

I hold my arm out, saying,
Go ahead
.

While Derek is in the batting cage, I take my phone off the Bluetooth and check for any messages from Ella.

Nothing.

“What’s got you down, Lynch? The fact that your girl might not be as hung up on monogamy as you?” Saucey baits me more, but I try to disregard his delusions.

“I trust my girl.” I start packing up my bag with the hopes that I can find her somewhere.

“Hmm…you do know about her freshman year? I mean, I imagine a couple like the two of you share everything, right?”

Although I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, I need to find out while convincing him that we do tell each other everything.

“Saucey, shut up.” Ollie elbows him.

But Saucey doesn’t relent. “Sometimes, you need to have fun.”

“Not at the expense of someone else,” Ollie says. He exits our conversation to grab his bat. “You need to grow up!” he hollers over his shoulder.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I’m not sure I care either.” I swing my bag over my shoulder.

Ollie fist-bumps me on my way to the door.

“Oh, I’d care if my girlfriend was a slut. I couldn’t even keep count on how many guys took her in a night.”

My hand grips the doorknob, like I’m the Incredible Hulk, and I expect it to crush under the pressure.

“Saucey, you’re toeing the line between asshole and razzer,” Ollie reminds him.

I turn around to face a smug Saucey. “I’d say he’s already an asshole.” I keep my reaction about Ella’s past hidden for the time being.

Although, I’m fuming inside imagining her with anyone, I can’t cast stones. I’m not innocent either.

“You’re not some golden boy, Lynch. One day, another pussy will lure you, and I can’t wait to sit back and watch you ruin your perfect damn image.”

Perfect image? I guess he’s the last to hear about my past.

“Why do you give a shit if I’m in love with someone? I don’t give a shit if you contract five STDs. It’s not my business. What is though is when you hurt my girlfriend’s friend. If you don’t want to keep it in your pants, then don’t start fucking relationships.”

“What? You’ve known Jen since school started? You don’t even get us.”

“I understand that some bitch whom you’re also fucking beat the shit out of her. Guys like you give us a bad name.”

My bat bag drops to the floor as he approaches me, obviously ready to fight.

“You’d better watch your mouth.” He steps up, but I’m at least three inches taller than him, so I easily stare down, waiting for the first punch to be thrown.

“Whoa, whoa.” Derek rushes out, separating us with his bat.

“Shit, King. Let Lynch beat the shit out of Saucey,” Ollie says.

Saucey flips his face Ollie’s way, and his mouth is hanging open.

We’re inches away from one another, our chests pressed to the bat. Both of us know, if we get caught fighting, we’ll be benched, and as tempting as it is to be benched for the charity event, I won’t go out that way.

“You’re not worth it.” Saucey backs up and turns on his shoes to get his bat bag.

“Do me a favor. Keep out of my relationship, and I’ll keep out of yours.”

“Deal,” he says, never facing me.

“And Ella is none of your business. Her name is never to leave your lips again.”

He shakes his head and remains quiet. I take that as an agreement.

I exit the batting cages and head to my truck.

By the time I reach my truck, my blood is boiling, and anger is overtaking my vision. I’m not sure what the hell Saucey was talking about in reference to Ella’s freshman year, and it’s none of my business.

I pull my phone out, needing to know why she’s been with Brax all day.

M
e
:
Hey, where are you?

T
he three dots
come up immediately, showing that she’s responding to me.

Ella:
I just got to your house. Where are you?

Me:
I’m leaving the field house. I’ll meet you there.

Ella:
Can’t wait.

M
y engine hesitates slightly
but turns over. Driving back to my house, I replay the argument with Saucey. I don’t want to be at odds with a player on the field, much less my roommate. That only hurts the entire team, so I mentally make note to talk to him later.

Only the family room light is glowing out the window, and it’s rare to see our house this quiet. Some foreigners to Ridgemont might assume it’s a family home with two-point-five kids tucked in their beds.

I swing my keys around my finger as I step through the door, finding Ella and Brax sprawled out on couches, watching television. I glance at the TV on my way to her, finding their usual—some reality television show with tons of drama. They love this shit.

“What’s up, Cros?” Brax asks.

I nod my head, not thrilled that he took my girl away all day and I don’t know where.

Ella’s look of elation reforms to narrowed eyes. I don’t stop my footsteps until I lay my body over hers. She straightens her back along the couch and wraps her arms around my neck. I kiss her long and hard, letting Brax see that she’s mine.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I whisper. I bite her bottom lip.

She shakes her head, and I release my hold on her lip.

“Nope. This is the last episode.”

I groan.

She smiles.

I groan again.

She sighs.

I groan once more.

She pushes me up, stands, and then holds her hand out for me to take.

Bingo.

“You must be one hell of a horse in bed to pull her away from this,” Brax mentions. His ankles are crossed, and the remote is in his hand. He’s the epitome of a laid-back college kid.

“Oh, I am.”

We’re on the way upstairs when I stop.

“And, next time you want to borrow my girl for the day, don’t.”

He laughs.

I don’t.

Ella shakes her head.

“As if you’d be jealous of me!” Brax hollers back.

Ella pulls me up the stairs.

He has no idea how badly I wish we’d all followed him that night instead of getting in the car. For that fact, I’m jealous of him.

* * *

I
t’s game day
, and instead of my normal excitement, I wake up in a cold sweat with my stomach in my throat.

The newspaper article came out yesterday, and surprisingly, the girl did a bang-up job of not making me look like a murderer. Quite the opposite, she elated Ella with her final word of advice to her followers.

Athletes are not your boy toy, and you do not have permission to touch him at your will.

Ella said she was going to highlight the line and post it on the front door of the baseball house with big black letters of warning. Brax, and Ollie disagreed and said they’d take my door off the hinges if she did. Each party agreed to stay on their sides.

The bus leaves for Beltline in an hour. I told Ella I’d meet her in our usual spot after the game. That there’d be too much going on, and she would be safest with Spencer in the stands.

I refrained to inform her of a few things. One being, I got Coach’s permission to drive myself. He probably thought it would be easier for me to get out of Dodge if the need arose. Nonetheless, Coach Lipton isn’t quite the asshole everyone pegs him to be.

I dump my bat bag in the bed of the truck. I have no idea if I’ll be in jail tonight, if I’ll be chased out of town, or if I’ll be embraced. That last option would be like making a triple play. Basically, it’d be a miracle.

The hour drive is nothing, and I love the fresh air that emanates through the open windows once I’m clear of Ridgemont. A breath I’m surprised I was holding releases when I pass the border into Beltline, and the National Guard isn’t there to stop me. No tanks are pointed in my direction. The sun is setting down behind the Keatons’ barn, and all the barn doors are closed, as though Mr. Keaton has stopped working before the sun has actually gone down. Unusual or him.

I pass my old house once I hit Beltline, two blocks from Brax’s. The town went all out, even decorating the light poles with Beltline school colors, yellow and blue. A big sign hangs between two trees in the downtown square with a picture of Coach Weathers and his family in the corner. The letters say,
Bring Back the Ball
.

My hands shake after I turn off the ignition, and I sit there, staring up at the Bishop’s sign.

Xavier is hauling pumpkins out into the bin, and bile runs up my throat. I grab my phone out of the cup holder, needing to call for help in case the guy beats me to a pulp.

I exit my truck.

He either hears my footsteps or spots my reflection from the glass because he whips around, eyes glaring and fists clenched.

“Get out.” He crosses his huge muscled arms over his chest as he widens his stance, telling me I’m not welcome.

Like I didn’t know that.