Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)(11)

My aunt stares at me, her eyes bleak. “She signed over custody. He’s your legal guardian now.”

Ryan

THANKS TO THE SHOWERS at the community center, there’s no need to head home. Clean and dressed in street clothes, I return to heaven.

Everyone has left the ballpark. The bleachers are empty. The concession stand closed. Kenny Chesney blares from the parking lot, meaning that Chris ignored me when I told him I’d catch up with him later. Chris is really good at three things—playing shortstop, loving his girl, and knowing what I need even when I don’t know it myself.

At least most of the time.

From the community pool, little kids squeal in delight in time to the sounds of splashing and the bounce of the diving board. My brother Mark and I spent most of our summers swimming in that pool. The other part, we spent playing ball.

I stand on the pitcher’s mound, except this time I’m in blue jeans and my favorite Reds Tshirt. The early evening sky fades from blue to orange-and-yellow. It’s no longer a million degrees and the breeze shifts from the south to the north. This is my favorite part of the game—the time alone afterward.

The rush of winning and the knowledge I have a scout interested in me still linger in my blood. My lungs expand with clean oxygen and my muscles lose the tension that weighed me down during the game. I feel relaxed, at peace, and alive.

I stare at home plate and in my mind I see Logan crouched in position and the batter taking a practice swing. My fingers curl as if I’m clutching the ball. Logan calls for a curve; I accept, except this time I…

“I knew you’d be here.” In her brown leather cowboy boots and blue dress, Gwen swings around the gate into the dugout.

“How?” I ask.

“You screwed up the curve.” In one smooth motion, Gwen sits on the bench in the dugout and pats the wood beside her. She’s playing a game. One I’ll lose, but damn if my feet don’t move toward her.

She looks good. Better than good. Beautiful.

I ease down beside her as she tosses her blond ringlets behind her shoulder. “I remember you explaining the bases to me in this dugout. The best baseball conversation we ever had.”

I lean forward and clasp my hands together.

“Maybe you missed part of the conversation, because I wasn’t explaining baseball.”

Gwen flashes her bright smile. “I know, but I still enjoyed the demonstration.”

Our eyes meet for a moment and I glance away when heat crawls along my cheeks.

Gwen’s the only girl I’ve had any real experience with. She used to blush when she talked about anything sexual, but she doesn’t today. Nausea rolls through my gut. What new bases has Mike taught her?

“You seemed out of it during the game.” The material of her dress swishes as she crosses her legs and angles her body toward mine. Our thighs touch now, creating heat. I wonder if she notices. “Are you having problems with your dad again?”

Gwen and I spent countless afternoons and evenings in this dugout. She always knew when Dad pushed me too far with the refs or that if I played like crap, I’d come here for clarity. “No.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Everything. Mom and Dad fighting. Mark’s absence. Me and pro ball. My friends/not-friends relationship with Gwen. For a moment, I think about telling her about Mark. Like the rest of the town, she remains blissfully unaware. I stare into her eyes and search for the girl I first met my freshman year. She wouldn’t have messed with me then.

Unfortunately, I’ve since become her favorite pastime. “I’m not in the mood to be played, Gwen.”

Gwen raises her hand and twirls her hair around her finger. The glint of a large red-stoned ring strikes me like an ice pick. I shift so that our thighs no longer touch. “Mike gave you his class ring.”

She drops her hand and covers it with the other, as if hiding the ring will make me forget it’s there. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Last night.”

“Congratulations.” If I could have let more anger seep out I would have.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know.” My voice rises with each word. “For starters, not be here screwing with me.”

She ignores my comment as her own voice hardens. “Mike’s a good guy and he’s always around. He’s not gone all the time and doesn’t have a thousand commitments like you.”

In all of our breaks and breakups, we never fought. Never raised our voices at each other.

Before, I never considered yelling at Gwen; now it’s the only thing I want to do. “I told you that I loved you. What else could you want?”

“To be first. Baseball always came first with you. God! How much clearer a picture did you need? I broke up with you at the beginning of your seasons.”

I stand up, unable to sit next to her. How much clearer a picture? Obviously I needed detailed drawings with written directions. “You could have told me that’s how you felt.”

“Would it have changed anything? Would you have given up baseball?”

I curl my fingers into the metal of the fence and stare out at the field. How could she ask that type of question? Why would any girl ask a guy to give up something he loves?

Gwen’s playing games right now and I’ve decided to throw the pitch that ends the inning.