Moonshot
Page 21
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Tobey smiled at me, appreciation in his eyes. “Damn, Ty. I didn’t take you for a hellion.”
A hellion. I liked it, liked the look in his eyes, that wary pride. Liked the way his gaze stuck to my chest when he reached back into the minibar.
I thought we were special. Another clear bottle, and the room spun briefly, then stopped, the world back in focus, just as ugly, but Tobey tugged at the end of my hair and said something, something funny, and I laughed. He pulled my hand, leading me toward the couch, and I didn’t move, pointing back at the minibar, wanting just one more.
I was a hellion.
I was strong.
I was wild.
I could not be hurt.
I’d been falling in love. Wasn’t that how love felt? The connection that was impossible to fight? The unique tie between two souls that changed lives forever? This one didn’t burn going down my throat—it soothed, it warmed. I smiled at Tobey and realized, in an instant, how handsome he was. Rugged. He held out a soda, and I pushed it away. He pulled at the front of my shirt, and I stepped, or fell, into his arms. He pushed hair out of my eyes, and then we kissed.
Then we were on the couch.
Then he was above me.
Then everything that had once been pure, was gone.
I’d heard that it’d hurt the first time, but it didn’t. I hardly felt anything. And I didn’t, in the minutes before I stumbled back across the hall and into my own bed, think of Chase at all. I returned to my empty room, no sign of my father, my phone silent, no missed calls or texts. I hadn’t thought, in my night of recklessness, of Dad, and the possibilities of being caught. I crawled into bed and fell asleep with one bit of comfort, that he would never know what had happened.
Another dumb thought. One of so many that night.
Fuck Chase. And fuck being eighteen. So far, it sucked.
45
“Was it your guy?” Chase turned, finding the girl in the TV’s light, her approach closer, his eyes watching the blow of her hair as she moved, individual strands fluttering through the air.
“No, but he’s coming.” She bent over the table, doing a line. Chase felt sequins move against his hand and turned his head, laughing softly at the girl, kneeling by him, her hands on his belt. He pushed at her gently, and she tumbled back, a string of curses shot out. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered. Not for this tag-along. Not for the other girl, both of them here for the drugs. Drugs they weren’t providing, this tiny taste worthless. He watched her finish the line and snapped his finger, gesturing for the mirror, her pass too slow, his eyes narrowing.
At least she was brunette. Watching Ty sleep, her hair tangled against the pillow … it’d been so soft and white. So much like Emily’s. He shouldn’t have told her the stories, memories that had made him smile, but so painful in the aftermath, once she was asleep, once the room was dark and it was just her sighs and his thoughts. Too many thoughts, especially tonight. June 21st. The night he could never forget. The night always the hardest to get through. It was no coincidence that he’d gotten a DUI three years ago today. It was no coincidence that right now, he was here, surrounded by these idiots, craving an escape. Another few lines would do it. Then he’d be able to forget.
There was another knock, and he watched her stand, grabbing the cash, her move to the door unsteady on her heels. This visitor was right, a man’s voice heard, and he finished off his beer, sitting in the chair, anticipation pushing hard through his veins.
Soon, he’d forget. Soon, the anniversary of Emily’s death would be the furthest thing from his mind.
46
I didn’t want to see Chase Stern ever again. I didn’t want to see the smooth arc of his body as he jumped for a catch. I didn’t want to see the hug of his ass in baseball pants, the muscles beneath his uniform when he lifted his hands to adjust his hat. I didn’t want to see the twitch of his smile when his eyes met mine.
When he came on deck, I stayed in place, his slow and lazy climb passing up the steps to my left. I held my breath as he passed, my chin resting on my crossed forearms, my eyes stuck on Rodgers, who took a step off second. Chase stopped in the dirt before me, right in my line of vision, his practice swings slow and perfect. I straightened, my irritated huff subdued as I moved left, leaning against the dugout wall.
“Grab me a new bat?” My eyes flicked to him, dropping to the bat he held out.
“What?”
“I want to hit with something else.” His mouth did that thing that I didn’t want to see, where it twitched, as if we shared a secret.
“You always hit with that bat.”
His eyes flickered at my tone, and he stepped closer. “I’ll try the Marucci.”
“Why?” This was stupid. He’d hit with a Louisville Slugger all season, and now he wanted to try something new?
“Is something wrong?” Dad was suddenly there, next to me, his eyes hard on Chase.
“No,” I muttered, grabbing Chase’s backup bat, another Slugger, and thrusting it out to him, my eyes daring him not to take it.
He did, flipping the old bat toward me, the exchange wordless, the weight of Dad’s eyes stifling. Then Cortez hit a single and Chase was up, his glance at me unreturned, my actions brisk as I wiped off his original bat, sliding it into place, my back to him when he swung hard, the Louisville Slugger sending the ball high into the cheap seats, the home run adding three runs to the board.
Try a Marucci bat. Guess I wasn’t the only one walking around with a head full of stupid.
“What’s wrong?”
I froze, bent over my tennis shoe, my final knot of laces slow as I bought an extra second before standing. I looked up to the front of the locker room, where he stood, his hand on the doorway, an edge to his voice.
“Nothing.” I grabbed my jacket and shrugged into it.
“You’re not staying for the second game?” His gaze skated over my jeans. We were into the first inning of the second game, today a long doubleheader day.
“Just running up to the box, got a message for Heston’s wife.” I held up the folded piece of paper, a note I already peeked at, the sexual promises in it stopping my snoop three sentences in.
“You’re acting weird.”
I pulled the end of my ponytail out of my jacket, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t feel well.”
“This have anything to do with last night?” He stepped closer, and I moved back, grabbing at my phone. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not in front of this asshole. “It does.” He sounded surprised. “I thought you were okay with all of that. It wasn’t…” His voice softened. “I didn’t mean to push, if you weren’t ready—”
A hellion. I liked it, liked the look in his eyes, that wary pride. Liked the way his gaze stuck to my chest when he reached back into the minibar.
I thought we were special. Another clear bottle, and the room spun briefly, then stopped, the world back in focus, just as ugly, but Tobey tugged at the end of my hair and said something, something funny, and I laughed. He pulled my hand, leading me toward the couch, and I didn’t move, pointing back at the minibar, wanting just one more.
I was a hellion.
I was strong.
I was wild.
I could not be hurt.
I’d been falling in love. Wasn’t that how love felt? The connection that was impossible to fight? The unique tie between two souls that changed lives forever? This one didn’t burn going down my throat—it soothed, it warmed. I smiled at Tobey and realized, in an instant, how handsome he was. Rugged. He held out a soda, and I pushed it away. He pulled at the front of my shirt, and I stepped, or fell, into his arms. He pushed hair out of my eyes, and then we kissed.
Then we were on the couch.
Then he was above me.
Then everything that had once been pure, was gone.
I’d heard that it’d hurt the first time, but it didn’t. I hardly felt anything. And I didn’t, in the minutes before I stumbled back across the hall and into my own bed, think of Chase at all. I returned to my empty room, no sign of my father, my phone silent, no missed calls or texts. I hadn’t thought, in my night of recklessness, of Dad, and the possibilities of being caught. I crawled into bed and fell asleep with one bit of comfort, that he would never know what had happened.
Another dumb thought. One of so many that night.
Fuck Chase. And fuck being eighteen. So far, it sucked.
45
“Was it your guy?” Chase turned, finding the girl in the TV’s light, her approach closer, his eyes watching the blow of her hair as she moved, individual strands fluttering through the air.
“No, but he’s coming.” She bent over the table, doing a line. Chase felt sequins move against his hand and turned his head, laughing softly at the girl, kneeling by him, her hands on his belt. He pushed at her gently, and she tumbled back, a string of curses shot out. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered. Not for this tag-along. Not for the other girl, both of them here for the drugs. Drugs they weren’t providing, this tiny taste worthless. He watched her finish the line and snapped his finger, gesturing for the mirror, her pass too slow, his eyes narrowing.
At least she was brunette. Watching Ty sleep, her hair tangled against the pillow … it’d been so soft and white. So much like Emily’s. He shouldn’t have told her the stories, memories that had made him smile, but so painful in the aftermath, once she was asleep, once the room was dark and it was just her sighs and his thoughts. Too many thoughts, especially tonight. June 21st. The night he could never forget. The night always the hardest to get through. It was no coincidence that he’d gotten a DUI three years ago today. It was no coincidence that right now, he was here, surrounded by these idiots, craving an escape. Another few lines would do it. Then he’d be able to forget.
There was another knock, and he watched her stand, grabbing the cash, her move to the door unsteady on her heels. This visitor was right, a man’s voice heard, and he finished off his beer, sitting in the chair, anticipation pushing hard through his veins.
Soon, he’d forget. Soon, the anniversary of Emily’s death would be the furthest thing from his mind.
46
I didn’t want to see Chase Stern ever again. I didn’t want to see the smooth arc of his body as he jumped for a catch. I didn’t want to see the hug of his ass in baseball pants, the muscles beneath his uniform when he lifted his hands to adjust his hat. I didn’t want to see the twitch of his smile when his eyes met mine.
When he came on deck, I stayed in place, his slow and lazy climb passing up the steps to my left. I held my breath as he passed, my chin resting on my crossed forearms, my eyes stuck on Rodgers, who took a step off second. Chase stopped in the dirt before me, right in my line of vision, his practice swings slow and perfect. I straightened, my irritated huff subdued as I moved left, leaning against the dugout wall.
“Grab me a new bat?” My eyes flicked to him, dropping to the bat he held out.
“What?”
“I want to hit with something else.” His mouth did that thing that I didn’t want to see, where it twitched, as if we shared a secret.
“You always hit with that bat.”
His eyes flickered at my tone, and he stepped closer. “I’ll try the Marucci.”
“Why?” This was stupid. He’d hit with a Louisville Slugger all season, and now he wanted to try something new?
“Is something wrong?” Dad was suddenly there, next to me, his eyes hard on Chase.
“No,” I muttered, grabbing Chase’s backup bat, another Slugger, and thrusting it out to him, my eyes daring him not to take it.
He did, flipping the old bat toward me, the exchange wordless, the weight of Dad’s eyes stifling. Then Cortez hit a single and Chase was up, his glance at me unreturned, my actions brisk as I wiped off his original bat, sliding it into place, my back to him when he swung hard, the Louisville Slugger sending the ball high into the cheap seats, the home run adding three runs to the board.
Try a Marucci bat. Guess I wasn’t the only one walking around with a head full of stupid.
“What’s wrong?”
I froze, bent over my tennis shoe, my final knot of laces slow as I bought an extra second before standing. I looked up to the front of the locker room, where he stood, his hand on the doorway, an edge to his voice.
“Nothing.” I grabbed my jacket and shrugged into it.
“You’re not staying for the second game?” His gaze skated over my jeans. We were into the first inning of the second game, today a long doubleheader day.
“Just running up to the box, got a message for Heston’s wife.” I held up the folded piece of paper, a note I already peeked at, the sexual promises in it stopping my snoop three sentences in.
“You’re acting weird.”
I pulled the end of my ponytail out of my jacket, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t feel well.”
“This have anything to do with last night?” He stepped closer, and I moved back, grabbing at my phone. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not in front of this asshole. “It does.” He sounded surprised. “I thought you were okay with all of that. It wasn’t…” His voice softened. “I didn’t mean to push, if you weren’t ready—”
