“Whatever makes you feel better, bro. I can take it,” he laughs. And he keeps laughing the entire time I walk back out to the bullpen.
“How’d that go?” Cash asks, nodding to the girl I just pissed off beyond recognition behind me.
“Not well, Cash. Not well. Just throw the damn ball,” I say, pulling on my mask and squatting, an extra bit of juice still coursing through my veins. I was going to hit the ball hard tonight, but like hell if I ever wanted to get pumped up with something like that again.
Coach was pleased. Two triples and a homerun—I’d say it’s a personal best. I swung like I was taking my bat to Tucker-fucker’s midsection, and I ran like I was hunting him down. I am not a jealous person, or at least, I’ve never had a reason to feel like this before. And I don’t think I like it.
As the game wore on, the reality of my behavior really started to set in, and by the seventh inning, I found myself afraid to step out from the dugout in Rowe’s view. God, I didn’t even want her to look at me, I was so embarrassed. But I know if that dude shows up again, I’ll be right back in crazy mode.
“Yo, your brother’s out there waiting on you,” Cash says, throwing his dirty towel at me.
“Thanks man. Hey, nice arm today.”
“Ha, only half as good as that stick you’re swinging. See ya tomorrow,” he says, holding the door open and giving me a glimpse of Ty out in the hall. I shove my equipment in the locker and slip my feet into my sandals, my socks, pants, and undershirt completely saturated with the dirt from the field.
“Hell of a game, bro. Glad to see she didn’t completely f**k up baseball,” Ty says, holding his knuckles out for me. I pound them with mine and then lean against the wall.
“I kinda used it, I guess you could say,” I admit.
“Yeah you did. That homer went a good four-twenty,” he says, tipping his hat down on his forehead, just to remind me that I was an ass to him, too.
“Sorry about the hat thing. It fits your head just fine,” I say, my eyes squinting while I look up at him sideways, feeling every bit of shame on my face.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. You’re right—I have a tiny head. But hey, it’s big where it counts!” he says, making me break into a small laugh. My brother’s arrogance is the world’s greatest depression elixir.
“Rowe go home?” I ask, honestly not knowing when or if she left. I hid from her sight for the last forty-five minutes.
“She’s still here. Right where you left her. Said she wasn’t moving a muscle until you apologized or some shit like that. But I don’t know, dude, I think she’s the one who owes you an apology bringing a dude like that out here and waving him under your nose,” Ty says, and I know he’s wrong, but I just smile and pat his back while I head down the hall for the most awesome begging-display of my life.
“Yeah, probably. But I’m gonna go apologize anyway,” I say, turning around and walking backward with my arms out. Ty turns to face me, his hands clasped behind his neck.
“Pussy,” he teases.
She’s still fuming. I can tell by the way her legs are bent, perched on the dugout in the exact same position they were when I walked away a few hours ago. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap, and her eyes are zoned out, looking at the field in front of her. I walk over to her slowly, and I stop when I’m two seats away. I sit down, putting my feet up like hers, and we both sit there silently for several minutes, watching the grounds crew work to ready the field for the two teams playing early in the morning.
I’d like to be the first one to speak, but I don’t know what the hell to say. There are so many things I need to tell her, and so many massive f**k-ups over the last twenty-four hours that I need to make amends for—I don’t know which one takes priority. So I sit there, patiently waiting for her to give me a sign, to tell me what she needs to hear first, what she needs to hear most.
“You called me your friend,” she says finally, and my heart squeezes tightly. She still won’t look at me, her eyes following the two men on the field who are pulling up bases and re-chalking lines. I need her to see me. I still don’t know what I’m going to say, but I know the words will come as soon as I can get her eyes on mine, so I get up and hop on top of the dugout so I can walk over to where her feet are resting. I sit so my legs are straddling her feet, and then I wrap my hands around her shoes, mostly to keep her from kicking me.
“I think we both know that you and I were never friends, Rowe.” She shifts her eyes to mine quickly, holding my attention with this silent stare for even longer minutes.