A room away, my parents slept on, blissfully unaware.
As the night marched onward toward dawn, my eyes grew as heavy as the heart inside my chest; my soul as exhausted as my body. The only thing in the world that I truly needed… the only thing that might offer some reprieve from the encroaching darkness… was the one thing I couldn’t risk reaching for.
Jo.
All I wanted was to run to our spot in the boathouse. Straight to her. To wrap my arms around her warmth, pull her against my chest, and let her absorb all my pain and fear and hopelessness. To take comfort in her soft whispers.
It’s okay, Arch.
We’ll figure it out.
Together.
Like we always do.
But I couldn’t. The thought of what might’ve happened if she’d been with me when those assholes were here… if they’d laid a hand on her instead of me…
You seem pretty tight with that girl,Rico’s voice haunts me.The blonde with the legs.
My mental state only devolved as the week went on, sleeplessness and stress driving me to distraction. At school, I was edgy. Irritated. Snapping at anyone stupid enough to come near me. At practice, I was so preoccupied Coach Hamm called it quits early, telling me to rest up before the big game against St. John’s Prep.
Not that it did much good.
Here we are, final inning, and the score is dangerously close. 7-6 — a meager one point lead over our rivals. Which is laughable, really. This should be an easy victory. A walk in the fucking park. The Exeter Wolves are ranked first in our division; St. John’s didn’t even qualify for playoffs. And yet, they’re handing me my own ass on a silver platter with each play. Hitting balls that any other day should be strikes.
There’s only one person to blame.
Myself.
I’m off my game.
If I can just manage to keep St. John’s from scoring any points this last turn at bat, Exeter will win — by a sliver, sure, but I’ll take it if it means salvaging our undefeated record.
Normally, striking out their final batters would be a simple task. Tonight, it feels more than daunting. The fastballs I’m throwing are sluggish in comparison to my normal speeds. My jaw clenches tighter as the final inning ticks on, tension twisting my insides into knots.
Hit.
Hit.
Hit.
The first three batters send my pitches soaring into the sky. Before I know it, the bases are loaded. Primed for a home run, which will easily bring them into the lead.
God damnit.
They’re going to score.
They’re going to win.
St. John’s beating us would an unimaginable upset. For the team, for the town, for me. When the next player steps up to the plate, a confident smile on his face, an unfamiliar sensation ripples through me.
Fear.
Fear that I won’t be able to halt their momentum and give us a last minute victory. Fear that I’m not half the player everyone in the crowd seems to think I am.
I’ve never been insecure in my abilities before. Baseball has always been the one thing I could depend on. Whatever else life threw at me — family teetering on the edge of poverty, pretentious classmates, brother with a penchant for fucking up everything he touches — it didn’t matter. Because I always had baseball.
My ace in the hole.