Dare to Kiss (The Maxwell Series Book 1) (18 page)

As I made my way to the field, I ran through what I was going to say to Coach Dean.
Tell him the truth.
Would he believe me if I told him someone stole my gear? Would he even let me try out without it?

The sun blinded me when I looked out onto the field from the tunnel. Those vying for positions were working through drills. Infielders and outfielders were throwing the balls. Aaron stood on third base and threw a ball to the boy on first, who threw the ball to Kelton at shortstop. In the bullpen behind right field, one potential pitcher warmed up, throwing the ball to a catcher. I spotted Coach Dean near the right field dugout, talking with Coach Lee, the pitching coach.

Making my way over, I kept close to the edge of the field along the stands like a mouse scurrying along the perimeter. I tucked my hands in my pockets so no one would see me trembling. I didn’t want to look in the stands. If I saw my dad, I would lose it. We were in this town because of me. I couldn’t handle any disappointment on his face. I wanted to stay focused to speak with Coach. I thought about tryouts back at Crestview. Baseball wasn’t even on the agenda this time of year—not until February. Dad and I had found it unusual for a high school to schedule tryouts in the fall, but Coach Dean’s philosophy was to choose his team months before the season began. This gave him ample time to mold us into fighting shape. Whoever made the team would be practicing all winter at an indoor sports complex. And that might not include me.

As I got closer to Coach Dean, the snap of the ball into gloves cut through the angry wasps in my head. A gust of wind blew my hair over my face. Out of habit, I tipped my head to the right as I brushed the strands away from my face. When I did, Kelton was staring at me with a what-the-heck look. I swallowed hard, not acknowledging him. I’d lose it if I kept looking at him, too. The triplets were counting on me.

Coach Dean glanced up. He, too, had a what-in-the-world expression. He patted Coach Lee on the shoulder before stalking up to me. Coach Lee trotted out to the bullpen.

“What’s going on, Lacey?” Coach Dean’s voice was firm. “Why are you in jeans?”

I swallowed again. “I don’t have my gear.”

“Where is it?” he asked. His bushy eyebrows came together to create a unibrow.

Tell the truth.
“I don’t know. I put my bag in my locker, and now it’s not there.”

He flipped off his cap, ran a palm over his head, then put the cap back on.

“I can still try out if I can borrow a glove,” I said.

“I can’t let you try out without cleats.”

“Please, Coach.” Tears surfaced.
Don’t you dare cry on this ball field
. This was the one place I found peace. Right now, though, the only thing I found was hell. “I need this.”

He scrubbed his face with his hand. “You’re sure your bag isn’t in your locker? You checked the right locker?”

“Yes, sir.”
I wasn’t crazy
.

He scratched his neck. “Goddammit,” he muttered. He turned and glanced up in the stands.

I followed his line of sight. My gaze landed on Kade. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, confusion written all over his face. He leaned down and said something to Kody. Then he climbed over the rows of bleachers, making his way down to the field.

Coach waved a hand to someone behind me. I turned to find Coach Lee jogging toward us. What the heck was happening? Was Coach going to have me escorted off the field so I couldn’t try out? When I turned back around Kade was on the field, heading my way. I couldn’t look at Kelton or anyone else. I was afraid to search the stands for my dad, either.
I just wanted to play baseball.

“What is it, Dean?” Coach Lee asked. His bulbous nose shone.

“Can you go with Lacey and check out her locker to see if there was any suspicious behavior?”

“What’s going on?” Kade asked.

“My bag is missing.” I started for the locker room behind Coach Lee.

“Okay, everyone in,” Coach Dean yelled as I walked away.

“You mean your clothes?” Kade strode alongside me.

I still had my hands in my pockets, and they shook more now, like I had a permanent nervous tick. “You don’t have to come with me.”

He didn’t say anything. His face was blank.

Keeping my head down, I traipsed through the tunnel, thinking of what Dad was going to say. My emotions waffled between anger and fear. In one breath I would kill the person who took my stuff, but in the next I dreaded Dad’s wrath.

Coach Lee’s voice brought me out of my stupor. “Anyone in here?” he said, holding the locker room door open.

No one answered. I went in first. Coach Lee and Kade trailed behind me. When we reached my locker the door was cracked open.

Coach Lee examined the door before he touched it. I sat down on the bench, chewing on a nail. Kade ran his fingers through his hair as he watched Coach Lee.

“Looks like it’s been pried open,” Coach Lee said. As if in slow motion, he grasped the bottom edge of the door and opened it.

The blood drained from me.
My effing bag was in my locker
. Coach Lee turned to me with his shiny nose and wide eyes. Kade stared at me like I was some loony chick. If I could look at myself in the mirror right then, I’d bet I had the same expression as they did.

“Lacey,” Coach Lee’s voice was dry. “Are you certain your bag wasn’t in the locker all this time?”

I glared at the coach. I was not insane. I jumped to my feet. “I’m very certain.” I took two strides before reaching in to grab my bag.

Coach swung his gaze from me to Kade then back to me. “Get dressed. We have an hour left.” He stalked out.

I unzipped the bag. All my stuff was in it. I yanked out my yoga pants, T-shirt, socks and cleats. If Kade wanted to stay and watch, fine. I was getting my ass out on that field. I wasn’t going to analyze what had happened—not now, anyway. “You can leave,” I said in a rough tone. The buzzing and nerves still tormented me.

“Hey.” He closed the distance between us, wrapping his arms around me.

I planted my hands on his chest and pushed. “I don’t want to be coddled. I have to get out there.”

He didn’t move.

“Kade, not now. Please?” I was on the verge of tears.
I did want his strong arms around me. I did want to lose myself in him
. But right now, baseball was my goal.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in my hair. “I’ll see you afterwards.” He let go of me and left.

I almost collapsed. Who the heck had done this? Aaron was outside. Someone was trying to make me look crazy. I changed as fast as I could then carried my bag out to the field with me.

I set it down in the right field dugout. I tucked my glove underneath my arm and met Coach Dean near home plate. I had my back to the stands as I waited for him to finish reading the paper on his clipboard. I didn’t have the courage to look up in the stands yet.

The recruits were running from first then sliding into second. Coach Lee took notes as each one hit the bag. Aaron, tall and lithe, ran up to Coach Dean. “Hi, Lacey. How are you?” he asked in a sugary tone as he narrowed his green eyes at me.

“What is it, Aaron?” Coach asked.

“Lacey needs to warm up and I thought I could catch for her while she does.” A sinister grin etched his smooth features. “Mark Wayland is still working through his running drills. And I know we don’t have that much time left.”

I glared at the cagey captain of the baseball team, keeping my breathing even.
Tryouts first
.
Worry about who sabotaged your day later.
If I did well in the short time we had left, then I might get to chalk up this tryout as a win. I was getting ahead of myself, but all I wanted to do was rip off Aaron’s head, and I didn’t even know for sure if he was the culprit.

“We’ll take batting practice. Lacey will pitch to batters. Everyone in.” Coach Dean’s voice boomed.

Everyone trotted in. I moved to stand near a few boys. I was now facing Coach and the spectators. I made the mistake of looking out. Tammy Reese sat with Greg Sullivan. Both had smug smiles on their faces as Greg waved to me. I ignored the oily-haired creep, and looked for Dad in the stands. He wasn’t there. I searched again. I found Kade in the same spot as I’d seen him earlier. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Kody sat next to him in the same position. They appeared to be in a heated discussion. Becca and Tyler sat next to Kody. They had their feet propped up on the bleachers in front of them, watching. Becca chewed on a nail. Tyler had his arms crossed over his chest. One more time I scanned the crowd as Kelton and Kross took up positions near me.
No Dad
. Worry and anger began to churn, but I quickly banked the emotions for now.

“Lacey, take the mound and warm up,” Coach Lee said. “Wayland, suit up. You’re catching.”

“What happened?” Kelton asked in my ear.

“Not now,” I replied as I headed to the mound.

Kross caught my arm. “You okay?”

I regarded both triplets, who had concerned expressions beneath the bills of their caps. All I did was nod as I continued to the mound.

Wayland, a stocky guy with red hair and freckles, jogged over to the right field dugout and wrapped shin guards around his legs, slipped on his chest protector, and grabbed his mask and glove before meeting me at the mound.

“Kross, center field,” Coach announced. “Kelton, take short. Aaron, third base. Finn, first base. Tim, second base. James, you’re in right field. And Taylor, take left. The rest of you in the dugout. Lacey, warm up,” Coach ordered. “Let’s go, people.”

Everyone scattered to their positions.

“Coach Lee is going to umpire,” Coach Dean went on. “Lacey, you’ll face two batters. Then we’ll rotate to the next pitcher.”

“I’m Mark Wayland. What pitches do you have?” he asked, holding his mask under his arm.

“Curveball, fastball, and slider.”

“I’ll call the pitches. To keep it simple, one finger for curveball, two fingers for fastball, and three for slider.” His gray eyes dulled in the fading sunlight. He patted me on the back with his mitt then handed me the ball.

Stepping on the mound, I dug at the dirt with my cleat to ensure the rubber was level with the dirt. I didn’t like divots in front of the mound like some pitchers did.

“Focus. Find your zone, and remember—in and tight,” Kelton advised as he walked past me.

The girls in the crowd shouted his name.

I inhaled, taking in the fresh scent of grass. The white noise in my head lowered. I didn’t think it would leave me now until I got through tryouts. I was fine with the humming sound. It might help me get in my zone.

“Seriously, are you okay?”

I liked this side of Kelton. Not that I wanted him to worry about me, but he was even more handsome when he was sincere.

More girls screamed his name.

What?” he asked innocently. “All girls want me.” He gave me one of those Maxwell grins.

I rolled my eyes. His sweetness was good while it lasted—all of two seconds. “What you need is a clear dose of reality,” I said in a serious tone.

“Those girls screaming my name is reality, Lacey. Now, let’s concentrate on what we’re here for.”

I didn’t argue. The lighthearted banter helped to calm me somewhat.

“Lacey, warm up,” Mark called from home plate.

I threw several pitches, loosening my arm. I rolled my shoulders after each pitch. The soreness wasn’t there. Maybe the adrenaline would keep the pain at bay.

“Let’s get the show started, folks,” Coach Dean called.

I can do this. I know this game. Find your zone. We want to win state. We need you on the team.

Renee Spellman made her way to the batter’s box, swinging the bat first in one hand, then the other.

The hum in my head turned into a loud roar. My hands began to perspire. I picked up the chalk bag with my pitching hand, massaging the white powder into my palm to dry the sweat. After a few swipes on my leg, I moved into position. Gripping the ball inside my glove, I felt around for the seams.

Coach Lee gave me a nod as Renee crouched into her batting stance. I sent up a prayer before looking down at Mark. He flashed one finger.
Curveball
. Nodding, I checked that the players on the field were ready. Satisfied, I wound up, going through my movements and snapped my wrist down. The ball left my hand with less velocity than that of a fastball. When thrown correctly, the spin of a curveball with a good follow through would hit the strike zone. This pitch was nowhere near the plate.
Slow, follow through, and concentrate.

“Ball,” Coach Lee called out.

Mark shook his head, tamping down his palm, telling me to relax. Renee stepped out, taking a few more practice swings.

I got into position.
I can do this.

When she set her stance, bat in hand, arms back, head turned toward me, she smiled with one corner of her mouth turned upward.

Suddenly, Julie’s face flashed before me. My pulse raced. I shook my head once, twice.
She doesn’t look like Julie.
I blew out a few puffs of air.
She doesn’t look like Julie.
Releasing one last breath, I glanced at Mark for his signal. Two fingers flashed. A fastball. I wound up. As my arm stretched out in the follow-through, I wavered. The ball soared over Coach Lee and Mark, hitting the backstop with a resounding thwack.

“Holy hell, girl,” Kelton ran up to me. “What’s wrong?”

Mark trotted out. “It’s okay. Nerves are normal. Find your zone.” He handed me the ball then resumed his position at home plate.

My zone. Where was it? I turned my neck left then right. Relaxing my shoulders, I set my stance, and looked to Mark for the pitch signal. When I looked back, Renee’s face morphed into Julie’s again. My brain tilted, and suddenly, darkness crept into my peripheral vision.

My phone lit my way through the house.

“Julie! Mom!”

Sweat began to bead on my forehead. A lamp in the living room was on the floor, the shade askew. Red splattered the white doorframe leading into the dining room. The only sound was the banging of my heart in my ears. As I skirted the dining table, something rolled under my foot. I wobbled. My hand shot out, searching for an anchor. Nothing. My feet flew out in front of me before I landed on my butt. I angled my phone light toward the floor. Lipstick and other items were strewn all over. Tears stung my eyes.