This Is Falling (26 page)

“Right, so you kicked my ass,” Tucker says,
pulling his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his brow. Instead of
looking, I focus on my racket and my barely untied
shoelace—anything but his bare stomach and abs.

“Nah, you held your own. You have nothing to
be ashamed of with that performance out there,” I say, feeling my
cheeks burn at how my words came out. I sound like I’m gushing.

“So, what’s on tap for the rest of Rowe’s
day?” he asks.

“Oh, not much. Just heading over to the
baseball game tonight with a few of my friends,” I say, instantly
regretting it.

“Yeah? They play this early? I didn’t think
the season started until spring.” All I want is for some great fix
to land in my lap, but there isn’t one. And I’ve already
established that I’m crap at lying.

“It’s a tournament. They have a few in the
fall, just to keep the athletes prepped,” I say, trying to stand
and signal that I’m ready to leave through my body language. I’m
stuck somewhere between wanting to be polite and rude; I think this
whole thing would be easier if Tucker weren’t so damned good
looking, and if Nate were really my boyfriend—like the kind that
says he loves me, and introduces me to his ex-girlfriend as his
current
girlfriend.

“Cool. Well, maybe I’ll see ya there later
then,” he says, unrolling the cord on his iPod while he backs away.
All I can do is nod, smile, and wave goodbye.

Cass thinks it’s hilarious when I tell her I
may have accidentally invited "hottie-ab-man,” as she calls him, to
Nate’s baseball game.

“Rowe, Nate’s literally going to shit
himself. Like, I mean, he’s going to walk out there on that field,
turn around and see you talking to Ab-man, and then shit his pants.
And then he’s probably going to climb up into the stands and pummel
this guy,” she says, and I know she’s sort of right. But I can’t
really do anything now. I don’t even have Tucker’s number, and I
don’t know his last name to look him up.

“What’s all the fussy fuss,” Ty says as he
enters our room. That’s Ty’s new favorite term for my issues with
Nate—fussy fuss. I’d feel offended if it weren’t an absolutely
spot-on description of it all. Fussy fuss. I am sick of fussy
fuss.

“Rowe invited that dude, that makes Nate
crazy, to his baseball game,” Cass blurts out before I can stop
her.

“Oh, damn. Rowe? Not cool. I mean you’re
fucking with baseball again. Not cool,” Ty says, turning his back
to me, and shaking his head with his arms out. I look at Cass,
hoping for backup on this one, but she’s quick to take Ty’s side,
too.

“Yeah, Rowe. I’m with him on this one. Not
cool,” she says, sticking out her tongue at me and laughing. She’s
finding this whole thing terribly entertaining, but meanwhile, I
want to dig a hole, a really deep hole, and push my head inside and
cover it in dirt. I’d be content to hide there, eating dirt, for
the next two hours.

“Well, let’s go get this over with. It should
be interesting,” Ty says, waiting for me at the door.

“What if I don’t go? I’ll just hang out here.
If I don’t go, Tucker won’t see me in the stands, and then he’ll
just go home,” I say, starting to really like this idea.

“That’s a terrible idea. First of all…wait,
did you say this guy’s name is
Tucker
?” Ty asks.

“Yeah, why? You know him?” I say, hoping like
mad that this situation doesn’t get any worse.

“Nah, Tucker’s just a pussy name. That’s
all,” he says, and Cass smacks the side of his arm with her bag.
“Ow! Anyway…it’s a terrible idea because Nate’s going to be looking
for you. And if he looks for you, and you’re not there, he’s going
to play like shit. And he can’t play like shit.”

“But what happens if he sees me sitting next
to Tucker?” I ask, not really sure how that’s any better.

“Yeah, you got me there. If he sees that
he’ll play like shit. Huh…well, let’s get a move on then. I don’t
wanna miss my brother’s crappiest game since little league when he
was twelve,” Ty says, flinging the door open in his wake and
waiting for me in the hall.

I stare at the door for a solid five seconds,
weighing my options—weighing everything Ty said. And in the end, I
know I’m going to his game. Not because I want to be there for him
to see, but because I want to see
him.
Because I need to see
him. Because I need to tell him I love him and end the fussy
fuss.

Nate

My head is not completely in the game. It’s a
crappy Ivy League team, so I know the competition won’t be too
tough. If ever there was a game not to be fully invested in, this
was it. I just needed to show up enough to make a good impression
on coach, not make him regret bringing me in and playing me over
his senior catcher.

I keep looking in the stands, waiting for
Rowe to be there. But there’s still thirty minutes before game
time, so I try to distract myself with a few rounds in the
cages.

“Hitting with a little extra heat today, huh
Preeter?” Coach Morris has been trying to get me to unleash my
swing during the last few exposition games. He’s right—I’ve been
swinging timid. And Rowe was right, too—I’ve been dipping my
shoulder. I started working on that last week, and I’ve been
striking the ball better ever since. I was excited to show off in
front of her today, but now all I’m excited about is seeing her
here period—knowing she doesn’t hate me.

“I’ve been working on it, yeah,” I say
between grunts and swings.

“Good, well…whatever it is you’re doing, do
more of that,” he says, going back to the charts on his clipboard
before laughing and adding under his breath, “That’s what they pay
me for. Coaching wisdom.
Do more of that
.”

Coach Morris is half the reason I’m here.
He’s one of the best hitting coaches in college, despite what he
says. And if I can come out of here with a halfway decent swing, I
might really have a shot at catching in the majors.

I take a few more rounds, then my pitcher
calls me out for warm-ups. Even though I tell myself I’m not going
to look, the row of seats right behind the dugout is the first
place my eyes go to when I jog out on the field. Ty’s always the
first thing I see—probably because my eyes are trained to look for
him after so many years of having him come to my games. But then
they fall immediately on Rowe. She can’t see my eyes clearly
through my mask, so I take this opportunity to really stare—long
and hard.

God, I’m an idiot. If I could get one redo in
life, it would be to go back to that moment outside the Thunder’s
stadium—in that very second when I realized it was Sadie standing
behind me. I wouldn’t even bother to turn around. Instead, I’d just
grab the sides of Rowe’s face and kiss her, like one rude show-off
in front of my ex-girlfriend. And not because I give two shits how
it would make Sadie feel. Actually, I don’t like the idea of making
her feel bad. But if it would wipe away all doubt in Rowe’s mind
and make her realize how much she means to me, then I’d kiss her
for hours right in front of Sadie just to prove my point.

“Preet! You ready?” Cash is tossing the ball,
playing with his grip, ready to warm.

“Yeah, sorry. Just waiting for someone to
show up. But it’s all good. She’s here,” I say, sliding the mask up
on top of my head so we can throw for warm-up.

“Which one, that sexy little blond thing next
to your brother?” he asks, and I smile and shake my head.

“No, that’s my brother’s girlfriend. But feel
free to tell him you think his chick is hot—he likes that. Mine’s
the other girl, darker hair, long-ass legs,” I say, waiting for him
to throw back to me so I can turn around and take her in one more
time.

“You mean the one that dude’s hitting on
right now?” he says, and I just hold up my hand to halt his throw.
What. The. Fuck?

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” I grit
through my teeth. Cash walks up next to me, putting his elbow on my
shoulder.

“So, I’m taking it—he’s not supposed to be
here?”

“No. And in a few minutes, he won’t be
breathing,” I say, tossing my mask from my head, and dropping my
glove to the ground before I break into a jog.

Rowe doesn’t see me coming at first, but Ty
does. I make eye contact with my brother, and mouth a few choice
words, but he just shakes his head and laughs. Without even
hesitating, I hop the small wall in front of the seats and climb up
the two rows to the dugout row where the big bodybuilder man is now
sitting
way too fucking close
to my girl.

“Hey, who the fuck are you?” I ask, unable to
stop myself. I passed civil and polite twenty yards ago, and I’ve
gone straight to crazy.

“Nate!” Rowe says, her arms out like I’m the
one who’s out of line here.

“Dude, I’m sorry…I was just visiting with
Rowe. I’m Tucker,” he says, reaching out a hand, which I slap away
instantly.

“Tucker? You know what rhymes with
Tucker
? I yell, igniting a round of laughter in my
brother.

“Nate! That’s enough,” Rowe says, standing in
between her new friend and me. “Tucker, I’m sorry,” she says,
showing me her back while she talks to…
this dude!

“No, it’s okay. I get it. I’ve got things to
do, so no worries. Just thought I’d stop by. I’ll…I’ll just see you
Monday,” Tucker says, pulling his hat a little lower on his brow.
The dude is big—I mean,
wide!
And I’m already feeling like
an ass from the scene I caused, but he’s leaving, and that’s what I
really wanted. “Nate, man. Heard good things about you. Really,
nice to meet you—maybe next time it’ll be in better…well,
circumstances,” he says, reaching his hand out toward me again. I
just look at it and laugh once before looking away.

“I’m sorry,” Rowe says quietly to him again
as he leaves.

“What the hell, Rowe?” My entire body is
tingling with adrenaline, and I’m still pissed as hell, so yeah,
I’m taking it out on her.

“Nate, go play your stupid game, or I’m going
home,” she says, sitting back in her seat and pulling her knees up,
her feet propped on the top of the dugout. “Go on. Run along,” she
says, waving me off. I’m so pissed; all I can do is run my hand
over my face to keep myself from saying a slew of more things I’ll
undoubtedly regret in the next twenty minutes.

“Shut up, fuck nut,” I say to Ty as I walk by
and flip his hat from his head. “Your head looks stupid in that
hat. It’s too big.”

“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 fuck 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.