21. CODY

CODY

“ B e careful with that one.”

That’s what Dean whispered when he slid from the cage. It was low enough that Van and Clementine missed, but he made sure I heard it. I didn’t know what to say to him. The defense caught in my throat.

Van’s eyebrows shot up when he caught Dean’s face and vacated as quickly as his legs would take him.

Clementine turned to look at me. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal?” I looked down at her. I wanted to take her round face in my hands and pry the air from her lungs with my mouth. “I’m listening,” I said instead.

“For each ball I hit, I get to ask you a question.” She pulled a small recorder from her pocket and set it on the long thin ledge where we kept helmets.

“You would turn this into work—"

The arguement died on my lips when she batted her eye lashes at me and that bottom lip jutted out just a little more than usual. How could I deny that look?

"Fine,” I said confidently. The bat felt so good in my hands that, for a split second, I was tempted just to try, to see how it would feel to take that swing but Clementine pried it from my fingers.

“You promised the giant chocolate Labrador you wouldn’t.”

“Actually I never promised Van, he just handed me the bat.” I shrugged and she rolled her beautiful brown eyes at me. Her attitude drove me insane. “Loophole.”

But she didn’t laugh and her grip tightened on the bat.

“Alright.” I lifted both hands into the air and backed against the cage.

“Each ball.” She pointed the bat at my chest and smiled. My heart went up in flames like a bonfire. “One question.”

“One answer.” I nodded, constantly willing to push my luck. I asked, “how about a kiss to seal the deal?”

I leaned off the cage, looping my finger tightly around it. She didn’t move as my lips ghosted over hers, my breath fanning over her. Her brown eyes looked up from my lips, a tiny raging fire dancing inside. She searched my gaze for a second, the longest second of my life. I unlocked one finger at a time, slowly falling forward more until I could feel the skin of her bottom lip brushing against my top one.

Seven years was an excruciatingly long time to wait to kiss her.

Another finger popped from the cage and I glided forward ready to be consumed by the bliss that one kiss from Clementine would surely provide.

Sharp pain dug into my rib cage in the form of the end of her baseball bat.

“Ow!” I yelped and pulled back.

“An answer for every hit ball,” Clementine breathed out with a mischievous smirk on those pretty, pouty lips as I rubbed the spot she poked. “No kiss.”

“You’re a tease.” I rolled my eyes at her and reluctantly held out my hand. “Ok, deal.”

I grabbed a helmet from the ledge and settled it down over her head. “Just in case.”

“I look like a dork.” She laughed.

“You look adorable,” I corrected her and brushed the loose strands of brown hair off her face. “Turn and listen,” I said, taking her shoulders and angling her toward the pitching machine. “There’s a whirring noise and then a pop. Keep your eye on the ball and swing.”

I gripped her hands gently, showing her the movement. Her ass was pressed tightly to me and I swallowed, pushing my heels into the ground to keep from acting impulsively toward the friction. A deep groan settled in the base of my throat as she rolled her hips from left to right and swung the bat and connected sloppily with the first automated pitch.

“That’s my girl.” I stepped back, clapping for her.

She turned to me, eyebrow raised and on a mission, she pressed a record on her device. “Why shortstop?” She asked.

“That’s cheating, I helped you hit that one,” I argued.

“That wasn’t stipulated in the rules, just that I hit the balls.” She smiled at me and I crumbled like a house of cards. Smart woman.

“Dad… Coach ,” I corrected with a huff. “He drilled the fundamentals of baseball into me,” I said, pointing to the machine with the remote to pause the pitches. I hated that she dug like this, asking questions she knew the answers to. It was like watching our life together on repeat and each question she asked left a new, heavy feeling in my stomach. What was she looking for? Something, somewhere. She believed there was a misstep. “I already understood everything. I just needed to be fast, and flexible.” I smirked at her. “Which I am. Very fast and very flexible .”

Tension rolled over me and hung in the air between us.

“There has to be more to shortstop than that.” Clementine narrowed her eyes at me.

“It’s all about communication. I’m only as good as the outfield, the first baseman, the pitcher.” I shrugged.

“Arlo’s gone now, who’s primed to take his spot?” Clementine asked and I shook my head at her, starting the machine again.

“That’s a question.” I cocked my head to the side. “Better hit a ball, Mary. ” I sneered.

She steeled her gaze, jaw clenched, as she turned back to the machine that spat a ball out before she was ready for it. Her laughter filled the batting cages and injected my veins with pure serotonin. I just wanted to reach out and wrap her up in my arms.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans and counted to ten.

It didn’t work to calm me down because, when the next ball came, she hit it without hesitation. It stuttered for a moment but bounced off the back of the cage with an echo of vibrating metal. Clementine threw her hands in the air, cheering for herself as she turned back to me. With rosy cheeks, and light flooding her eyes like it was coming from inside of her with all the power of the sun, she shook her hands .

“Who’s primed to take Arlo’s spot?” She asked without pause.

“No decision has been made, and if there has been,” I leaned forward and lowered my voice, “I wasn’t part of the conversation.”

Clementine took a beat to consider my answer and turned back to swing before I even had time to pause the machine. The bat cracked against the ball. “What was your dynamic like with King, and why did it work?”

“That’s two—”

Another ball smashed against the cage.

“Silas.” I swallowed tightly. “Doctor Shore,” the formality of his name was weird rolling off my lips, “once said it was like locking a rabid dog in a room with an alley cat. It shouldn’t have worked.”

Clementine laughed at that. It bubbled out of her like honey. Sweet and sticky, it clung to her lips and I wanted to steal the sound straight from her mouth.

“But it did because Arlo never tried to make a dog out of me,” I finished. “He just let me be a cat I guess. We understand… understood ,” I ate the anxious emotion that threatened to derail me, “each other. It was always a give-and-take. We have each other's back and that’s really what it boils down to. A pitcher needs his shortstop.”

I tore my eyes away from her, feeling self-conscious under her gaze. I knew I had walked into a trap. She wanted to know more about Arlo leaving and how I felt about it and I had just given her exactly what she wanted.

But Clementine didn’t say anything; she just readied herself for the next pitch, missing this time. The ball crashed to the back of the cage, rolling around by her feet until the next was thrown. She missed the next three, her hands too loose around the bat and frustration seeped in on her delicate features.

“Reset,” I said.

Moving toward her, I felt her tense as I wrapped my hand under her arm and placed my palm flat on her chest. “Breathe,” I whispered into her ear. “Feel it here,” I instructed as her chest rose. “Push back on my hand.”

She listened, filling her lungs until my hand lifted from her chest, over and over again. Rising and falling until she was relaxed and the tension was gone in her body .

“Try again,” I said, stepping back and bringing that hand to my own chest.

My fingers itched to hold the bat and my resolve was slowly crumbling.

I curled them against my heart, letting the racing rhythm of it ease me back from the ledge. Temptation chewed at the back of my head as she swung and hit the ball perfectly against the back of the cage.

I needed a meeting.

“Are you scared for next season?” She asked, but it didn’t feel like her other questions. It felt personal.

I’m scared right now.

“Yes,” I answered honestly. “Reworking a team after losing a star pitcher isn’t easy. You and everyone else saw what happened to the Hornets when Nicholas King left. Arlo has always been the better pitcher, but the skill was mute. We hadn’t figured out how to work together, it destroyed us.”

“Given the explosive way the season ended, I’d say you still don’t have it quite figured out, Cael.”

She was more than right. I could barely keep it together long enough to heal my shoulder and keep my head in the game. Next season was going to be a war zone.

Clementine cocked her head to the side, ignoring the whirling of the machine. The ball lurched out of the pipe at her, unprepared for it she jumped back as I caught it in my bare hand with a strangled grunt. A flash of hot, tingly pain washed over my palm and down my wrist, as I took the ball in my hand. Van had turned it down but it had to have been going over fifty miles per hour coming out of the machine.

“Fuck,” I grunted. All that mattered was that it hadn’t hit her.

“Oh, God!” She dropped the bat to the ground, flipping the helmet from her head, and stepped toward me as I slipped the machine into off and wiggled out the stinging pain that vibrated across the palm of my hand.

“Are you hurt?” She grabbed my wrist and turned my palm over.

I wanted to tell her it barely stung, I’ve made the idiot mistake of catching a hurling ball with my bare hand before but never one coming from a machine. It didn’t feel great but the sight of her fawning over my skin, her lips fanning cool air over my palm. She didn’t need to know it was fine .

“It might be broken,” I faked, groaning as I lazily wiggled my fingertips. I hiss playfully as she ran her fingers over mine. “You can kiss it better if you want?”

“Do you need ice? Should I get someone?” She asked not looking up at me. Her worry was too thick to entertain my flirtatious teasing. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

It was cute to see her like this; there had been so much back and forth. Her walls surrounded her like a forcefield, preventing me from seeing the old Clementine. She was protecting the little girl inside her heart and, tragically, we had that in common.

Her brown eyes flickered up to mine, welling with tears, and I laughed gently.

“I’m alright, Plum,” I hummed, the need to console her running rampant. “I just need some ice,” I whispered, wrapping my other hand around the back of her head and raking my fingers through her hair. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.” I brushed my lips over her hair.

She apologized again, turning her face upward to look at me, and my breath hitched.

“There you are,” I whispered.

Seventeen-year-old Clem stared up at me, innocent, heartbroken eyes gleaming under the lights of the batting cages. Hair stuck to her face and her cheeks were pink with worry. I knew I wasn’t allowed to but the urge to kiss her never faded, like a dull roar at the back in the back of my mind it flared at the sight of her.

But I could do this. My self-control waning like a flag in a hurricane, I pressed my lips to her forehead and settled for the softness of her skin instead.