17. Cleo

17

CLEO

I knew she couldn't be trusted.

The thought repeated in my mind on an endless loop with every passing second. Looking down at my phone as the cold, metal bleacher dug into my ass, I shook my head.

Fifteen minutes late. Bitch.

At this point, the fall dew collecting on the stands had been absorbed by my workout leggings. I was tired, pissed, and cool. God help whoever found me in this state.

From behind me, a car door slammed and her grating voice sounded. "I know, I'm sorry." It was like she'd read my mind, somehow still buried deep into my psyche.

Standing up, I wasn't ready to take her shit. "I don't want to hear it, Cat. I had like one rule."

"Not true, you had a few actually." Cat raised her hands in surrender as she intercepted my eyeline. "Come on, it was fifteen minutes."

I rolled my eyes. "Do you don't think I have a use for that time? You think the best thing I have to do with my day is show up at this run-down field and help your ass?"

Shoulders dropping, Car chuckled. "God. I forgot you weren't a morning person."

That stupid fucking smile. It had gotten me into so much trouble over the last two decades, long before we ever fell in love… and clearly long after we fell out of it. But I clenched my jaw, determined not to give in this time.

"Look, we're both already here. Think of this as a way to get revenge." She was starting to plead, desperate for my help. I would've been lying if I'd pretended I didn't like her like that – so in need of me that she had no choice but to come off of that high horse.

Eventually, I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Drop your bags, I want fifteen line drills. One for every minute."

A stupid smirk took over her face. Underneath, a slight dread lingered. Nonetheless, like a well-trained player, Cat dropped her bags on the bleachers and headed for the field. She stretched her long arms as jogged toward home plate where an orange cone marked her starting point.

Even from the bleachers, I could see Cat's injury. She was tentative as she lightly pulled her right arm across her chest – wanting to warm up the muscles without straining them too far.

A sudden tightness hit my chest. It was strange to see her like that. She wasn't a teenager anymore. Hell, she wasn't even a young adult. Instead, Cat Collins was an aging professional athlete, struggling to hold on to her career.

Once the weight of what she'd asked me to help her with set in, I walked out onto the field and hollered. "Faster. You've got two years to make up for."

Shaking her head, Cat laughed as she started to wheeze on her tenth round running between home plate and first base.

I used each run to assess another part of her figure. She was still in good shape, despite spending the last couple of years partying. But her endurance had dropped significantly as had her accuracy.

There was a lot of work ahead. But if she could manage to show up on time, we might be able to make this work. By the time she was running her last lap, I could hear Cat's wheezing from the fence line.

Once she crossed the dirty white, rubber home base for the last time, I nodded. "You can do better."

Keeled over, Cat shot daggers into my eyes. "I didn't see you doing this shit."

"I wasn't late." I winked. "Okay, get on the pitcher's mound."

Cat's forehead wrinkled. "Why?"

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. "Catherine, you're a pitcher. So get to pitching."

As she shook her head, she crossed the distance between us and faced me. Sweat dripped down her face despite the chilly morning air. "That's how I got injured." It was obvious using her full name bothered her.

Good to know for later.

"Correct. And I need to see how bad." I stared her down, unrelenting on my point. At this stage, she needed to know I wouldn't be bullied into doing this half-assed.

Cat's chest heaved as she still tried to catch her breath. "Fucking fine." Grabbing her glove from her bag, she stormed over to the pitcher's mound. As soon as Cat's foot met the rubber at the top of the sand, her body tensed.

I could only assume that she was being put right back into the day of her injury.

Shaking my head, I tried to erase the sound of her yelp from my mind. I'd watched the clip online once I heard. But it was so much worse than I could have imagined. A crack released from her right shoulder as the ball launched from her hand toward home plate.

But no one would pay attention to where the ball landed, only to the screaming pitcher keeled over herself at the center of the field.

Standing before me now, Cat sighed. "Are you serious?"

A part of me worried I was just torturing her, not thinking about what could happen to her arm if I was reckless. But I nodded. "Yes, Catherine. I need to see where your form's at." Biting the inside of my cheek, I continued, "Don't go too hard. We're looking for form, not a strike."

Cat's jaw clenched as she thought about the instructions. I'd never known her to take it easy.

But as she got into position, I took my spot behind home plate. Bending down, I crouched in place. My feet dug into the sand as I put my weight on my heels, holding my glove up in front of my face.

Maybe it was a mistake to not wear a face guard while catching the throw of a professional softball player who also had a decent reason to throw a ball directly into my face. But I was willing to bet I could still handle whatever Cat was dishing out.

"Ready?" I called out, sensing Cat's procrastination.

Cat looked up from her feet as she nodded back to me.

From here, it almost looked like there was a sadness on her face, something that my cue had triggered.

But I tried to focus, knowing I needed to pay attention.

Keeping my eye on the ball, I watched Cat bring her hands together near her chest. When she was ready, the ball moved into her right palm as her gloved hand dropped toward the center. Rocking on her heels, Cat lifted the neon ball over her head and wound it in a windmill.

As her right hand rocketed forward from her hip, she stepped toward me with her left foot while dragging her right behind her.

"Fuck." She winced as the ball released from her grip.

I lifted my head as a flash of yellow flew into the chain link fence. Yikes.

Shaking her head, Cat grumbled. "Sorry."

I jogged to the softball and tossed it back to her. "You're good. Deep breaths."

"Yep." She was already frustrated.

On the next pitch, I watched her arm specifically. I hoped that after a few throws, I'd be able to pinpoint where her problem area was.

As she stepped back to the rubber and performed the same pitch, I noticed a glaring error. Instead of her arm going all the way above her head during the wind-up, it was coming far out from her body.

She's trying to avoid pulling the same muscle.

The ball clattered against the fence as it landed far off its mark again.

"Goddamnit." Cat threw her hands up in surrender as she turned away from home plate, facing the outfield instead.

Rather than hunt down the ball, I crossed the grass between home and the pitcher's mound. The sun had risen higher in the sky, its warm rays evaporating the dew that had covered the field just a half hour earlier.

When I got closer, I reached out a hand to Cat's shoulder. Gently, I placed my palm flat on her right side. She flinched slightly at the touch, crossing her arms slightly.

"It's okay." I used a light pressure to turn her around.

Looking at me, Cat shook her head. "Sorry. I just thought it would give out."

"Did it?" I tried to intercept her gaze as she stared down at the ground.

"No." Cat's jaw clenched.

For a moment, I looked around the field. With a shrug, I let my hand drop from her shoulder to her bicep. "You need to breathe. We're just practicing, okay?"

Cat nodded. "I know."

"The more you get caught up in thinking about getting hurt, the more likely you are to actually hurt yourself." That seemed to be enough for her to lift her deep green eyes to mine. I felt my throat tighten under her gaze, her arm flexing under my palm.

Her jaw muscles flexed quickly. "I hate this glove."

Chuckling, I nodded. "It's too stiff."

"Yep." A smile took over her face.

"Let's go again, but this time, just be loose. It's just a game of catch between old friends." I winked as I let my hand fall from her arm, knowing it was too dangerous to touch her any longer.

Without waiting for her answer, I went back to the plate and got into position.

But from the mound, Cat bit her lip. "Is that all we are? Old friends?"

I was glad she was so far away as a blush took over my face. Of course we were more. "Friends" didn't even scratch the surface of the history playing out on this ball field.

"That would depend on how the next throw goes." I quipped, trying to draw us back to the moment.

"Bet." Cat smiled as she drew her hands to her chest, preparing her pitch.

In one fluid motion, Cat's arm wound the ball over her head and down toward her hip in an even windmill. Before I knew it, the ball was flying toward my head.

Lifting my glove, the ball made a loud smack as it met the leather. A cloud of dust rose in front of my face, the familiar feeling of catching one of Cat's perfect strikes rushing back to my body.

Cat smirked as she held up her glove. "How was that?"

With a nod, I tossed it back to her. "Getting there."