Chapter 33

Climbing the steps up to the bleachers with the team feels like it's taking forever. Dread feels like a bowling ball in my stomach. Not one ounce of me is looking forward to this encounter with my parents.

As great of a game I just pitched, I can't even be excited. I know that he's just going to ruin it, so why even celebrate?

Reaching the top of the stairs, I turn to the left. Placing one foot in front of the other, I steal my face in a hardened expression.

Never let him see you sweat.

And the thing is, I'm not scared of him. I quit being scared of him a long time ago. The longer this has gone on for, the more I've realized he's a coward. He hides behind his cruel words in his alcoholic haze. My dad is like a shark in the water. At the first scent of blood, he's attacking anyone in his path.

What makes me nervous is him causing a scene in front of everyone. I don't need the press catching wind that I'm the son of an emotionally abusive alcoholic father. I don't need the drama or the sympathy that comes with it. He doesn't matter. What matters is my performance on and off the field.

Honey-blonde hair catches my attention, but I keep my stoic expression neutral. It's killing me inside to remove myself from her. I want so badly to lift her in the air, spin her around, and plant my lips against her soft, rosy pink ones. She's the one I want to be celebrating with.

"Well, there's the golden boy," my dad slurs, wobbling a bit.

Great, how many beers deep is he? And why didn't they cut him off?

"Oh sweetie," my mom greets, wrapping her arms around my shoulders as she tries to pull me in for a hug. "Great game tonight."

With one arm, I return her hug. As I lean my head over her shoulders, I never take my eyes off my dad. "Thanks, Mom."

"Great game? Could've been better,' he grumbles from behind Mom. "It would have been better if he wasn't busy holding hands."

Pulling away from my mom, I steal my shoulders preparing for what's to come.

"Made arrangements and paid all this money to get here only to watch him play a mediocre game against a less than mediocre team."

The laugh that he emits is evil. It's filled with disdain.

Let's just get this over with.

"Oh Gary, he wasn't holding hands with anyone out there," my mom chastises, which only makes his sneer more venomous.

"I don't know how they expect you to win games when they have some tramp in the locker room.

"Gary," Mom scolds, but the look Dad cuts her with could crack ice. I watch as she cowers behind his glare, shoulders sagging. It's brief, but I notice the change in body language. She gives me a small smile as she steps to the side, moving so that she's behind him.

It pisses me off how much she lets him get away with it. But as I'm watching her for the first time, I see that she's been a victim of his words this whole time. I just don't understand why she didn't leave and take us away when we were younger.

"She's a part of the newspaper staff. She's covering our season and writing an article on Coach Weber."

He scoffs before he goes into a lecture on how women shouldn't be allowed in the dugout. The words keep pouring from his mouth. His speech is so slurred it's hard to understand some of the things he's saying. I know he's drunk. I know I should just ignore him but after what feels like hours, I finally have had enough. I can't listen to this shit any longer.

When I hear him talk about ‘that girl' again, I lose it. The words tumble out of my mouth, and I don't even think about the repercussions of saying them. The only thing I can do is to shut him up. To get her out of his mouth. I can't handle listening to him spew venom about her.

This is what I was worried about.

This is why I told Leah to make sure she never says anything about Chloe at the house.

This is why I ghosted her that summer.

As soon as he had suspicions I was seeing someone that summer, he lost it.

For someone who was supposed to be staying calm after his heart attack, he used every opportunity to get under my skin about women and distractions. I'll never understand how someone can be so cruel.

"Before you know it, he's going to be pissing his future away because of some chick who's looking to wife him up."

It's why I don't think about how hurtful the words I say are. I just want him to shut the hell up.

"Jesus, she's nothing." The words feel bitter as soon as they escape my lips, and I want nothing more than to suck them back in, but my chest is vibrating with frustration and the need to shut him up.

The look he gives me shows me he doesn't believe what I say. With a haggard breath, I continue the lies that taste vile on my tongue. "Nothing more than someone to help release the stress of the game. She's not the type you marry, so get off my back about it. I've told you that I don't have time for distractions, and I refuse to let a girl get in the way of my game."

My mom's gasp is the only verbal response I receive as my dad just stares at me, eyes squinted, as if he's trying to get a read on me. It's then I see the edges of his lips curl in a smirk almost as if he sees something on my face, which I know is impossible. I've perfected the stoic look when it comes to talking to my dad.

Looking past my dad, I watch my mom's reaction as it morphs into pain. "I'm sorry, Mom, but I can't do this anymore. I can't be his punching bag."

With a deep inhale, I finally grow the confidence to stand up to my dad. "You know what? Fuck it. I've been so scared of you for fucking years, and all I've ever wanted is for you to be a dad to me. To tell me ‘great job, son' or hell, that you're proud of me. It's been years of me wanting the approval of my dad, and it's never come. It's been years of slurred words and insults to the point where I can't even tell you about something—or someone—that makes me happy. You've got me downplaying a relationship over the woman I love, and enough is enough. This relationship, or whatever the hell you want to call it, is over. I'm done with you and your control. Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't come to my games. We're done."

Dad takes a step toward me, his leer more intense. His mouth starts to open just as someone yells my name from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I find Hudson storming through the few remaining spectators. Anger radiates from him.

With one last look at my mom, I give her a tight-lipped smile before walking away.

From my parents.

From my bully.

From the years worth of pain.

Closing the gap between Hudson and myself, I can't help but feel the overwhelming weight of waiting for the next shoe to drop.

"What's up?" I ask, nodding my head at my pissed-off friend.

He shakes his head. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me?" I ask, pointing a finger at my chest. "What are you talking about?"

He turns and walks in the direction he came from as I fall in step beside him. Looking ahead, I see we are one of the last ones to get on the bus. Coach Weber stands outside the bus door, arms crossed, and a serious expression lines his face as he waits for us.

Hudson turns his head toward me, eyes me, before shaking his head. "She's nothing more than someone to help release the stress of the game. She's not the type you marry. Or how did it go?"

"How the fuck did you know I said that?" My pulse starts to rise as that feeling of dread courses through my veins. Bile starts to rise in my throat as I predict what he's going to say.

"Chloe heard everything you said."

"Fuck!" I roar, causing bystanders to look our way. Sheepishly I duck my head while my insides blaze alive. "She wasn't supposed to hear that. I didn't mean anything, I just wanted my dad to get off my back. He saw us together and…"

"And it doesn't matter. What matters is that girl has given you a second chance. She gave you her heart, and you ripped it apart before stomping on it. Not to mention she ran into her mom tonight."

My eyebrows hit my hairline as my eyes widened in shock. Of all the things he could've said, that was one thing I was not expecting. "What? Where is she?"

I take off at a faster pace, wanting to get on the bus and find my girl. "She took an Uber back to the hotel."

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Walking past an angry coach, I climb the steps onto the bus. Everyone's eyes are on me as soon as I set foot in the aisle.

They all know. They know the words I said, and they're judging me for it. But what they don't know is that I did it to protect Chloe. She was never supposed to hear me say those things.

Tonight when she asked me how things with my parents went, I would've told her the truth. I would have told her that he saw us and knew from the look in my eyes that there was something more going on between the two of us. For me to protect her, I had to lie and tell him that nothing was going on between us. I couldn't risk him contacting her, and he would have found a way, he always finds a way. The words tasted like acid as they poured from my lips, and all I could think about was kissing her and telling her how much I love her. That she's it for me.

Instead, she heard the horrible things. She heard me say words that sparked her biggest fear. Not to mention it was on the night when she needed me. Never in a million years would I have guessed that we would run into her mom. Not at a baseball diamond in South Carolina of all places.

Pulling out my phone as I take a seat, I thumb through my contacts until I find her name. Hitting the call button, I listen as the ringtone plays in my ear before the automated voice of her voicemail picks up. Hitting the end button, I call her again. Only this time, there isn't a ringtone. It goes straight to voicemail. Running my hands through my still sweat-damp hair, I try again. And three more times for good measure.

After the fifth call, I open my messaging app and thumb out a message.

Me: Wildflower, call me. I can explain everything. I love you.

The bus barely comes to a stop before I'm flying out of my seat and jogging down the aisle. Coach Weber's eyes find mine, and I can read everything he's not saying. He's telling me he's disappointed in me, and I think that's the worst thing he could ever say to me. I look up to the man, and his disappointment is soul-crushing.

Running into the lobby, I don't waste time with the elevator. I march straight to the door under the ‘stairs' sign. Taking the steps two at a time, I don't stop until I'm reaching the fourth floor. Slightly out of breath, I burst through the door onto our floor. Even though I didn't see her before the game, I know which room is hers thanks to Coach's rule of alphabetical order.

Pounding on her door with my fist, I wait for her to open the door. "Chloe! Chloe, baby! Please open the door." I pause the knocking and wait a few seconds.

With each second that ticks by, the overwhelming feeling to throw up gets stronger and stronger. Reaching up, I knock a few more times. "Please let me explain. Open the door."

The elevator dings, and I turn my attention to the metal doors praying that my sweet, beautiful wildflower will step through the door and hear me out.

Only it's not her who walks out. It's Ty. He wasn't on the bus which means he was the one to console my girlfriend. It's evident how strong the bond between those two is.

He looks like he could punch his fist through my face as he storms down the hall, straight for me. Putting my hands up, I try to back him down. "She wasn't supposed to hear it."

I feel his arms push me backward, and my feet stumble underneath me. In the next second, Hudson is standing between us. I don't even remember seeing him come up behind Ty. "Knock it off," he says through gritted teeth.

"Where is she," I ask, adjusting my stance until I'm standing upright.

"Gone."

"Gone? What do you mean ‘gone?'"

"She called her dad and got a flight home," Niko answers. I roar a frustrated groan as I tug my hands through my hair knocking my hat off in the process.

Hudson unlocks our door with the key card before he grabs me by the crook of my elbow and ushers us into our room. He shuts the door on everyone else and pushes me toward the bed.

"Sit down and start explaining. I've dealt with a lot of your bullshit through the years. I know you would never purposefully hurt her, but you did. Tell me what the fuck happened tonight."

And for the next twenty minutes, the two of us recap what the hell happened after the game. I share the details of my conversation with my dad while he tries to give me some insight into the encounter with Chloe's mom. He wasn't close enough to get every detail, but he saw enough from where he and Niko were standing.

Sometime around midnight, I'm lying in my bed, freshly showered when I hear my phone buzz on the side table. Practically diving for it, I read the message that just popped in.

Brynn: You're an asshole.

Not wanting to deal with her tonight, I slide out of her message and pull up Chloe's thread of unanswered texts.

10:07 PM

Me: Wildflower, call me. I can explain everything. I love you.

10:32 PM

Me: Chloe, please. It wasn't what you thought.

11:02 PM

Me: I'm worried about you. Please call me.

Me: I don't even need a call, just let me know you got home safely.

11:23 PM

Me: I love you, Wildflower.

11:43 PM

Me: I'm so fucking sorry.