Page 34 of Unleashed

As Simone mopes to the fence, Sylvie takes second base after a grounder. When I stare into space a second too long, wishing I were a million miles away from this solar system, Betsy drones, “Wake up, Greg!”

Pounding my helmet down more, I walk out toward home plate and stop to take some practice swings. Crick waits for me while Betsy whines, “Will you come on already?”

“You don’t rush a batter. It’s rude and against the rules.” It should be.

Taking my place at home plate, I flip the bat twice before reversing it to flip it once the other way. The chattering on the field tickles me, but Betsy’s cynicism and nasal voice grate my nerves. “How in the world did you learn how to do that?”

“Band camp.”

“Where?”

I ignore her and get to business, readying for Crick’s pitch. But with the first one, I step back. Betsy stumbles after the ball, even though she should have caught it. She has the fucking audacity to gripe, “You should’ve hit that.” If she’s referring to Simone, I already did.

“I’m taking my pitch. Just shut it and do your job.” I hear her gasp, which makes me happy.

Tesco says, “Make sure you’re not overreaching or golfing. Keep your right elbow up.” Yeah. He doesn’t need to teach me a damn thing.

With Crick’s next pitch, I slam it into left field, way past anyone’s reach. I watch as Patrice gawks, Brandon strolls, and Audrey dives after it. Clearing my throat, I ask the troll behind me, “Like that?”

Betsy huffs, and I drop the bat to jog to first base. Nearby, Wilder says, “Good hit, Rodwell. But don’t rush it next time.” What the fuck?

“I didn’t.”

“I’m telling you what I saw.”

As I land on the bag, I mumble, “Then you saw wrong.”

With them still going after the ball, I snag second and third. After that, Audrey overthrows it to Rhonda, and I run home. It’s tempting to slide, knocking over Betsy, or throwing dirt in her face, but I save it for a game.

After stomping on home plate, I remove my helmet, and Tesco quips, “Way to go there, Rodwell. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

I take off my batting gloves as I walk past him. “You wouldn’t.”

There’s no sign of Simone, which is fantastic news. I head to the dugout, where there’s a water cooler. Thank God for Val Dryden. I grab a cup, and as I chug, the universe proves once again that it hates my guts when a voice seethes, “You just had to bitch to Finn.”

I don’t turn around because I’ve reached my limit today. “No, I told him what everyone else is saying.”

I hear Simone’s shoes on the ground behind me. “No one is saying anything. Only you. Worry about your own shit.”

“Not for the Bahamas. Get your head out of your ass and stop pawing at your dick du jour.”

She laughs, sounding surprised. “You’re jealous.”

Without considering repercussions, proximity, bottled-up feelings, or even if my breath is minty enough, I spin around and get into her face. “I’m disgusted. Huge difference.”

Her blue eyes widen, staring into mine for two seconds before falling to my chest. “Get over it. I’m not yours.”

“Never were.” I clench my jaw, giving me an instant headache.

I swear I hear Simone whimper when she frowns at my black Run-DMC shirt. She sounds almost bleak when she mutters, “You ruined my life.”

“I think you’re doing a bang-up job of that alone.”

Her eyes fly up to my face before blinking away. “No, Rod, this is all on you. But now that I’ve moved on, you can’t fucking stand it.”

I throw out my arms. “Wrong! I’m so happy that you’re outta my life that I’ll conga down goddamn West Broad Street!”

Simone cringes and looks over her shoulder. Wilder glances at us but then watches Sylvie at bat. Simone talks to the chain link around the dugout rather than my face. “I’ve moved on with other men. I’m a new woman while you’re the same old you.”

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