Page 12 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

"I guess.” He stares decidedly at the path as we walk, like he’s inspecting the dirt for worms or the path for cracks. Anything but looking at me and opening up.

He’s the kind of guy who I don’t think would ever be satisfied with anything. It’s a shame because he’s got more than enough to be satisfied about. I know life’s not always easy, but having the kind of money that professional sport players have would definitely help me, injured elbow or not.

“I guess you must have played at school, like my brother.”

“He wants to be a player too?”

Finally, that gets Jackson’s attention, his eyes snapping back up to look at me. I frown, realizing this is slightly more personal than I really wanted to get into with him. But it’s too late to back out of it now.

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I say, “I don’t know. He’s at that age where it’s really hard to read what he’s thinking. Sometimes I think he would love to go to college and play baseball. Other times he’s talking about mechanical engineering or poetry or not going to college at all. I find it so hard to tell what it is he actually wants.”

“What about you?” Jackson asks, his eyes still hard on me.

“Me?”

“Yeah. What do you want?”

How have the tables turned on me like this? Somehow I’ve given him the upper hand again, and he’s taken it with both hands. I can feel myself blushing too, which doesn’t help. Damn him for having this effect on me. “Well, I guess I always wanted to be a nurse — and now I am. I’ve got what I want.”

“You must be happy,” says Jackson in the unhappiest tone I’ve ever had the displeasure to hear. And the worst bit is, the unhappy tone is actually appropriate. I don’t have everything I want at all.

“Yeah, I am,” I say quietly, then add, “Why, aren’t you?”

“Me? My elbow hurts.”

And with that, the conversation dies again. It’s such a flippant excuse, because clearly there’s more going on with him than that. This guy has a depth somewhere, and I want to believe that if I keep digging, I’ll find it.

Or maybe it’s just a mystery I’m seeking to solve to make my own life feel more interesting.

CHAPTER 9

JACKSON

ONE WEEK LATER

Halfway through eating our noodles, Freya looks at her watch, then picks up her phone to scroll back in her messages and swears as she stands up. “Shit, I’m going to be late.”

“Where are you going?” I blink at her.

“Matt’s got a baseball game after school. I promised I’d go and watch.”

“Aren’t you on nights tonight?” I ask.

She tilts her head slightly, cocking an eyebrow at me like she can’t quite believe that I’d remember that kind of detail about her. “I am, yeah. But I slept all morning. And he’ll understand if I have to leave a bit early to get to work. Not that I’m expecting high school baseball to last for that long. They’re a good team, but they’re not that good.”

I have to suppress a laugh. I don’t want her to misunderstand what I’m laughing at — not her brother and his team, but the whole concept of high school sport. It’s a time in my life that I don’t miss at all. “Sounds nice,” I say weakly.

“You should come.”

I do a double take, thinking I’ve misheard. “What?”

“You should come to the game with me.” She grins at me with that pure sunshine face she’s so good at, then adds, “It’s free,” like that has any kind of meaning to me whatsoever.

“I’m not coming to watch high school baseball. I can’t think of anything worse.”

“You can’t think of anything worse than to watch the sport you love?” she says with a raised eyebrow.

My mouth wobbles open in uncertainty, because whatever comeback I try and throw at her next is going to be hit straight into the stands and give her a win. “How long is it going to be?” I ask. “I don’t want this to be a waste of time.”

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