Page 22 of Reaching Hearts

Chapter Thirteen

Rebecca

Hands: twitching for a cigarette and I’ve never smoked a day in my life.

From where I sit in my S.U.V., I watch the hospital. My eyes are locked on the third floor. Is she still in there with him? I leave for a few fucking minutes to get something to eat and boom, there’s that Annie girl on his lap, fucking him! I have always been afraid of the day when I heard he’d found the one, but she can’t be it. Not now. Not ever. I’m not leaving without a fight.

* * *

San Francisco. Balboa Park Baseball Diamond. One year ago.

With my fingers clutching the chain-link fence, I yell, “C’mon Brendan, you can hit better than that!” Our team yells with me and Brendan’s co-workers are competitive to a fault. Our matching Victory Times Three t-shirts are a visual testament. The other team members, all hailing from another agency, have their own clothes on, not even matching with colors. No commitment to winning. That’s why they always lose, Brendan had said that morning with a laugh as he threw the size small at my head. I teased him about having a shirt waiting for me, but he shot me down saying he’d gotten it from one of the other girls on the team. Likely story, I’d smiled to myself. He’s had to have gotten it last night if that were the case. And I strongly doubted it.

From home plate, squinting beneath his baseball hat with his mouth tilted to the side, he jerks his head at me to say he’ll do better this time. He likes it when I’m hard on him. He thrives on goals – thinking of them, aiming for them, meeting them. That’s what I’ve discovered, among other more intimate things.

“C’mon Brendan! Show ‘em what you’re working with!” I wiggle my hips, hands moving in punch-worthy fists.

He chuckles and concentrates on the pitcher. His stance is as good as a pro’s and so is the way he holds the bat. His hips sway a bit as his arms ready themselves for the hit. His ass looks incredible and I have no problem taking my time looking at it.

The pitcher spits, looks to his team, and nods affirmation that he understood and will use the play suggested by their facial ticks and hand gestures. He focuses hard on Brendan, pulls back his arm for the windup. From the way his leg comes up, like someone who’s not nearly as practiced, I know Brendan is going to take him to the cleaners. He releases the ball. It flies at Brendan. CRACK! Our team goes nuts. We’re all screaming and jumping. “Go Brendan!” “Take it all the way home!” “Go B-Man, Go!!!”

Considering the games almost over and we’re ahead by ten, you’d think we’d be a little calmer.

He makes it to third, watching the other team racing to catch his ball. He doesn’t slow down, though. Even as he sees he’ll easily make it all the way home, he still sprints, all focus. The other team looks terribly dejected. But hey, there are winners and there are losers. That’s life. I cup my hands in front of my face and whoop through the fence, egging him on with everyone else.

“Rebecca! It’s your turn, gorgeous!” Tommy calls out. I meet his eyes and roll mine, not happy I have to follow that.

Brendan’s bent over, catching his breath, hands on his knees, panting. He glances to Tommy.

“Okay! Here I go.” I pick up the bat as my team claps and cheers.

“C’mon Rebecca!” “Show them what you’re made of.” “Let’s end this slaughter and put them out of their misery.”

Since all of them, save for Tommy, just met me today – they’re not cheering because they like me, or even for support of the new girl. They’re cheering because they want to win. That is their only goal. The pressure is hot and I can handle it. My last time up to bat was mediocre, but my spirit and pride has risen since then. I always operate far better when I’m under pressure.

Walking onto home plate, I take my place in front of the catcher – a guy who’s had too many double-cheeseburgers for his own good. He glances up at me from his crouched squat, his mouth set firm. Someone doesn’t like to lose, apparently.

“I’m going to save you some work. You won’t be catching this one.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Weighing and swinging the bat to get the feel of it in my bones again, I focus on the pitcher. He measures me and cocks his chin to the side, sizing me up behind an evil smirk that promises, you’re going down this time.

I get very still in my mind. I hear nothing else but my measured, focused heartbeat. The field disappears. My eyes are solely on him – his body, his hand, his eyes.

His knee goes up. Arm falls back and throws. He releases the ball. It flies at me. I stare at it, twisting with both legs spread apart as I pull back and swing. CRACK! I drop the bat and take off for first base. The employees of Location Times Three go nuts. “Go Rebecca! Go! Run!” But Brendan yells the loudest, his deep voice traveling over all of them to force my feet to run faster. “Go baby! Yeah!! Run!”

With sneakers and heart pounding, dirt flying up in dust clouds, I make it to second base before the ball comes whizzing by my head, caught. Our next player – Tommy – gets up. I’m panting and totally exhilarated. He picks up the bat and winks at me from home base. I smile, nod my chin at him, but my eyes cut over to Brendan, who saw the exchange like a jealous hawk. Good.

He was furious when Tommy got hired at his agency, but he didn’t have a say and since then, Tommy’s been a thorn in his foot, always there wherever he walks. I don’t know what’s going on between them, but it isn’t good. The jealousy that’s sprung up since Tommy showed me more attention than he should has been very good for me, though. It shows he cares, and each time it happens, I get a little closer to Brendan.

I look to the guy guarding me on second. “Hey.”

He smiles. “Hi. You guys are kicking our ass.”

I turn away. “Yeah. How does that feel?”

He laughs, shakes his head and punches the groove of his mitt a couple times, eyes on Tommy. “Not good.”

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