Page 10 of Keep Me

I awaken with a scream, my body sweating and shaking as I start to come to. Ugh, I hate when this happens. I’ve had nightmares on and off. Every time it’s the same thing, all those men chasing me, except in the nightmare they catch me.

I wipe a palm over my sweaty forehead, then throw the blanket off my blazing body, hoping it’ll help. I reach over for my reusable water bottle on my bedside table and take a long chug.

I then grab my phone and look up gardening videos online since I know it always soothes me. I love plants and miss gardening so much since living in an apartment isn’t ideal for it.

After spending hours watching my favorite creator plant new wildflowers in her backyard, the idea of getting my favorite flowers tattooed pops into my head. I’ve always wanted to fill my body with a piece of something I found beautiful and it reminds me that we can always bloom, no matter what the roots are.

And I happen to know just the artist I trust to do it.

Chapter Five

Ryker

Today is my favorite day of the year—the start of spring training.

I woke up early, got a run in before seven, and made breakfast for myself before my teammates woke up.

All the junior and senior players on the team live in a house just off campus. It’s become a tradition over the years. It once started as a way for the guys on the team to bond to increase fluidity and trust within the group, and it hasn’t stopped since.

After I shower, I grab my iPad, where I worked on a design for my digital art class. Once I submit it, I start on the tattoo design for Theo—a shoulder piece that features an interconnected series of lines that look pretty fucking cool if I say so myself—until it’s finally time to head downstairs and round up the guys to leave for practice.

As soon as my feet hit the last step, Noah is on me. “Dude, you made pancakes this morning and didn’t think to leave extra for us?” he complains.

“You can make your own food.”

“Not even the first day of spring training can make this guy smile,” Cuddy, a new addition to the team whom I actually like, chimes in.

“Get used to it, newbie,” Noah huffs dramatically.

Honestly, it’s kind of a game to me now. I try my best to purposely not smile because I know it drives them insane. The only time they’ll catch me with a smile on my face is when we’re on the diamond and kicking ass.

Then my pearly whites make a fucking statement out there.

“Practice starts in an hour. Let’s go,” I shout, clapping my hands and doing my best to rally the team together.

Eventually, all eight of us make it out of the house, splitting up into two cars to drive to the facility since it’s cold as fuck outside. My body itches with excitement as we park a few minutes later and make our way inside. It’s finally time to play ball.

There’s nothing that fuels me the way this sport does. It fills my body with adrenaline and joy every time my cleats hit the field.

My goal is to go pro by the end of graduation, and my prospects are looking pretty good. My agent has been in talk with recruiters over the past three years, and every time, he’s mentioned that they have their eye on the third baseman who has a wicked arm and is even better at bat.

This is my year. I can feel it. Drafting happens in July and I’m working my ass off to be a first pick.

The locker room is loud and boisterous as I come in and reunite with other teammates I haven’t seen much during the winter break because of our hectic class schedules. We’re like a family, and even though they all piss me off at times, our bond runs deep.

Coach Warren walks through the door, instantly quieting the group of rowdy men. He came to RLU a few years ago and has produced some of the greatest players in MLB history throughout his coaching career. He’s a force to be reckoned with, hence why we all shut the hell up instantly when he walks through the door.

He gives us a spiel about the upcoming season, what he expects from us, and what the training schedule will be like for the next two weeks.

“We leave on March eighteenth for an exhibition game against the University of New Mexico,” he announces, eliciting a grumble from Noah.

“You got a problem with that, Noah?” Coach calls him out.

Noah straightens, clearing his throat. “No, sir. It’s just… that’s my girl’s and my anniversary.”

“Son, if there’s something you and your girl need to learn now is that if you plan to have a career in baseball, you will be gone for important things. You’ll miss birthdays, graduations—hell, maybe even the birth of your kid. It’s what we do for the game.”

Noah tightens his jaw but nods, not commenting back. Coach Warren isn’t the sentimental type, and I agree with everything he said.

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