Page 48 of Keep Me

“Just wondering how it happened that I’d do anything you asked me to when you look at me like that,” he answers, bewildered and confused.

Meanwhile, my heart is fluttering so hard I fear it’s going to leap right out of my chest. I’m so used to Ryker’s grumpiness, but every time he shows me the softer parts of him, it makes me fall a little more and more in lov—I mean, like. In like with him.

Ryker clears his throat and wordlessly takes the foam bat from me, replacing it with a steel one.

“I’m going to pitch you some balls, so you have to remember to swing through fully and use your hips. It’ll give you more power,” he instructs before jogging to a spot a few feet in front of the pitching mound and dropping his bag of balls on the grass.

While he gets set up, I practice swinging with the heavier bat. It’s not so heavy that I’m unable to do it, but it is different from swinging a foam bat.

“You ready?” Ryker calls out, ball in his glove as he twists his ball cap backward with his free hand.

Well, now I’m not ready. How am I supposed to focus when he looks like my wildest fantasies right now?

His dark green long-sleeved RLU shirt hugs his arms and the black shorts he’s wearing show off his thigh tattoo that’s peeking through the hemline of said shorts. To top it off, his hat is now flipped backward, those long brown locks free in the wind.

It’s a sight to behold.

It’s my turn to clear my throat, which is drier than normal. “Yeah, of course,” I say excitedly, making it known that I want to let him have his way with me, right here, right now.

I go through my ritual, digging my right foot in before bending my knees and swaying lightly from side to side. My chin dips as I nod, letting him know he’s good to go. Ryker nods back, then underhandedly throws a lob to me.

I swing and miss, which makes me want to curl up in embarrassment. “You didn’t see that,” I yell. “Erase it from your memory.”

“Just keep your eye on the ball. You got this,” he encourages me.

The next one, I make contact with, but my swing is pathetic and only allows the ball to land a few feet in front of me.

“Again,” I tell him. I’m not leaving this field until I have one good hit.

The same thing happens with the next few balls, not going very far when I hit them.

“You’re swinging too slow,” he comments, then shifts his body to pretend like he’s swinging a bat. He swings slowly and says, “This is what you look like, when it should look like this.” He does it again, this time swinging much faster.

I take a practice swing, whipping the bat faster this time. At least, I think.

“How’s that?” I huff, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead.

“Good, but I think you can do better,” he challenges me while casually tossing the ball into his glove over and over. “Swing the bat with purpose. I know someone’s pissed you off before. Get that anger out right now.”

I mull his words over, my mind filling with images of my parents, of the people who attacked me. And for once, rather than fear filling my head, it’s anger for what they did to me and what they took from me. A normal childhood, a chance to be myself, and those men who took my sense of safety.

When I get into my stance, I dig my foot in a little harder, gripping the bat with a determination I’ve never experienced. And this time, when my bat hits the ball, there’s a piercing thud before the ball is soaring rapidly into the outfield.

“Holy fuck,” Ryker says in astonishment, but I don’t acknowledge it. I want more.

“Keep going,” I shout, enjoying this release.

The next few balls are the same, crushed balls into varying parts of the outfield. Each time I hit the mark, I feel lighter than before. It’s therapeutic for some reason. I smash the last ball into left field, hitting the fence right under the sign that reads two hundred feet.

Dropping the bat to the ground, a mixture of emotions hit me all at once. Happiness and frustration mix together, and tears stream down my cheeks as I smile widely.

Ryker rushes over to me, a concerned look on his face. He pulls me into his arms and I rest my head under his chin while his hand presses against my lower back.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” I sniffle against his chest.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I got you,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead.

Once my body settles from the height of my emotions, I pull back from him and attempt to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

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