Page 98 of All Your Pucking Secrets

Can I really do it? Can I sit back while she makes a family with someone else?

The future without her stretches before me, long and bleak. An eternity with no light to chase away the darkness. Maybe it will finally consume me.

25

ECHO

I approach the batting cages warily. Ryan is the only one here. He swings and makes contact with a cracking sound. The ball flies away. Almost immediately, the machine lobs another one at him.

I stop behind the cage. It only takes him a moment to notice me. He presses a button and the balls stop coming, then he leans the bat against the wire and faces me.

“Hey.” His smile is awkward. Hesitant. “Thanks for coming. I know you probably didn’t want to.”

He’s right. When he messaged me the invitation, I almost ignored him, but my need to know what he has to say outweighed my caution.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I wince, irritated by how prickly I sound. I promised myself I wouldn’t come in with all guns blazing, but the past few days have been overwhelming and my nerves are rubbed raw.

“You are.” His smile softens. “And I’m glad.”

I cross my arms. “So, why are we here?”

He gestures at the empty space—a large, open indoor area with fake turf. “This is my favorite place to come when I need to think, or to work out some anger. I thought maybe you’d like to try it.”

I arch one of my eyebrows. “You think I’ll hit a few baseballs and immediately forgive you?”

“No.” The side of his mouth quirks. “But it’s as good a place to start as any.”

He picks up the bat and indicates for me to enter the cage. I shift from foot to foot, considering my options. I could still run away. Just turn, leave, and block his number. But he has been a good friend to me over the years, and whether he had an ulterior motive for befriending me or not, I miss him.

“Fine,” I huff, rounding the fence and stalking toward him.

He passes me the bat. “Stand over here.”

I move to the spot he’s motioning at and grip the bat. I’m not sporty, but it isn’t my first time hitting a baseball…even if my skills—and my hand-eye coordination—leave a little to be desired.

“The ball will come from there,” he says, pointing to the hole in the front of the machine. “If you think you might miss, just step back and make sure you’re out of the way. You ready?”

“Sure.” Maybe it will be cathartic.

He presses the button again, and a couple of seconds later, a ball rockets toward me.

I scramble backward. “Whoa!”

He grimaces. “Sorry. Forgot to turn down the speed.”

He hits the button before the machine attacks again and messes around with a dial. “Take two?”

“Go on.” At this point, I’ll just be happy to escape unscathed. I’m still not sure what he thinks he’ll accomplish by bringing me here.

The next ball is slower, and I swing the bat, making contact. It thumps into the ground a few feet away and rolls. Another comes at me, and I hit it more softly.

“Nuh-uh,” Ryan chides. “Bash it as hard as you can. Don’t even think about where it goes. Just swing and hit. Got it?”

I grit my teeth. He makes it sound easy, and perhaps it is for him, but he’s been playing since before he could spell. I smack the next ball, trying to ignore the fact it skims the grass rather than traveling a decent distance. Then I hit another. And another. Before long, I fall into a rhythm, and it’s oddly satisfying.

By the time the machine runs out of balls, I’m sweating and breathing heavily.

“Nice work.” Ryan carefully takes the bat from me, as if worried I might use it against him, and offers me a high five. Reluctantly, I slap our palms together, but I narrow my eyes, so he knows he’s not completely off the hook.

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