Page 7 of Bad Ball Hitter

I brush off her playful jab and set down the fresh towels. “Can’t complain.”

“One could say it’s spectacular,” she murmurs.

Eyes widening, I shoot Chenille a warning glance. To Jett, I say, “I’ll be ready for Max in just a moment. He’s here for the usual today, right?”

“Yes, but he could use some extra pampering. He’s been a good boy.”

“Sounds like someone else has also been well-behaved. Maybe he wants to be pampered as well,” Chenille teases.

I mouth, “Stop it,” but when I look at Jett, I’m nothing but wide smiles. “We’ll take excellent care of him.”

Max wags his tail as if sensing what’s coming, his deep brown eyes lighting up with anticipation.

“I know. You always do.” He winks before sitting in the waiting area.

Before long, my station was tidy, and I led Max to the grooming table. Jett leans against the counter, his pale blue eyes sparkling. He’s an attractive man—average height and build, not overly muscular, but strong enough. He looks slightly older than me. He’s everything I want in a partner on paper, yet there’s no spark between us.

“Did you watch last night’s game?”

“Uh, no.” I have to fight the urge to smack Chenille at her failed attempt to rein in a laugh. If this is Mr. Brinkley’s attempt to hit on me, he’s going about it all wrong.

“The Bears won. Thanks to that new catcher we picked up over winter, the winning streak continues.”

My hands falter as I clip the leash to Max’s collar. I haven’t followed sports news for years, so I wouldn’t know about the team picking up a new catcher. But the only catcher’s name I know is Drake’s. No chance that they can be the same person. Last I knew, he played for the Phillies.

“Is that so?” I manage to ask past the tightening vise around my throat.

“Yeah, Drake Gunner. Rick Bosley and him are going to lead us to the World Series this year.”

The name slams into me like a fastball to the gut, stealing my breath and sending a chill down my spine.

“Oh. That’s … nice.” But it’s not. It’s awful. There’s no way this is real. Drake Gunner cannot live in the same city as me.

Mr. Brinkley nods enthusiastically, oblivious to my discomfort. “Oh yeah, he’s a real prodigy. They dubbed him Bad Ball Hitter because that guy can hit anything. He frustrates the hell out of the pitchers.”

My hands shake as I guide Max onto the table, memories of high school flooding back like a relentless tide—back to the broken promises, the memory of Drake’s smile, and that effortless charm that could knock the wind right out of my sails. My stomach clenches. It’s a reflex now, an involuntary tightening of old wounds, and I hate it. I hate that he still wields power to make me feel this way, even if it’s just a ghost of a sensation.

I swallow hard, fighting back the sudden emotion threatening to consume me. I’m stronger than this. Have been for years. “I-I’m sure he’ll be a real asset to the team.”

I can sense Mr. Brinkley’s curious gaze as I brush Max’s thick fur. “You okay, Lila? You look a little pale.”

I force a laugh, but it sounds brittle and fake even to my own ears. “Oh, I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.”

Chenille gives me a questionable glance, but I ignore her.

Mr. Brinkley shrugs, satisfied with my explanation. “Well, I won’t keep you. I’ll be back in a few.” He points behind him. “Have to run a few errands before heading home.”

As he turns to leave, I feel a sudden, irrational urge to call out to him, to beg him not to go. It was as if keeping him here, talking about anything other than Drake Gunner, could somehow erase the past that was knocking on the forefront of my mind. But I can’t stop the memories from taking over…

“I don’t understand. Why would we need to end things?” My voice cracked, betraying the desperation I felt.

Drake’s face was set in a determined expression, his jaw clenched tightly. “I’m heading off to college, Lila. I can’t ask you to sit around and wait when I have no idea what my future looks like. That isn’t fair to you.”

“But that should be my choice,” I protested, feeling the weight of a promised forever crashing down on me. Each word seemed to lodge a new dagger in my heart.

“We’re eighteen. Fuck, we still have an entire lifetime ahead of us.”

A life that we promised to spend together.

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