Page 87 of Strike Zone

Wren squeezes my thigh as if she knows what I’m thinking. But that’s impossible. There’s no way this woman knows me well enough to read my mind.

But the way she is looking at me and urging me to say something to my family, proves she does know me. Maybe even better than I know myself.

“Take a walk with me?” I ask close to her ear. She nods. “We’ll be back.”

“Sure you will,” Ford says. Giving me a knowing look. He’s right. We probably won’t be back.

I take Wren’s hand in mine and walk her down the path that leads to the horse pasture. They are all in the barn for the night, but it’s one of the safest paths to walk in the dark.

“You need to tell them.” Wren rests her head on my shoulder.

“Tell them what exactly?”

She stops walking abruptly, yanking my arm back. “That you don’t want to play. That you want to stay here and be a part of everything. You sat there and let them shut you out.”

“It doesn’t matter. I have to play. They’re doing the right thing. They should be making plans without me.” I kick a piece of gravel.

“You don’t have to play. The debt isn’t from baseball. It was a slow accumulation over the last forty years. Your daddy took over this place in debt from bad business decisions and back taxes. Add in college tuitions and hospital bills and it all stacked up. It wasn’t you.”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. It was a sacrifice either way getting me to all my practices and buying me new cleats and bats. Paying for uniforms and private coaching. You may not have found it in the paperwork but it’s there. Regardless of where the debt stems from, we still need the money. I’ve got to pay them back.”

Is it nice to know it wasn’t entirely my fault that we’re close to losing the place? Yes, it eases a little bit of guilt. It doesn’t however change anything.

“So do it here.” Wren runs her hands up my chest. “Pay them back by being here. You don’t think working the fields and being a part of everything will be paying them back? You don’t think they would prefer to have you with them? They want you happy, Wyatt.”

“I can’t risk it being enough.”

“You act like you’ve already signed a contract in the majors. It’s not guaranteed either.”

I slide my hands down to her ass. “It is. I’m good, birdie. You’ve seen the way I play.” I grin at her. Her cheeks blush. Fucking adorable. “I’m predicted to be drafted in the first round. San Diego needs a left-handed pitcher.”

“San Diego!” Wren steps out of my reach and turns her back to me.

“It’s not set but that’s who keeps coming to look at me.”

“It’s far from home,” she says quietly. It’s far from me is what she means. The unsaid words squeeze my heart.

“It is but nothing a plane can’t fix.” I move to stand in front of her. “I’ll fly to you. Every chance I get. I’ll come to Atlanta and visit. You think your husband would be okay with that?” I ask. Wren flinches.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Talk about your future? It’s okay to discuss mine but we can’t talk about what you're going to be doing? How is that fair? Your choice will have a bigger effect on us than mine will, I promise you that.”

She turns on her heel and begins walking at a fast clip down the dirt path.

“Birdie!” I yell and start chasing after her. I grab her wrist and pull her toward me. “Don’t run away from me. We were talkin’.”

“You’re the one who’s running off to California. Could you pick a place further away? At least I’ll be here,” she says, stomping a foot.

I grip the back of her neck. Not hard, but firm enough to get her attention. “You think that makes any of this easier?” She’ll be here in the arms of another man. I’d rather take my chances in California than have to be witness to that.

“Then stay! Believe in your family and what they’re doing. Believe in me.” Wren grasps at my sides hard enough to leave a mark.

“I do believe in you. I told you—”

“You told me my ideas impressed you. That I’m smart and good at what I do. But you don’t believe in me. If you did, you wouldn’t still be thinking about baseball. You would take the same chance with the rest of us.”

“The rest of us? You say it like you’re sticking around. Are you? I keep hearing you say ‘we’ and ‘us’ like you’re going to be here this summer. We both know you won’t.” I squeeze the back of her neck. “Are we going to talk about your future now?”

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