Page 15 of Mended Hearts

“Learn to watch your mouth and I won’t have to,” I growl, ready to really throw some fists if necessary.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles, leaving the locker room.

I continue shoving my dirty clothes into my bag. From the corner of my eye, I watch as our first baseman, Wes, makes his way toward me. He stops right beside me and places his hand on my shoulder, and I look up at him. “He really didn’t mean any harm, you know?”

And the truth is, I do know. But just because his intentions aren’t ill-willed doesn’t mean they shouldn’t bother me. If something bothers you, and you don’t let the person responsible know, the likelihood of it happening again is high. Granted, I probably went about it all wrong. Okay, I’m sure I did.

I toss my bag over my shoulder and jog out of the weight room. While all the other guys are in a hurry to get in their cars and go to the big lake party Drew Nickols is throwing, I’m in a hurry to watch my girl and that hellacious fast ball of hers. Ball season hasn’t officially started yet. We are just in the throes of practice. Her coach has been having Echo do some extra one-on-one practices with him lately.

The sun is her backdrop, and it showcases her beauty perfectly. Her brown hair sits messily on the top of her head, with a colorful headband wrapped around her hairline. All the girls seem to wear them, but for some reason, it looks best on her. Duh.

I walk up to the fence and drop my bag. Raising my hands above my head, I link my fingers with the chain-link. I want to whistle and do a bunch of obscene catcalls, but I don’t want to distract her. She takes the game just as seriously as I do. Focus is written all over her face and in the way she directs her body. The catcher throws the ball back and Echo lifts her glove at the last minute, catching the ball with ease. I have the belief that she canplay this game blind—play it off of hearing alone. That’s how in tune she is.

She rolls the ball in her hand and stands with her right foot on the pitcher’s mound. She extends both arms out straight in front of her with her glove covering her right hand. With her arms swung down, her left resting against her right leg, her right swinging behind her as she bent over. She pushes off with her right foot and seems to be flying through the air as her left foot shoots out in front of her and her arm swings around with such intense momentum. Echo lands with her feet spread apart. The right one slides up from behind as her arm comes up from underneath, releasing the fastest sailing ball I’ve yet to see another female duplicate.

“STRIKE!” her coach yells from behind the catcher.

“Hell yeah!” I put my fingers in my mouth, whistling. I don’t think. I just act. I’m excited and proud and can’t keep quiet about it.

She looks over at me, shaking her head with the biggest grin ever. She starts to head over my way, but her coach hollers for her. She mouths, “One minute,” while holding up a finger. I nod and enjoy the view as she turns and runs toward her coach. Man, do the shorts she’s wearing look good on those thick legs of hers. The girl has curves for days, and I can’t wait until I’m able to test drive them.

She stands tall and straight with confidence in front of her coach. The nosy ass side of me wishes I were closer so I could hear what’s being said. She nods a few times and then excitement takes over as she begins smiling, and her body goes from statuesque to bouncing with joy.

“Dustin!” she yells, running and jumping into my arms. Not sure if it was the momentum or the excitement, or a combination that took us to the ground.

“Sorry.” She giggles.

“Mmm. Never apologize for being on top of me.” I push the falling strands of hair out of her face.

She pauses momentarily, taking in what I said, then nods. “Deal. So guess what?”

“What, babe?” I ask, feeling my own excitement building—in more places than one.

“I’m starting. Coach said I’ve gone above and beyond and have proven myself. He’s making me the starting pitcher.” She squeals the last part out.

“Baby, that’s amazing! I told you!” I lean in, instinctively grabbing her face with both hands. And without a second thought, I bring her lips to mine. She pulls away, touches her lips, and for a moment I worry that I overstepped. Then she drops her hand and places it against my cheek.

“You never cease to amaze me. Your faith in me knows no bounds. Thank you for that.” She leans down, pressing her lips to mine. I want to slide my tongue against them, beckon them to grant me access, but not here. This is not the time or place to leave her breathless.

“I will always be your number one fan, Echo. Always.” I pat my hands on her bare thighs. “But now you’re gonna have to get off me, or I won’t be able to walk for a while.”

“Huh?” Her brows bunch together in the cutest way as she tries to make sense of my request. I grab her hips and rock mine against them a couple times, driving in my point, which only makes it worse on my end. Her eyes get big as saucers and an innocent smile plays on her mouth. She felt it. That’s for sure.

Chapter Nine

ECHO

It sucks that Dustin and I can only see each other at school, on the ball fields—if the timing works out—and at church. Even though Dustin’s parents quit coming three Sundays after Dustin and I initially met, he’s made sure to be here every time the door is open. I know, in the beginning, he wasn’t really into church, or religion, for that matter. I’m sure some of what was preached interested him, but he wasn’t coming for a lifestyle change. He was coming for me. But I believe that night at the youth rally changed his motivation. I believe after that, he was coming for himself, and I was just an added perk.

“It’s stupid we can’t sit together,” Dustin mutters, pulling his lips from mine. We found a safe hiding spot in the church’s stairwell a few Sundays ago. It’s only a matter of time before he gets fed up with our situation. As much as he promises and reassures me he’ll never go anywhere, I always worry. One day, all the strictness and secrecy will drive him away.

It’s a fear… No, more like dread. Because, deep inside, I know it’s inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, looking down. “I understand if you don’t want to continue this—if you don’t want to be with me.”

“Are you crazy?” His eyes widen, searching mine, and he tightly grabs my hands.

“Maybe,” I reply seriously. I’m starting to believe I might just be crazy for believing something with him might work. It’s obvious my dad is going to play the “over my dead body” card. “My dad is more than anti D plus E forever.”

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