Page 137 of Honey Pot

I sucked in a shaky breath, hopped the banister into my dugout, and beelined for the hulking frame of Tucker. “Dean.” I grabbed his collar and threw my arm over his shoulder. “They need a ‘this game doesn’t matter’pep talk.”

I need it.I tossed him a pleading look.

“It does matter.” Dean shook his head.

“No, it doesn’t,” I argued and forced a smile for him. “This game is for show. For everyone to have fun and make the crowd feel included. It’s as stressful as the finals out here, Van has already devoured two canisters of chew, and Todd looks like he might die of heat stroke.”

We looked back at the guy sweating bullets in the conditioned, temperature-controlled stadium. A genuine laugh exploded from me. "There’s no reason for him to be that sweaty!”

“Alright,” he groaned and turned to them, stepping up onto the step and getting their attention. “Guys.” He put his hands up, and the request came out so soft half of them didn’t even hear him at first until he repeated himself a little louder. “Stop worrying about the score, stop stressing about the outcome, the new reports, or the headlines. Clear your heads and remember why we do this.”

He tapped two fingers to his chest, and the team followed.

“Play this game like we're at the cabin. It’s just us out there on the field having fun. Don’t do it for any other reason than the love of the game,” Dean said.

Todd hollered first, cheering on Dean with a goofy grin as the rest of the team joined in and got themselves riled up for the second half of the innings.

“Not bad.” Arlo patted Dean on the shoulder. “You’re a natural.”

Dean’s face twisted into something between raw shock and overwhelming gratitude. “Did you hear that?” He shook his head, and a bright smile formed that made my chest warm. “Arlo complimented me.”

“That’s my boy.” I clapped a hand on his cheek and absorbed his childish enthusiasm and wide smile into my bloodstream.

“Cael, you’re up!” Dad barked, and I pushed away from the banister, gently pounding my fist against Dean’s chest in passing. “There’s an empty pocket in right field,” Dad explained with his face turned toward me. “Fill it.”

I went to step out, and he grabbed the collar of my jersey. “Take a breath, kid,” he instructed. His voice shifted from scary Coach to my Dad. Hushed and careful, he looked at me with pride as a smile curled on his lips. “Feel everything.”

He pushed me out onto the field. Adrenaline filled every aching, scared muscle in my body as I closed my eyes and took in the smells and sounds of the stadium. I walked across the line, the sand crunching with each shaky step closer to the box. I filled my chest with sweaty, clay-scented air and opened my eyes.

I could do it. The stadium thrummed in approval.

The Lorrettes relief pitcher, Yuri Fortuna, rolled the ball between his fingers and stared at me with his horrifyingly dark brown eyes. He was good, but he was no Joshua Logan. Yuri had ticks. Like the way his back leg shook when he was going to throw a slider. Or how he’d run his hand through his thick red hair before a curveball.

I adjusted my grip on the back, tilting my head in and waiting for the ball as I ran through my list. My shoulder didn’t hurt, I hadn’t touched drugs in months, and the itch to drink had faded out and never returned. I had been given more time with Clementine and finally repaired my relationship with my Dad.

I could hit this ball.

I know I could.

Feedback screeched over the PA system and caused the entire stadium to fall quiet.

“What the hell?” Yuri threw his hands in the air. “What kind of bullshit is your team pulling to win, Cody?” He asked in a threatening tone.

“This isn’t us, you shit-for-brains.” I rolled my eyes and stared at him like he was an idiot before searching around for the source of the interruption.

“Cael Cody.” My name was hummed over the speakers in a shaky, sweet voice I never thought I would hear again. “We never finished our interview.”

MATTHEWS

My hand shook around the microphone, but Bobbi and Ella both gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up. “You got this!” Bobbi mouthed with a big smile and love in her eyes.

God, did I want to believe that. Momma gave me a nod of encouragement.

The phone call that had gotten me to Rhode Island had come a week before Christmas.

“It’s for you,” Bobbi said, handing me the phone. She shoved her hands beneath the covers of my bed against my face.

“Make them go away,” I whined and settled down into my sheets, wrapping my arms around myself and tucking my face against Cael’s bunched-up shirt. It had been two weeks since I had left Harbor, one since I had gotten in a massive fight with Julien and kicked him out for good, and three days spent wallowing in my bedroom with takeout and bad television. Christmas was a week away and all I wanted to do was melt out of existence so the guilt and heartbreak would cease.

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