Page 56 of Nothing Like the Movies

I turned just in time to see Wes take the mound.

He was all powerful legs and wide chest as he walked out, big and imposing in the pin-striped uniform. He moved like he wasgoing to get an easy three or kick the crap out of any batter who dared to make contact, and holy, holy shit, he was a sight to behold.

Underneath the Bruin-blue baseball cap, his face was a mask of rigid concentration.

I was holding my camera, but too stunned by his walkout to do anything but stare.

Wes Fucking Bennett, ladies and gentlemen.

I had zero interest in him, but objectively speaking, he looked like baseball perfection.

I moved to a better vantage point so I could get shots of his warm-up throws, which were relaxed and accurate.So far, so good, I thought, but I was nervous when the first batter from the other team came out.

Again—I had no skin in Wes’s game, but as a fan of all things Bruins, I wanted the team to do well during their first official outing.

I watched Wes take a breath and trace the seam of the ball, and then he kicked up that front leg, and it was on. He threw a fastball down the middle, then another one, then finished off the first batter with a curveball that was ridiculous.

The fans cheered, and I was able to breathe a sigh of relief as Wes readjusted his cap while the next batter came out.

And as I snapped photos of the next two hitters that he made light work of, I realized that my concern for him was actually a great sign. It was proof, indisputable evidence, that I was light-years away from being the girl he’d once destroyed.

Our history was so far in my past that I was genuinely able to cheer for his success.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“You’re in love with me. Why?”

“Beats the shit out of me.”

—The Ugly Truth

Wes

“That felt so damn good.”

“Agreed,” I said to Mickey as we ran toward the dugout, and I felt like I was floating. I would’ve liked to be cool and not smile as the relaxed crowd cheered for us, but that was impossible.

Because I’d just pitched a no-hitter.

Granted, it was a one-inning no-hitter in an exhibition game, which didn’t mean dick, but it felt like twelve innings in the World Series to me. Swear to God, I felt lighter now than I’d felt since moving to LA, now that I’d pitched through the bullshit.

“Fucking fire, Bennett,” Ross said without looking at me as I stepped down into the dugout, and those three words meant a lot.

I wasn’t some little kid who needed a father figure now that I no longer had one, but there was something about Ross’s opinions—and respect—that mattered a hell of a lot to me.

“Thanks,” I said, throwing down my glove and reaching for a water.

I felt like I could do anything.

Because not only had I shut down the voices and pitched my game, but Liz tried to help me.

Liz. Tried. To. Help. Me.

Me.

I kind of didn’t know what to do with that, especially when her boyfriend had been the one to bring me the note, but I’d take it.

Because something about knowing she cared that I was struggling felt important. Not for her and me in regard to our past or future, but for me. I’d struggled alone through a lot since my dad died, and it felt good to know she was still there.

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