Page 5 of Wait For It

Exhaustion set in, but I kept pushing forward, dragging the boy onto the beach before collapsing across his chest with a groan. Waves lapped against the shore, punctuated only by the sounds of my ragged breathing.

I’d done everything I could. The rest was up to him.

Just as I began to fear I’d been too late, the boy jerked violently beneath me, coughing up mouthfuls of lake water. I gripped his shirt with both hands and weakly pulled him onto his side just as I’d seen Sister Sarai do once for Mama when she got sick in the bed.

“I’ve got you now,” I panted. “You’re safe.”

His eyes remained closed, and I hesitated before pressing my fingers to his jaw. A jolt of something electric arced through my body like an errant lightning bolt had been cast down from the heavens.

I’d often felt a heat quietly simmering away within me, but with one touch, it had built to something like a wildfire. The blood left my limbs, redirecting all of its focus to the muscular organ galloping against my breastbone.

Feeling emboldened, I shifted closer, brushing the water droplets from his long dark lashes. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Up close, I realized he wasn’t a boy, but something closer to a man. His jawline was dotted with stubble, and my fingers moved down, reverently tracing the outline of it.

“It’s time to wake up now,” I whispered softly.

As much as I wanted to stay with him, I had to go back. They were bound to be looking for me by now. But first, I needed to ensure he was going to be okay.

His eyelids fluttered at the sound of my voice before he managed to open them, peering up at me in confusion. Against the darkening sky, his blue eyes appeared almost gray. I continued stroking his cheek, enjoying the roughness against my palm.

Like sandpaper against satin.

“Are you good?” I blurted, immediately regretting the question. He was obviously a good person, or God wouldn’t have placed me in his path. He would have been left to die under the dock.

Down the beach, a couple of teenage girls were laughing loudly as they jogged across the sand while their dog splashed through the water beside them.

He blinked several times before focusing on my eyes once again. I brushed the damp hair from his forehead, committing his every detail to mind before forcing out a stammered cry for help. Something brushed against the back of my hand, and I looked down, surprised to see his fingers moving delicately over my skin. His brows pulled together, and he frowned as if he hadn’t expected me to be real.

Remembering Mama’s story, I felt the need to confess, “I’m no angel.”

He swallowed and opened his mouth just as the girls made it over. I allowed myself one final look before pulling my hand free and darting back into the trees to grab my book.

My shoes were like damp kitchen sponges beneath my feet, squishing loudly every time they came in contact with the earth. By the time I made it back into the clearing, the sun had dipped below the horizon. Not only had I missed dinner, but storytime as well.

It wasn’t until I was squeezing through the hole again that I realized I hadn’t gotten my answer as to whether Mama or Papa was right.

And it would be the next day before it dawned on me I hadn’t stuttered once when talking to the boy.

Chapter One

Killian

“You see, you spend a good piece of your life gripping a baseball, and in the end it turns out that it was the other way around all the time.”

Jim Bouton,Ball Four

If there wasone thing in life I was sure about, it was baseball. Unlike most everything else, there was no overthinking the fundamentals. It was as simple as throw the ball, hit the ball, and catch the ball.

Had it ended with that, there probably would’ve been more people walking around with a glove on the one hand and a ball in the other. The game required strategy and skill, though, and that was what made it interesting.

Not everybody could do it.

Sure, they might’ve known right-handed batters were more successful against left-handed pitchers and vice-versa. Still, the majority of the general population couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.

My mama liked to joke that I was born with a baseball in my hand. My father had played ball in college and spent a few years in the minors before a knee injury ended his career. When I came along, his dreams were revived and placed squarely on my shoulders.

Luckily for him, I had a knack for it.

I was picked up by Houston right out of high school and spent a year with Quad Cities in the Class A league. I’d been cocky even back then. I knew I was better than half the guys in the majors. Unfortunately, it had taken the team a lot longer to catch on, and even then, they’d only moved me to Double-A in Corpus Christi.

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