Page 39 of The Perfect Game

He tensed up, looking more frustrated than I felt when the ball landed on the floor on our side of the court. I opened my mouth to say something, but I got the feeling he’d already forgotten about me sitting here, his sole focus on hitting the hole.

Ten minutes later, he’d finished throwing the last ball in the bucket, only making one pitch through the hole he’d been aiming for. I stood and walked next to him as he grabbed the bucket, his anger evident as he whipped it around and started mumbling under his breath. I’d never seen him this way, so intense and beating himself up.

After picking up a couple of balls and tossing them into the bucket, I stepped over and touched his shoulder. “Ben, are you okay?”

His eyes turned to me, looking as though he didn’t really see me. “I’m fine. I just can’t get this pitch to work.”

I let out a nervous laugh and bent over to pick up another ball. “I don’t think you missed more than two inches on this entire bucket, and there’s, what, fifty balls in it?”

“Fifty-six.” His voice was flat. He walked to the corner of the fence and grabbed the last few balls. He chucked them into the bucket, and I started toward the house. When I turned and found him positioned on the mound again, I frowned.

“Hey, I thought we were going to go watch a movie after that bucket.” I folded my arms across my chest, hoping he’d get the hint that practice should be over.

He shook his head. “Just give me one more bucket. I won’t be able to concentrate or sleep tonight until I’ve gotten more through the hole.”

A ball sailed toward the net, hitting the edge of the hole and banking in.

“That was awesome!” I said. I turned to look at him, but his expression only relaxed for a second before he bent down to retrieve another ball. Shaking my head, I said, “You’re going to hurt yourself. I’m going inside.”

Irritation rose in my chest as he didn’t even nod or look as though he’d heard me.

“Is he finally done out there?” his mom asked, washing a dish with a scrubber as I entered the kitchen.

I shook my head, taking in a deep breath before I said anything. I was swinging between anger and shock at how the night had turned out.

His mom dried her hands off on a towel and walked over, resting her hands on my shoulders. She was a few inches taller than me, and I had to tilt my head up a bit to look into her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Serena.” Without warning, she wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me in for a hug. “He gets into this mode, and we just have to let him ride it out.” She pulled back, keeping one arm over my shoulders, and ushered me into the living room.

My lip trembled, and I sniffed back the beginning of tears. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry over a boy after what happened with James, but there was so much more emotion when it came to this relationship that my throat burned from trying to hold it all back.

“What triggers it?” I managed without sounding too desperate.

We sat on the couch, and she turned toward me, her eyes sympathetic. “Ben tries really hard to be the perfect son. He’s always been that way, always wanted to excel. But it’s been getting worse lately. I know how much he loves baseball, but there are times when I wish he would find another sport.”

I was surprised to hear that from his mother, especially since she came to every game of his. “Why? What is it about baseball that makes him like this?” I really liked the Ben from therapy, or the Ben from the dock on our first date. But Ben the Pitcher was beginning to wear on me.

“I love my husband, but he isn’t the biggest fan of sports in general, least of all baseball. I think he had some bad experiences when he was younger, didn’t get picked for one of the all-star teams or something, and now he thinks it’s a waste of time.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised Ben’s dad could think that about a sport. There were so many more things to it than just a couple of hours during the game. It was the hours of practice, the ability to develop teamworking skills, as well as the responsibility of showing up and giving it everything. But Ben’s ‘everything’ seemed to be more over-the-top than even I could have imagined.

“So what’s got Mr. Baseball bound and determined to hit that certain hole outside?” I jutted my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the back door.

“Ben got an invitation this afternoon to an elite training camp next week. I guess they had a player drop out, and Coach Maddox reached out to him, asking if he wanted to take part in it. Ben asked my husband if he could go, saying he’d pay the fee with the money he’d earned at the clinic.” She swallowed and the pucker of her lips looked as though she’d eaten something sour. “After their disagreement last night, it didn’t go well.”

“Does Mr. Gates not want him to play in college or something? I would think an elite camp would be an amazing opportunity.” I’d be over the moon if I’d been invited to one of the elite camps for volleyball, and even if my mom said no, my dad would probably win her over.

“Dave just wants him to figure out a career and go for it. He’s not too keen on physical therapy being the best as it’s long hours and not that great of pay.”

“What do you think?” The woman kept talking about her husband’s opinion, but I was curious about what she wanted for her son. She was a woman who’d built a catering business and made it work for her and her family. There was no way she didn’t feel somewhat strongly about all this.

“I love watching Ben play. He has such a natural talent and reminds me of watching my brothers growing up. But he gets so in his head, to the point that I can’t get through to him when he’s like this.” She reached over and took my hands in hers. “I just hope you won’t let this affect your relationship. He lights up when he talks about you.”

My mind reflected on all the other times I’d seen Ben, or when I walked into a room and his big smile flashed, and I knew she was right. But the Ben outside right now was like some other person.

“I think I’ll just head home. Have him call me when he’s back to normal.” I stood, glancing around the room. Taking a step closer to her, I said, “Tell Daniel he can have the package of gummy bears.”

She laughed. “I will. You’ll probably cement yourself as his favorite person after that.”

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