“Are you going to throw it, or stare at it until it grows a set of tits? It’s fucking frigid out here,” Rico yells at me from behind home plate. I’d pay big money to erase the wide smirk off his face. “No wonder all our early games are down south. Fuck.” He blows a puff of warm air into his hands. “Seriously, it’s about to snow.”

“Why is your ass even here right now?” I shout, fondling the ball until the stitching is perfect beneath my fingertips.

Rick, A.K.A. Rico, has gone from being my enemy to someone I depend on. How it happened, I’m not sure, but I’m almost positive we both realized we have more in common than we care to admit.

“Pretty Boy isn’t here to help you, and Coach told me I’d be kicked off the team if I didn’t get my ass out here.” He explains his sudden interest in my pitching. “And since I don’t want to go back to junior college, I figured I’d come out and witness you fuck this up.”

“Real supportive.” I shake my head, set up the pitch, and rocket it across home plate into his waiting glove. Rico throws it back, and I stretch to catch it before it barrels over my head.

“How many pitches do you usually throw before you call it quits?” Rico crouches into position and holds his glove out in anticipation.

“Fifty. Seventy-five.” I set up for another and throw it into his glove. “Depends on how long it takes.”

“I don’t get you pitchers.”

“What’s there to get?”

“Is it like hitting the g-spot?” Even from the mound, I spot the thrill in his eyes.

“Do you even know where the g-spot is, Rico?”

“What I mean is, do you have to hit a sweet spot or something to make the pitch feel good?” He stands and stretches his legs.

The description may be horrible, but he’s not wrong. Not speaking for all pitchers, but some pitches never feel right. If my finger slips off the ball too soon, or my grip’s not accurate, small mistakes like that throw off the process. I shrug and smirk.

Around pitch forty-five, Rico gets antsy, making the decision to stop at fifty an easy one. I’ll regret it tomorrow, but torturing him isn’t something I’m willing to do. He’s a third baseman. His knees are bound to be sore tomorrow from holding the catcher’s stance. I don’t need Coach blaming me for his not being on his A game.

“That’s enough for today.” I throw my glove, and the leather bounces into my bag.

“You coming out?” He motions to the parking lot as he steps to the exit.

When we’re lucky enough not to have away games, the team goes out for wings and a few beers before heading to the real parties. On campus, parties are everywhere, and I’d be lying if I didn’t own up to attending some. Coming into a team with a strong bond was hard. As the new guy, I needed to earn my place with them and partake in the festivities to gain their trust. Now, the urge to meet their standards of what makes a good teammate is gone. I don’t need to get blackout drunk to kill it on the mound.

“I’ll pass tonight. Maybe next time.” We both know I’m lying.

“Uh huh, sure you will. Go read a book in bed, pussy,” Rico taunts. “Leave the debauchery to the rest of us.” Rico slides behind the wheel of his Bronco.

If my teammates knew who I used to be, they’d shit themselves.

I give a half-ass wave over my shoulder, and toss my bag into the trunk of my Suburban, a birthday gift from my grandmother. Since my grandfather passed, she’s taken a special interest in my life. She’s always been attentive, but this new version of her is a whole different ball game. I swear she visits at least once a month. At first, I thought she was trying to convince me to go see my father. As far as I’m concerned, he died the day he tried to kill my mother and me. It turns out, though, my grandmother hasn’t even visited her own son. With the knowledge of her absence in his life, I catch the sadness in her eyes when she looks at me. Maybe she finds a little bit of him in me.

The long route home allows the music to relax me. The driveway is packed with cars. Leaving my bags in the trunk, I race up the sidewalk and barge through the front door. The living room is full of my teammates and a few of their girlfriends. I scan over each of them until my stare lands on Rico.

“I said I wasn’t going out tonight.”

Rico stands from one of the many armchairs my grandmother insisted on buying. She says they pull the whole room together.

“I know what you said, but we decided to come to you and stage a sit in,” Rico explains. The rest of my teammates all nod their head in agreement.

“You can all stay, but I’m not drinking. I’ve got things to do tomorrow.” I plop down on the couch and flash a smile to Griffin’s girlfriend, Sandy, who winks in secret. She’s the only one who knows where I disappear to all the time.

“One shot, then we’ll leave you alone.” Griffin extends a balled up fist in my direction, and I tap mine against his.

“One shot.” I agree. “No tequila.”

“Jack it is!” Rico hoots over the crowd.

Everyone slaps me on the back on their way to the kitchen. This is what I’ve been searching for, true camaraderie. I miss my old high school team, but these guys are my family now. If I need anything, one call to any of them, and they’ll drop everything and come running. This is what college is about, learning your place, and discovering the person you want to be.

Sandy sticks behind, witnessing the rest of our friends chasing each other to the shot glasses. “Why don’t you tell them where you run off to? You go almost every Sunday, and any free day you get during the week. They notice your absence, Graham.”

She follows my glance down the hallway. Rico sets up two lines of glasses and tips the bottle straight in the air, theatrically pouring shots for everyone. They shout over each other, toasting to their future conquests, and poor decisions.

“Okay, I know why you don’t, but I think you’d be surprised to know most of them would join you.” Sandy turns around to face me. Her head tilts to the side with a sympathetic gleam in her eye.

“You think?” I ask. Honest curiosity takes over. I can’t imagine any of them giving up their own recovery time on the weekends.

“Okay, maybe I’m not so sure.” She glances at Griffin and Rico the second they jump in the air and bump chests.

“I’ll tell them,” I whisper. Rico runs down the hallway, spilling half the shot of Jack down his hand. I turn and address Sandy. “Eventually.” I take the half-ass shot and throw back the dark liquid. It burns a trail down to my belly. “You happy now?” I ask Rico, my eyebrow raised in question.

“Very.” He clutches my shoulder, but I brush him off. “Now, how the hell do I turn on the fancy-ass stereo system? I still can’t figure this shit out.”

I follow him to the corner cabinet. With a push to the top right-hand corner, the door gives way to reveal the system. Several buttons later, static buzzes in every room. The entire house is wired to the stereo. Rico reaches across me for the volume button, twisting the knob until a hard thump plays throughout the main floor.

“Miley Cyrus?” I shout as Rico passes the sofa.

“Bitches love Miley Cyrus,” he explains, dancing out of the room.

I lean back against the cushions and rest my eyes, exhausted from today’s practice. This song and the loud chatter surrounding me transports my mind to a different time.

“Here’s to staying positive, and always testing negative.” The team cheers, clinking our glasses together and downing the clear liquid.

When I turn, my knees waver. I squint at my phone, trying to see what time it is. I told myself I’d only stay a few hours. That was four hours ago. I hope to find a missed text, but it’s been a week and no response from Kennedy.

“Graham, I want you to meet Kendall.” William, the Senior catcher, pushes a cute brunette in front of me. Her tank top is low, and her hem is short. “She can take care of you.”

Even with my liquor-soaked mind, I know she should feel offended. I wait for her to shove him away, but she surprises me by taking my hand and leading me through the party. My eyes stay glued to her ass as we walk upstairs.

Every door she checks is locked. She shrugs as if it’s only a small inconvenience. Fists grab my shirt and pull me to her as she hoists herself onto a table at the end of the hallway. She sways to the music, spreading her legs to make room for me. My hands run over her hair, but it’s not soft. It’s coarse from harsh treatments through the years. Why isn’t it soft?

Her lips run along my neck, and she whispers, “I need you.”

“At least, someone does,” I think to myself.

I don’t care who sees us. My body goes into overdrive, pulling at her tank top and tossing it to the floor. She’s quick to lift her hips, wiggling her pink thong down her legs. She tucks the material into my back pocket.

My hands run up her thighs, over her trim waist, and onto her ribs. It’s light enough to see the skin is bare. No tattoo. No ballet slippers. Why isn’t there a pair of black slippers?

I shake the thought away when her hand dips into my jeans. The button pops, and she pulls me free, her feet pushing the denim low on my hips. She reaches into her back pocket, pulls out a condom, and waves it in my face. With little effort, she covers me.

The moment the head of my cock rubs against her entrance, every last beer and shot fade away. I stumble back and button my pants, glaring at the stranger in front of me. She’s not who I want her to be. The scrap of lace she calls panties floats to the floor as I race to the stairs.

When the cool air outside hits my face, I slump down on the brick steps. What was I thinking? The shame of what I almost did weighs heavy on my shoulders. Kendall. Kennedy. Coarse brown hair. Soft brown hair. No tattoo. Tattoo. I only saw what I wanted to see. Their close resemblance has my head fucked up.

It’s only been a week. Her pushing me away doesn’t mean I need to revert to the guy I’m not proud of. A half-ass version of myself. I stand and jog to the sidewalk, readying myself for the long walk home.

A warm body cozies up next to mine, bringing me back from my twisted past. Slow to look, I discover Sandy’s best friend, Ashlee. The smile on her face tells me she either wants something, or she’s back to proposition me, much like last week and the week before.

“Hey, Ash,” I offer before closing my eyes again.

“We should grab dinner some night this week,” she says in a soft, innocent voice. Her chest is against my arm, and her eyes burn into me. Nothing about this girl is innocent.

My eyelids flutter open to her overeager smile. “Ash.” I sit up to gain some distance from her.

“Yes?” she answers hungrily.

I huff out a deep breath. “I don’t want to go out with you.” I don’t bother sugarcoating with a list of excuses. I simply am not interested, and Ash knows it, but she’s willing to still try.

She thinks standing by my side will bring some fulfillment to her life and popularity on campus. With her reputation, I have no doubt what she’s after. Last week, after throwing herself at me and being denied, she plastered her ass next to Rico. For most of the girls, it’s how things run around here.

Ashlee groans and jumps from the couch, looming over me. “Are you gay or something?”

“Let’s get something straight.” I stand and leer down at her. “Just because I’m not willing to sleep with you doesn’t make me gay. Trust me, sweetheart, I’m as far from gay as I can get.”

“Then what’s the deal? I’m not asking you to marry me, Graham.”

“No, you’re asking me to fuck you.”

“And?”

“I’m not that guy. I may have been in the past, but I’m not anymore. If you’re looking for someone to fuck, walk to the kitchen. Plenty of those guys will help you with whatever it is you’re trying to forget.”

“Fuck you, Graham.” She tosses a pillow against my chest and saunters by me with an extra swing in her hips. Over her shoulder, she licks her lips and grins. Her desperate attempt to show me what I’m missing is enough validation I’m doing the right thing.

She snuggles under Rico’s arm. He grins over his shoulder, and with a small wave of his hand, turns his eyes to her. He’ll either thank me later or hate me when he can’t give her the brush off like the other girls.

“Guys, I’m heading to bed.” I throw a thumb over my shoulder when they turn with dumbfounded stares on their faces. “Early morning,” I explain my premature departure again. Turning my back, I skip two steps at a time until I hit the top landing.

Sandy walks out of Griffins room, pulling one of his XXL hoodies over her head. “Think about what I said, okay?”

With a shake of my head, I hug her then head to my room. After a long, hot shower, I slip on gym shorts and fall to my mattress, fluffing the pillow beneath my head until I find comfort. With zero enthusiasm, I turn on the TV and flip aimlessly through the channels until I land on Dirty Dancing. I silently laugh and throw the remote near my feet.

There’s a faint knock on my door when the movie’s almost finished. I twist to see my alarm clock. The face lit up in red tells me it’s a little after ten. The door creaks open and a head pops in.

“Hey, Pretty Boy.”

He hates the nickname the guys gave him, and nothing gives me pleasure like tormenting him. Scanning his eyes over the room, he plops down in the chair across from my bed, points to the TV, and groans. When he turns to face me, I hold back my laughter.

“Seriously, man, nothing else on but this?” he asks, a thrilled gleam in his eyes.

I change the subject. “How was the city?”

“Remember that girl I told you about? Well, I don’t know what to think or do …” He runs his hands down his face.

The small action makes me sit up to ready myself for where this conversation is destined to go. “Well, do you like her?”

“Have you ever met someone, and in a single moment, you know they will change your life?” He waves his hand. “Of course, you have. I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”

“Don’t apologize.” I pull out a smile to ease his mind.

“She’s crazy beautiful with this long, curly hair. It’s sort of a mess, but it’s what makes her who she is. She’s wild and energetic.” He shakes his head, then looks up at me. “Underneath all of that, there’s a girl who’s broken and tortured, and I’m not sure I’m ready to take that on.”

“Sometimes it’s worth running through the mud for a girl who can change your world. Don’t forget that,” I say.

“There’s something else …” The urgency in his voice causes my heart to beat fast and my palms to sweat.

If his voice is any indication, I’m not going to like what he has to say. “What is it?”

“The girl I met… she’s friends with Kennedy. Your time’s running out.” He rubs his forehead.

“What do you mean?” My eyebrows scrunch together.

“She’s going to be here next weekend.”

“Mark, what do you mean she’s going to be here?” I try to decipher the meaning behind his words.

“They’re making a trip to Connecticut. You’re going to have to tell her what you’ve been up to. You can’t hide anymore, man. Your time’s up,” he explains.

I sit up in bed. “Did you see her?”

“I did.” He nods, knowing how hard this is for me. “She looks good, healthy.”

“So, I guess this weekend the truth will come out.”

“The truth always comes out. And with that sentiment, I’m going to leave, because this conversation is teetering on the edge of female talk show and braiding each other’s hair.”

“Thank you,” I mutter. My words stop him. “What I mean to say, and probably haven’t said enough, is thank you.”

“Shit like that is going to make all the other guys think I followed your ass to Connecticut, and we’re an adorable couple now.” Mark disappears but pokes his head back in my room. “And you’re welcome.” He shuts the door behind him.

I stare at the pearl white ceiling, processing everything Mark has revealed. It may have been stupid of me to assume I would have more time to figure everything out. Right now, there are too many loose ends, and too many troubled memories I’m trying to sift through.