Chapter Eleven
Dylan
Lucy’s smile was bright and quick in the dim light. Was this another test? Was playing the game a dare in and of itself? He should say no, but he was tired of doing things as expected. Besides, when she touched his arm, he’d forgotten why he’d been in a bad mood to begin with. It also left him with the desire to impress her. He wasn’t sure how to do that, but he’d try.
Straightening his spine, he said, “Truth.”
“Okay, and if you don’t want to answer, you can choose the dare.” She settled herself on the bench. “Who hurt you?”
“Starting off hot, huh?” He picked at his fingernails. “A girl. She’s…she’s dating my best friend. It’s not like she ever said yes to me, but it hurt.”
“Understandable.” Lucy’s tone was kind, and her quicksilver smile faded to something more sympathetic, but not pitying. Like she understood. “Your turn. I want truth.”
“Fair enough.” He pretended to consider, even though he already knew what to ask. “Did you tell Serena I’m cute?”
Lucy looked at the ground and laughed softly. “Yes. Your turn.”
She did think he was cute. The back of his neck grew warm. “Truth.”
She sat up and smiled. It was an evil smile. “What are you afraid of?”
“Spiders.”
“No.” She gave him a stern look. “What are you afraid of?”
Dylan sank back into himself a little bit, his stomach rolling over. “Failure.”
She reached out to squeeze his forearm, nodding. “Bingo. We have some work to do, then. Failure is how you learn. Do you know how many pieces I had to rip apart before I really learned?”
“Learned what?” he asked.
“This counts as my turn.”
“Aw, man.” He swung a leg over to straddle the bench. They weren’t too comfortable, and the rain was deafening on the metal roof. “Fine.”
“Needlepoint. I’m really good, actually. Doing work from patterns was too…stifling, so I decided to do custom designs. I sucked at first and worked to get better.” She pointed a finger at him. “But I don’t get upset if I mess up a piece. I just try again. Your turn.”
“Truth.”
“Dylan…you’re so cautious.” She blew a raspberry at him. “Why did you buy my brother the book?”
What a weird question. “Because I loved it when I was his age and thought my little leaguers would enjoy it. Besides, kids that age don’t read enough.”
Lucy froze. He had no idea what he said to cause a reaction, but she was perfectly still. “Dare.”
Whoa. He hadn’t even thought that far ahead. “Um, stand on the table and sing ‘Itsy, Bitsy, Spider.’”
She climbed onto the table, smirking. “I thought you were afraid of spiders.”
He laughed. “Less talking, more singing.”
She did as she was told, adding goofy dance moves, then pointed at him. He knew what she was asking, and if he wanted this game to go on—which he really did—he had to say it. He had to leave the safe spaces behind. He’d wanted to feel alive, to loosen up. Here was his chance.
“Dare.”
She squealed and clapped her hands together. “Run with me in the rain.”
He glanced at the sheet of water pouring over the edge of the shelter’s roof. “What?”
She hopped off the table and stood toe-to-toe with him. He fought an urge to wrap his arms around her. “We’re going to run in the rain.”
“We are?”
But Lucy was already backing up. With a wink, she stepped off the shelter’s edge with a squeak.
Dylan laughed. How, exactly, did this girl’s mind work? Shaking his head, he pulled his keys, wallet, and phone out of his pocket, then dashed out into the rain to find her.
She was dancing. In the rain. Whooping like mad and twirling in circles. Her chicken T-shirt was plastered to her chest, and her face was upturned to catch drops in her mouth. His feet gained a mind of their own, drawing him closer and closer, and he had a hard time keeping his eyes fixed on her face, especially when he noticed the hot pink bra showing through her wet shirt. God, this girl was crazy, but…he could get used to it.
She stopped and grinned at him over her shoulder, her wet pigtails clinging to her neck, “See, it’s not so bad. Tilt your head back. Stop trying to be in control—because you can’t be, not out here.”
Dylan’s chest hitched, and he felt short of breath, like he’d run out here rather than strolled. Tearing his eyes away from Lucy, he tipped his face up to the rain. The droplets pelted him, and he had to close his eyes. The rain tasted metallic as it landed on his tongue. Slowly, the knot inside him released, came undone.
Lucy slipped her hand into his. “Better?”
He ran a finger along her palm, smiling up at the rain when he felt her shiver. “Yeah. Much better.”
Dylan crept in through the back door. Mom was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, and he could hear Dad on the phone. They’d never understand the damp clothes or bleary eyes, so he had to sneak in. He and Lucy had played in the rain—nothing more than that—for more than an hour before the storm blew over and they decided to go home. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. His leather car seat was slick and the floorboards were soaked, but they’d dry.
When his dad paced into his study and Mom stuck her head into the fridge for something, Dylan dashed through the kitchen and living room to the stairs. He couldn’t explain the wet hair, either, so he started up the shower. Just in time, too, because his dad came clomping upstairs.
“Dylan, Uncle Rick called. He’s coming up Saturday.”
So Rick had gone through with it after all. “Oh…okay, thanks. It’ll be good to see him.”
“Yeah. When you’re done with your shower, come down. I think dinner’s almost ready.”
Dylan let out a sigh of relief. Things were starting to come together. “I will.”
Despite that, Dylan didn’t go shower. He decided he had a new plan, in addition to The Plan. He wasn’t sure he could manage both at the same time, but he wanted to try.
He wanted to make Lucy smile.
The next morning, Dylan stirred, wondering why his alarm hadn’t gone off. His eyes flew open. Eight.
“Oh my God.” He leapt out of bed and ran to his closet, throwing on the first T-shirt and pair of shorts he saw. He never forgot to set his alarm and should’ve been up ninety minutes ago. The campers would start showing up in half an hour.
He streaked through the house, shoving a baseball cap on his head and grabbing an apple on his way to the garage. Mom waved a confused good-bye. Dad was already long gone.
He took off for the ball field, panic making him lean on the accelerator a little too much, especially after he got caught waiting on a train to pass. He was half a mile from the school when red and blue lights filled his rearview mirror.
Cursing under his breath, Dylan pulled into a convenience store parking lot and closed his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. It was eight-twenty—he would be late.
The cop took his time before climbing out of his car and approaching Dylan’s vehicle. “Son, you were doing ten over back there.”
“I’m sorry.” Dylan put his hands on the steering wheel and stared through the windshield. His face burned, and his stomach threatened to launch the apple onto the dashboard. “I…woke up late.”
“It happens, but you need to be more careful. License and registration.”
Dylan produced the documents, then sat back to wait.
Twenty-five minutes later, he showed up to the ballpark with a ticket for a hundred-twenty dollars and a lecture ringing in his ears. He’d have to take Defensive Driving online now, on top of everything else, to keep the ticket off his insurance record. Tristan frowned when Dylan jogged onto the field.
“Where’ve you been? It’s almost nine.”
“Woke up late, got a ticket.” Dylan dragged a basket of baseballs over to the mound and sent his pitchers out for their morning jog.
“But, Coach Dylan, we already went,” one of the boys said. The others nodded.
God, he was so late. “Could you run one more? You never can get too much conditioning.”
They grumbled but did as he asked. Tristan raised an eyebrow. “You okay? You’re a little…scatterbrained today.”
“I’m fine. I just need a second to focus.”
Tristan kept staring at him. “You ever talk to Lucy? Is something up?”
“Yes and…not sure.” He looked at the knot of pitchers jogging around the field. “Speaking of which, Otis isn’t here yet.”
Tristan pointed at the lot. “There he is.”
The kid was flat out running in from the parking lot, Lucy jogging to keep up. “Otis! You forgot your glove!”
Otis skidded to a halt next to the check-in table. “Can that count as my warm up, Coach Dylan?”
Dylan nodded. “Go to the mound with the rest of the boys. I’ll see you in a second.”
Lucy came, huffing and puffing, her hair falling out of her braid and creases on her cheek. “The power went out last night, and none of our alarms went off.”
“Sounds familiar.” Dylan held out a hand. “We need to get started. Can I have the glove?”
The words came out sharp enough to cut. Having a shit morning wasn’t an excuse for being an asshole, but nothing felt right. Too chaotic or something.
Lucy’s eyebrow rose, and she handed over the glove without a word. Before he could choke out an apology, she spun on her heel and marched to the parking lot. Dylan’s teeth ground together.
Determined to turn this morning around, he called to his campers, “Everyone pair up for catching practice. Hustle!”
Maybe if he found some sense of control out here, everything would be just fine.