Chapter Nine
Dylan
How did Lucy know he’d been hurt? Dylan sat in his car, hands on the steering wheel, without driving. She’d asked who hurt him…how’d she guess that? Had Serena, through their twisted grapevine of friends, found out and told her? Or was it simply that obvious?
His phone buzzed. Tristan. Dude, I’m at Snaps for burgers. Where are you?
Dylan blinked. Snaps, right. He was supposed to be at Snaps. God, this girl was unraveling him thread by thread. Lucy and her chicken shirt wouldn’t leave his brain, and that was dangerous. Two days and he was already forgetting where he was supposed to be.
D: Sorry, got held up. Coming.
He started the car, pointed it in the direction of the restaurant, and drove. Lunch with his best friend was exactly what he needed to exorcize Lucy from his head.
When he got there, though, it wasn’t just Tristan. Alyssa was there, too. Alyssa’s smile was warm, kind, but he always felt a jolt of surprise when he saw her, a little zap of pain reminding him of the day he walked in on her and Tristan. He managed to smile back, as he took the seat next to her.
“Okay, tell me who she is.” Alyssa gave him a French fry from the basket on the table. “Who’s the girl who thawed you out?”
“Thawed me out? That’s a new one.” Dylan chewed the fry, giving her a puzzled look.
Alyssa flashed a smile that would melt most guys. “Your nickname is Iceman. Finding a girl who’s less structured would be good for you.”
“How do you even know about this?” Dylan turned to Tristan. “Why did you tell her? You knew she’d give me hell about it.”
“That’s exactly why I told her.” Tristan ducked as Dylan’s napkin soared at his head. “I’m tired of you looking tired.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Dylan swiped the basket of fries and crammed three in his mouth.
“Avoiding it won’t change a thing,” Alyssa said. She leaned against the table, a strand of curly hair falling over her shoulder. “We just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy. I’m focused, and my pitching is really great right now. Stop worrying about me.”
Tristan gave Alyssa a “see what I mean?” look and she shook her head. “He’ll be all right. I have hope.”
All this matchmaking was making his stomach hurt. “I’m not feeling well. Think I’ll go.”
He threw a five on the table and left before they could call him back.
“Dylan, is that you?” Mom’s voice came from the laundry room at the back of the house. “I have clean workout stuff for you to carry upstairs.”
No avoiding her, then. She’d know something was wrong, and he wasn’t ready to talk. Sighing, he carried today’s workout clothes to the hamper next to the washer—his dirty gear wasn’t supposed to make it to his room—and took the load of laundry from her. Under Armor shirts, Nike shorts and socks, baseball pants. All of it familiar and smelling like fabric softener. The top layer was still warm.
“Thanks, Mom.” He turned to go upstairs, but she called him back.
“What’s wrong? You’ve been off for days. You aren’t sick or hurt and hiding it are you?” Mom gave him a quick once over. “Or is it something else?”
Just like magic—his mom always knew somehow. “I’m fine. Just tired. Those little leaguers don’t slow down.” He smiled. “Ever.”
“Oh, I remember having a nine-year-old boy. After your sister, you were like an alien with an endless battery supply.” Mom squeezed his arm. “I don’t like seeing you stressed out. Maybe if you worked on some college applications now, got ahead, you’d…”
Dylan froze. “I thought we agreed I’d hold off until the scouts took a look at me.”
Mom forced a smile. “Yes, but it’s good to be prepared.” She raised an eyebrow at his sour look. “Honey, Dad and I would feel better if you went to college first, rather than straight to the minors. That way you’d have something to fall back on, in case things don’t work out.”
“Uncle Rick went straight to the minors, and things turned out just fine for him.” Dylan’s pulse started to pound in his temple. “Or is it that you and Dad don’t think I’m good enough to make it?”
“Oh, Dylan, it’s not that.” Mom reached for him, but he took a step back. “We want what’s best for you. You have a three-point-five GPA and take honors classes. I thought…maybe you’d want to continue your education.”
“I have a plan, Mom. There’s time for college after the minors if I don’t make it.” He turned to avoid her concerned expression. “But that’s plan B, and I’m not ready to think about it yet.”
Once Dylan was upstairs, he put his clothes away methodically, not really thinking about it. He felt like the walls were closing in around him, especially when he saw a stack of college applications on his desk. The sticky note on top read: Just think about it, son. –Dad.
Dylan paced his room, wishing he could rage against the sky. Everybody thought they knew what was right for him, from his friends to his family. They didn’t understand. No one did—how he woke up every morning looking ahead. How he studied major league pitchers to see what he needed to work on next. How much of his life was pointing in one direction. And sometimes they weren’t even willing to listen.
He snatched up his phone to text Uncle Rick on his ranch. Can I come live with you? Just for a few weeks? I’ll work cattle, whatever it takes.
R: Whoa, where’d that come from?
D: Everyone’s bent on deciding stuff for me, and you don’t. I need someone who understands.
R: I don’t think moving eighty minutes from the nearest store is really what you want. How about I come up for a few days instead? I’ve been meaning to visit.
Dylan stared at his phone. Would having Rick here help? Maybe. If he could talk to his parents, they might listen. Okay.
Dylan’s stomach rumbled. He still hadn’t eaten lunch, but he wasn’t sure he much felt like it. Coach would nag him to death if he found out Dylan had skipped a meal, but whatever. The chaos in his head needed to settle before he tried to eat.
A soft meow by the cracked bedroom door alerted him to Huck’s presence. Their tabby rarely showed up in Dylan’s room. Today, he must’ve sensed Dylan needed company and decided to pity him. Huck hopped onto Dylan’s bed and bumped his head against Dylan’s hand.
“Hey, buddy.” Dylan scratched Huck under the chin and behind his ears, and the cat purred in delight. “Nice of you to visit.”
Despite Huck’s calming presence, something kept nagging at Dylan. Why did everything feel like it was in black and white? Like he was living in the beginning of The Wizard of Oz waiting for the Technicolor to begin. His life had boiled down to “step one, step two, step three.” Most of the time, that suited him just fine. Today, though…all he wanted to do was run. To let it all go, drop the discipline, for one freaking day. No one he knew would even believe he could feel that way. He was “Iceman” to his friends, and an unreasonable son to his parents.
Except…there was one person who didn’t seem to live by the same rules. Hell, she didn’t seem to live by any rules. And every time Dylan saw her, a tiny flicker of life flared up in his chest. Maybe Lucy could spark some anarchy in his heart.
On the other hand, this could swerve out of control pretty fast. He couldn’t let it become a thing. He wanted to see her, but he’d have to be careful. He didn’t have time for a relationship. Or even for the chance of one.
Just for today. That’s all. One afternoon, a little voice wheedled in his head. One time won’t hurt.
Blowing out a breath, he texted Tristan. Do you have the roster for the campers?
T: Yeah, why?
Dylan swallowed down his nerves. Is Otis’s emergency contact Lucy?
T: Uh, hang on.
The pause seemed to drag on forever. Finally: It’s his mom, but there’s a second number, a cell. I bet that’s her.
D: Can you send it?
Ten seconds later Tristan answered. About time you made a move.
Dylan sank down on his mattress, staring at the number and hoping he wasn’t about to make a giant mistake. But maybe a giant mistake was exactly what he needed.