Chapter Twenty-Two

Tristan

“Good luck,” Tristan said to Dylan. They’d barely spoken off the field the last few days and were pointedly polite when they did.

“You, too.” Dylan’s voice was remote. Any other game day, Tristan would’ve chalked it up to nerves. He knew better this time.

Dylan had moved lunch tables and no longer waited for Tristan at their lockers in the morning. Tristan never saw Lauren, either, and on the rare occasion he caught sight of Alyssa, she gave him a sad smile but nothing more.

The week had been pure hell, and Tristan didn’t see any way out of it. He’d apologized to Dylan, who’d shrugged it off like it was no big deal. Dylan’s behavior told a different story, though, and by the time the game had rolled around, Tristan was thoroughly miserable.

“Shake it off, man.” Kyle whacked his shoulder with his glove as they ran out of the dugout for the top of the first. “Shake it off.”

The home crowd was out in force, screaming and cheering as they took the field. Tristan rolled his neck and took his place in center field. Kyle jogged on to left field. It was time.

A horde of wasps awoke in Tristan’s stomach. Every player was nervous at the start of a game. Healthy anxiety. But that’s not what this was. Tristan squeezed his eyes shut, counted to five, then opened them again. No matter what he did, all he could see was Dylan’s face at Swing Away, followed by Alyssa’s when she’d let him go.

Pull it together. Dylan climbed onto the mound, and Tristan stood ready. The leadoff batter for Allen was no better than most, but the heart of their order was crazy good. Suttonville needed to go three and out.

The first pitch was high, and the batter watched it go by. Dylan stalked around the mound a bit, and Tristan heard the first baseman yelling encouragement. The next pitch was way inside.

Four pitches later, the Allen batter strolled to first base on a walk. The Suttonville catcher and first baseman went in to calm Dylan down, but all Tristan could do was watch and wait.

Dylan took the mound again. This time, he craned his neck around and stared at Tristan a moment before turning back and winding up.

And for the next six pitches, he threw nothing but strikes.

If there was one good thing about Dylan being pissed at him, it was that Tristan was providing a weird kind of motivation.

By the fourth batter, the best hitter at Allen, Dylan was in good form, throwing a mean curve and wicked changeup. On the fourth pitch, though, something happened. Dylan threw a fastball, but it lacked its usual punch, and the Allen batter managed a hit. The bail sailed up, up, up, straight for center field.

Tristan ran for the wall. In the corner of his eye, he could see Kyle running flat out, so Tristan waved him off. He had to catch this ball. Somehow he knew he could redeem everything if he just caught the ball.

The arc of the ball was dropping. It wasn’t going to be a wall-snatcher, but a catch right on the dirt track. He could grab it, end the inning, and everything would be okay.

He reached for the ball, watching its trajectory. Almost there…almost…

The ball lipped the edge of his glove and rolled into the corner by the wall.

“Shit!” Tristan scrambled after it, scooped it up, and threw it to second base, but he was too late. The Allen runner was a jackrabbit and had turned his teammate’s stand-up double into a run.

Dylan shot him a furious look, then caught a fresh ball from the catcher. The fifth hitter crushed the very first pitch toward left field. Kyle raced to the wall, jumped, and caught the damn ball over the edge of the fence. He saved the inning, but the damage was done, and it was Tristan’s fault.

They jogged off the field. Dylan, who batted ninth, stalked over to the pitcher’s area to pull a jacket sleeve over his left arm. Tristan could hear him cursing across the dugout.

“Enough,” Coach snapped. “Murrell, what happened out there? You have to keep your eyes on it.”

Tristan nodded. “Yes, sir. Sorry. I misjudged the distance.”

But Coach had already turned away to praise Kyle’s catch. Tristan, shoulders slumped, took the seat on the bench farthest away from Dylan. He hadn’t missed a catch that easy in weeks. They probably scored the run on an error, so at least it wouldn’t hurt Dylan’s stats, but still.

There was a ting! and all the heads in the dugout peered out as their second baseman ran hard for first, beating the throw and ending up safe. Their catcher struck out, but the shortstop hit a little blooper to shallow right, and the runners advanced. It was Tristan’s turn.

He took his place in the batter’s box. Slow down. If he could get a solid hit, they could tie it up or take the lead. He breathed nice and slow. He could do this.

The first pitch, a blistering fastball, sailed under his bat on the first swing.

“Strike!” the umpire called.

The second pitch, another fastball, came flying at him, and Tristan managed to catch the corner, fouling it off behind first base.

“Strike!”

Tristan clenched his jaw. The pitcher wound up and threw a changeup.

Tristan swung for it and caught a piece of the ball. It went right at the second baseman, who caught it on the fly and tagged up. That was it.

“You hit into a double play?” Coach looked incredulous. “Where’s your head, son?”

Tristan dropped his bat and gathered up his glove. “Sorry. I’ll do better. Promise.”

Dylan shot him a dirty look and trotted up the stairs. Kyle came after him, shaking his head. “Come on, we have work to do.”

“I can’t believe we won,” Jackson was saying to anyone who’d listen. “In spite of Murrell.”

Tristan’s hands clenched into fists. The first inning had been bad, and so what if he’d struck out twice and flied out once? He still caught everything that came his way for the rest of the game, including the final out.

Kyle pointed a finger at Jackson. “You shut up. Otherwise, next time you blow a lead, I’m going to be on your ass.”

“Murrell! I need to see you in my office.” Coach’s voice cut through the chatter, and the locker room hushed.

There was only one reason Coach called you into his office.

Tristan threw his glove into his equipment bag and trudged to the door at the back of the locker room. Coach’s office was cluttered with coffee cups, papers, and jersey samples. Tristan took the seat in front of the desk and waited for Coach to finish typing something on his laptop.

When he finally glanced up, he looked pained. “Murrell, I can’t bench you. Not now. We have two more games to go—the semis and the championship. Tutton isn’t ready to take over for you, and certainly not during the playoffs. But if you fall apart next week like you did tonight, I’m going to be forced to do something. We won by pure dumb luck, and I like to win due to skill and smart play. Understand?”

Tristan stared at his hands folded in his lap. Marks from his glove still marred his skin. “I understand. I’ve had a rough week. That’s all.”

“And your swing?” At Tristan’s shocked look, Coach rolled his eyes. “I’ve been watching you struggle for weeks. You can’t hide that stuff from me. Whatever’s going on, make it right. Maybe that will cure the demon in your head. Now go home and get some sleep, will you?”

Tristan nodded and turned to go. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“I know you are. Hang in there, okay?”

Tristan slipped out of Coach’s office. Most of the guys had already gone, but Kyle was still there, waiting for him.

“Did he bench you?”

“No.” Tristan sat heavily on the locker room bench. “But he might.”

“Look, it’s none of my business, but Dylan did just fine tonight.” Kyle picked up his bag and stood. “So even if he’s mad at you—it’s not affecting his game.”

“I guess not.” Tristan stood, too. “But I’m a mess.”

“You are.” Kyle smiled at him. “And there’s a solution. If you want to be with Alyssa, go for it. Stop worrying about what Dylan wants or feels, and start worrying about yourself. A good thing doesn’t come around often. Take my word for it.”

He headed for the locker room exit and waved over his shoulder. Tristan watched him go, wondering if it was all that simple.

And if it was, would Alyssa take him back?