Chapter Six

Tristan

After all that, he still ran into someone from school. Tristan recognized the girl, too—she was a dancer friend of Kyle’s girlfriend. Alyssa, so that was her name…and now she knew his secret. What if she told Faith, and it got back to Kyle? The team knew something was off, but it wouldn’t be long before they knew how bad it was.

Alyssa said it was stress. No kidding. He didn’t think she could help him, despite her being able to crush a ball. How did a dancer know how to do that, though? Working at a batting cage, it must’ve rubbed off.

Tristan slumped in the driver’s seat of his Mustang and ran a hand over his face. He had to admit one thing—the girl wasn’t hard on the eyes. Curvy, with thick, curly, dark-brown hair a guy could get lost in… Any other day, he might’ve turned on the charm, but today he was too wound up to do anything. Maybe she was right about getting more rest.

The winding road up to Lakeside usually calmed him down as he drove home. Today, the lake sparkled between the leaves, calling, “Get in the boat, Tristan. Come play…”

One more month—if they were lucky—then he could hang out on the lake all he wanted.

He pulled into the driveway and parked by the side of the house. No point in putting the car in the garage or carrying his bag inside—he’d have to leave in two hours anyway. He could only hope that by the time practice was over, he’d be in a better place, with his swing—and his swagger—back.

“I’m home!” he yelled on his way to the stairs. From the sound of things, Dad was watching a documentary on the space program.

“Just in time.” Dad waved at him over the leather sofa’s back. “They’re talking about the Apollo missions.”

The last thing he felt like doing was watching educational TV. “Sorry. Homework.”

Dad turned around to peer at him. “Homework over television? Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine, just busy.” Tristan jogged up the stairs before Mom came out to check his temperature. She’d be back from rounds by now and ready to fret over her baby’s health. His older brother never had to put up with it, but he was also still at college until finals were over.

Tristan’s room had a lake view, and he went straight to the window to look out. Boats dragged skiers in the distance, and ducks floated on his end of the lake. His dad had a saying about ducks: good leaders are like ducks—they’re calm and collected on the surface, but paddle like hell underneath. Maybe that was his problem. He needed to smooth his nerves, stop letting it bother him, and let his instincts take over. He didn’t know when he had stopped doing that, but he needed to get there again.

He sprawled on his bed, toying with his phone. His thoughts drifted to Alyssa. Maybe he needed to be more like her. She struck him as coolly confident and certain in her own talent.

But that wasn’t why he was thinking about her, was it? She was pretty, but there was something else. She was so normal, not hyper or giggly like some of the other girls he knew. Or had dated. She carried a tool bag, and there was something sexy about that. And her T-shirt couldn’t hide all those curves. He didn’t like rail-thin girls. She was just the right amount of athletic and feminine to get his attention.

But Dylan has a point—she needs to be off-limits until the season’s over, stupid.

Sighing, he flopped onto his stomach and took a nap.

“Murrell, you’re up.” Coach pointed at him. “Morris needs the practice.”

Out on the mound, Jackson Morris grimaced. They had three starting pitchers, and after one got hurt, he’d rotated up to varsity. Dylan was having a rest day, thank God. Even with his problems, Tristan could hit off a green sophomore.

He stepped into the batter’s box. His nap had unwound some of the tension in his shoulders. Maybe there was something to Alyssa’s advice after all.

Jackson threw a fastball, straight down the middle. His speed was slower than Dylan’s, and Tristan actually got a piece of it, probably a long single. Better, but that had been a grapefruit, swing-for-the-fence kind of pitch.

Jackson wound up and pitched again. To Tristan’s surprise, the kid had a wicked curveball. He swung at it and caught nothing but air.

Jackson grinned. Tristan glared at him. The next pitch was another fastball, low and outside. Tristan’s turn to grin. He paid for it. Jackson threw a changeup, and Tristan swung and missed again.

And again.

Finally, Coach put him out of his misery. “Murrell, you’re done. Sawyer, go on up there.”

Tristan had barely sat down in the dugout before Ting! The guys around him jumped up and watched. Dylan whistled. “I hope no one was parked across the street.”

Tristan slumped against the bench as Kyle nailed three more balls in succession.

After practice, Jackson came up to him with a shrewd glance. “Your hitting game is off.”

“No shit,” Tristan muttered. “Here to trash-talk?”

“Nope. You know what you need?” Jackson asked. “A slumpbuster.”

Tristan frowned, suspicious. Jackson could be a complete punk sometimes. “What’s that?”

“Find yourself a DUFF, get laid.” Jackson grinned. “Supposedly works. It’s gotta be a real plain girl, though. Not someone you’d usually hook up with. Otherwise it doesn’t count.”

Tristan’s fists curled. “That’s awful, asshat.”

Jackson shrugged. “Not as awful as your two-week batting average. We’re counting on you. I don’t think most of the other guys notice, but Coach does. You need to get it together.”

He strolled off, whistling.

Dylan came up behind Tristan. “I’ll go hard on him during pitching practice Tuesday. He deserves to have his head deflated a little.”

“Yeah. I think he does.”

“Look, it’s not a slump. It’s…a correction.” Dylan swatted him on the arm with his glove. “Want to hit Snap’s? I’ll even buy this time.”

“Sure. What about Sawyer?”

“Plans with Faith.” Dylan snorted. “Which is going to be the answer to that question for a while, I think.”

“Probably.” Tristan paused. “So, there’s this girl.”

Dylan’s face lit up. “Really? Really? I thought after you and Raina broke up you’d hibernate for a while.”

“This girl is pretty hard to ignore. Cute, good personality.” From what he’d seen anyway. Sassy was the word that came to mind, and he liked sassy. “I wonder if I should leave it alone until after playoffs, though. Like you said, we need to focus.”

“You know what? I decided not to wait on that girl I like from history. No time like the present, man. Seize the day, or some shit like that.” Dylan nodded firmly. “If I can do it, so can you. So, our mission is to talk to these girls, and see what happens.”

“Wait.” Tristan laughed. “You haven’t even talked to her yet? This girl with the amazing green eyes? That girl? From your chatter the other night, I figured you’d been hitting her up already.”

“I loaned her a pencil once.” Dylan hung his head in shame. “But no.”

“Okay, I agree to the mission.” Tristan pointed a finger at Dylan. “Which means by practice on Monday, I want a report that you spoke to her.”

“Deal.”

They left the field, and Tristan felt better than he had for two weeks. He’d go to Swing Away tomorrow, talk to Alyssa. And maybe, just maybe, ask her to diagnose his swing.

Or out for coffee. It was a toss-up.