"Hell yeah!" Wes shouts, pumping his fist in the air and running from the dugout, piling with the rest of his team and lifting Kyle up in a bear hug. It's the most animated I've ever seen Wes Stokes. He's also celebrating Kyle, giving him full credit. I have a feeling though, he had more to do with that win. Six innings is a lot.
The team moves back toward the dugout, and I stand in my place feeling more awkward and out-of-place by the second. I'd join Shelby and Taryn, but they're already walking down the bleachers toward me-along with McKenna and her friends.
In all of the chaos of social circles colliding, I've somehow missed my father stepping into the dugout, and when I turn back expecting to see Wes, I'm a little surprised to see his tired face staring back at me. He has a toothpick in his mouth, a thing he does at school because he can't chew tobacco here. The king of all hypocrites, he chastises me for picking up smoking yet spends a minor fortune on Skoal.
"You win?" he asks.
"No. Regina Foles pitched. Most of the team couldn't hit her," I say, my eyes staring at the worn toothpick, splinters actually coming apart where the wood meets my father's teeth. He must have been stressed.
"You hit her?" he asks, pulling the pick from his mouth and tossing it on the ground. I'm a little surprised by his interest in my game, so it takes me a second or two to answer.
"Yeah," I say, and when I meet his eyes, for a brief second there, I see pride.
"Good, you shouldn't let speed scare you at the plate," he says, giving his attention over to TK and Levi when they come in and threaten to dump the cooler of ice water over his head. "Now I know you're not gonna dump that on me after only one game, right? You make it to the end, win us a pennant, then you can start lifting coolers. Any sooner, and you'll be spending some serious time out here running bases."
TK flashes a look at me quickly, and I nod once with a tight-lipped smile to confirm my father isn't kidding. He's never kidding when it comes to winning.
"Sorry sir," TK says, setting the cooler down and turning his focus to picking up his gear and cleaning out the dugout.
"Punk little shits win one game and they think they've got something to celebrate," my father says at me, his eyes out at the parking lot beyond my shoulder. I don't respond. He's not asking for one. His opinion and method for winning is something he's always right about.
"I went three for three," I say instead, not sure why I felt the need to prove myself to him, but for the first time in a long time, I wanted to tell him about my game. His eyes snap to mine quickly, but his expression remains flat.
"You should. You hit any over?" he asks.
"One," I say, my hands flexing at the memory of the crack of the ball against my bat before it sailed over the fence. I start to smile, when my dad cuts our conversation short.
"You can do better," he says, patting his hand against the brick of the dugout. With that, he grabs his clipboard from the nail on the wall and walks out across the field back to his office.
"He just meant you're our best player, that's all," Taryn says, immediately going into make-Joss-feel-better mode.
"No he didn't," I sigh. "He meant I'm not good enough. It's fine. Whatever."
Before I get too deep in my pity party, Kyle comes around the wall, wrapping one arm around my stomach and swinging me up over his shoulder, spinning me a few times.
"I'm gonna throw up, dude. Don't!" I yell through my laughter. Kyle and I haven't talked for a couple days, and when he sets me down, the tension I feel when I look at him is heavy. Before it's too strong to handle though, I register the dark bruising around his eye, and suddenly all of my anxiety is replaced with worry for my friend.
"Kyle, oh my god!" I say, reaching a hand up to his face. He catches it in his own and shakes his head.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," he says, pulling his cap from his head and running his arm across his forehead. He drops my hand and puts his hat back on with both hands before bringing his face square with mine again. The bruise looks fresh, and I wonder if it happened during the game.
"Did you take a line drive or something? I thought you only pitched the last inning?" I'm trying to reach for him, and he's still backing away, when all three Stokes brothers walk up to join us.
"Wes hit him in the locker room, right before the game," Levi says, a giant grin on his face at getting to be the one to tattle on his brother.
Boys.
"He … hit you?" I ask, my gaze bouncing between Wes and Kyle. They both look sheepish-lips pursed, and shoulders raised.
"He sure did. Kyle was late to the field because of it, and coach made him run down to the canal and back before the game," TK says.
"Yeah, sorry about that man. I didn't mean for you to be late," Wes says, his gear at his feet and his glove still on one hand.
Wes pulls his hand free and drops his mitt on the ground, stepping in front of us all and holding a hand out to Kyle. "I'm sorry. That was a cheap shot. We all good now?" he says.
Kyle studies his hand for a few seconds, and I notice his jaw flex in a way that probably only I would recognize. He's nervous. I'm not sure if he's afraid Wes is going to hit him again, or if it's something else entirely, but he's uneasy about accepting this truce. He does, though, shaking Wes's hand, his grip tight. Before they part, Kyle grabs Wes's forearm with his other hand, stopping their shake until Wes looks him in the eye.
"Just so we're clear here, I know I deserved that. I hear you. Won't happen again," Kyle says, this time causing Wes to flinch, his eyes twitching the slightest bit as his tongue pushes at the inside of his cheek. Finally, he blinks and nods at Kyle before glancing to me as he picks up his gear and walks to the locker room.
McKenna and the few other girls who have stayed with her rush to catch up to him, and my eyes go right to her, counting every time she brushes his arm, flips her hair, laughs, and does all of those stereotypical perfect-girl-things that are stereotypical for a reason. I wish I knew what Wes thought of it … of her.
"You gonna tell me what that was all about?" I say to Kyle, my eyes still on my crush a hundred yards in front of us.
Crush. I have a crush.
"He told me if I ever put you in harm's way again, he'll kill me. And I agreed to let him," Kyle says, bringing my eyes to him instantly. Kyle doesn't add anything more, instead, just looking at me for long seconds while I stare back at him wide-eyed and afraid. Finally, he laughs out a breath to himself, then bends down to pick up his things, grabbing mine too.
"What's funny?" I ask, folding my arms over my chest while we walk-until I realize exactly how it looks when I'm pouting. I release my hold and instead move my thumbs to my back pockets, splitting my attention between Wes in front of me and Kyle beside me.
"Nothing's funny, Joss. This isn't funny at all," he says, his eyes straight ahead. "I just realized that I'm never going to get you to look at me like you look at him. What's worse is I'm totally okay with it. Wes … he's the kind of guy you deserve. And maybe I just love you enough to want you to have it all. Fuckin' hurts though; not gonna lie about that."
I slow my pace at his words until eventually I stop. Kyle makes it a dozen or so feet ahead of me before stopping and exhaling, the weight of both of our bags sagging his shoulders. He never turns toward me, but tilts his face to the sky so I can hear his words.
"Don't feel bad. I'll get over it," he says, glancing just enough to the side that I can see the ache in his eyes. "Now come on, let me take your ass home."
I catch up to my friend and help him load our things in his father's truck. I wave to Taryn in the distance, letting her know I have a ride and that she can take TK in her car. Levi and Wes are just pulling away from the lot, McKenna between them in the cab of their truck, and the other girls cackling in the bed. I don't really know any of those girls, but I hate them.
"Your dad let you use his truck, huh?" I say, wanting to just pretend things are normal, that they could be normal, after the words Kyle just said.
"Yeah … sorta," Kyle sighs, starting the engine and finally twisting to look at me. He's forcing a smile, but his eyes tell the true story. They look heartbroken. "He's buying a new one, but I have to work off the debt on this. Looks like you and I will both be taking on shifts at Jungle Gym."
I smile at the thought of working there with Kyle, even though it feels different now than how it would have before. "Really? You call in a favor with Taryn too?" I ask.
"Yep," he says, eyebrows raised as he turns his attention back to the front, putting the truck in reverse and pulling out of our spot. "We might have a few shifts together. But I'm the lucky early-morning snack-bar guy. I get to make all those awesome boiled hotdogs and fill those cups of processed cheese at five every morning before I haul my ass to school."