Kyle didn't answer.
"All right, guys. Enough chitchat. We have a game tomorrow." Coach checked his stopwatch. "Let's do some sprint drills."
Everybody groaned and lined up. Kyle took a few slow breaths. The adrenaline from the ambush still roared through his veins, so when Coach shouted, "Go!" he took off like a shot. Back and forth from home to first, touching the bases at each end, not counting how many turns, or seconds, or anything. He just ran, trying to focus his roiling mind.
"Stop!" Coach was shaking his head. "Sawyer, you made eighteen turns. Save some of that speed for tomorrow, kid. Starters, head out for catching drill. The rest of you are on the batting machine."
Kyle went to the dugout for his mitt, overhearing one of the better freshman players mutter, "With Sawyer here, I'm never gonna play. He's an iron man."
Kyle felt a little bad for the kid, but not much. He was graduating-this was his last season. He paused and turned to the wide-eyed freshman. "Ledecky, you'll play next year. And you'll probably be better than me in the long run. Your turn is coming."
Ledecky's astonished smile made him feel a little better, but only for a second. One thing Cam had said kept ringing in his ears: you're not good enough for her. He already knew that, but it stung to hear someone else say it. Angry, he ran onto the field, spending the next sixty minutes fielding everything sent his way. By the time Coach waved them over, the front of his practice jersey was almost entirely green with grass stains.
He jogged down the steps to the dugout, where Tristan was waiting for him. He looked ready to bite a nail in half. "Want me to walk you to your car?"
Kyle shook his head. "Nah. I'm going to stay, do a little extra batting practice."
"Don't push it. But, seriously, we got your back, man." Tristan punched his shoulder. "They mess with you, they mess with all of us. You don't have to haul it alone, okay?"
Tristan had played ball with him on one team or another since they were eleven. He remembered what life had been like. And he didn't care. He still had Kyle's back.
Kyle wasn't alone.
He squared his shoulders. "Thanks. And I have your back, too."
A fastball flew out of the pitching machine. Kyle let instinct take over and swung. No contact. Damn, too high. He squared up in the batter's box again. The next pitch came and this time he connected, nice and hard. The ball sailed up, up, up, and sailed over the fence.
"Sawyer," Coach called. "Time to shut down. Almost everyone else is gone."
Another ball came. Another solid hit to the left field corner. Double.
Coach went to the pitching machine and turned it off. "That's enough. You're looking good-don't overdo it and hurt yourself."
"Okay." He took a long breath and raised his arms over his head to stretch his shoulders. "I'm out, then."
"See you tomorrow. Get some sleep, will you? You look exhausted. I need my players sharp."
Kyle nodded, packed up his gear, and walked out to his car. Someone had thrown an egg at the Charger. Cursing under his breath, he set to wiping it off with one of his towels. Seriously, couldn't Cameron be more creative? At least they hadn't slashed his tires.
His phone buzzed right as he started the car. Cade.
"Yeah?"
"It's me."
"I kind of gathered that from the caller ID. We still on for tonight? I should probably go shower first."
"I need you at the theater. Now."
"Why? Something wrong?"
"I'll explain when you get here. Meet me by the front door. How long?"
Kyle glanced over at the main campus. "I'm just at the ball field. So … two minutes?"
Cade's hand must've covered the phone, because there was a crackle, then it sounded like he was talking to someone. "Okay, I'm back. Two minutes is great. I'll reset this song and be right out."
Kyle hung up, frowning. The theater? This had something to do with Faith, but what? Cade had sounded worried, like something was wrong. He put the Charger in gear and sped to the other side of the school as fast as the speed bumps would let him. When he pulled up, Cade frantically waved him inside.
"I told her I was talking a quick call. We need to hurry." Cade glanced down at his feet. "You're wearing cleats? This is going to be interesting."
"I just came from practice. What's this all about?"
"Remember how I said step one was to be there for Faith? This is your cue-she's rock-bottom devastated, man." Cade ushered him inside, and instead of taking him into the theater, led him down a side hall to a door that said Cast only.
Kyle's pulse picked up ten beats a minute. "Devastated? About what?"
Cade grimaced. "She didn't get into NYU. Josh dropped her like, ten times during rehearsal. She's catching a lot of shit at school after y'all's stunt. Pick one."
Kyle closed his eyes, an ache beginning behind his breastbone. "What am I going to do but make it worse?"
"Make it better." Cade gave him a shove. "For God's sake, just try. She needs a knight in shining armor. Don't disappoint her. Now, I've put the music on a loop of three songs. I'll be in the AV room for the next thirty minutes. That's your window. Now go!"
Cade didn't give him time to protest, spinning on his heel and heading the opposite direction before Kyle could even open his mouth. He leaned against the wall and let his head fall against it. Strains of music from Oklahoma! floated through the door, and a clear sweet voice started singing, "Many a New Day."
He leaned over and cracked the door to hear better. Goose bumps rose on his arms when she hit the high notes. God, she was amazing. How could a girl like this not be accepted into NYU?
She made it halfway through the song, then stopped. For a moment, he thought it was a pause for the chorus to sing … until he heard her crying.
He pulled open the door. It squeaked, and Faith drew in a sharp breath. "Cade?"
Knight in shining armor. Right. He plodded up the stairs at the side of the stage, wincing at how loud his cleats rang against the metal steps, and pulled back the curtain. "Not exactly."
She wrapped her arms around her middle. "What are you doing here? And where's Cade?"
"Cade and I are friends. He called to say you were having a rough day and asked … " A self-deprecating smile spread across his face. "Told me I needed to come over and check on you. He's out doing some work on the AV system."
Faith avoided his gaze, staring at spot on the stage floor. "Oh."
Kyle stepped up onto the stage. The scarred wooden floor creaked under his cleats, and he was painfully aware that he'd shown up here in baseball pants and a tight Under Armour sleeveless shirt, having left his practice jersey in the car. Maybe he should've changed.
Then again, Faith was wearing a leotard covered by a fluffy skirt that went past her knees and ballet shoes. He nodded at the skirt. "You have some interesting workout clothes."
She blushed. "And you're wearing cleats in a theater. I think we're even."
"Yeah." He crossed the stage, stopping a few feet away from her. "So what's going on?"
Faith shook her head. "It's nothing."
"I know that's not true. Cade wouldn't have called if it was nothing." He took a step toward her. "Want to talk about it? We're the only ones here."
Her lower lip trembled, and she clenched her hands together. "I … "
She burst into tears and covered her face. Kyle cleared the distance between them in one big step and wrapped his arms around her. She stood stiff against him, but he rubbed her back in slow circles until she relaxed enough to cry on his shoulder.
"Tell me what to do," he whispered into her hair. "Tell me and I'll do it. Even if you want me to go."
"I don't want you to go." Her voice vibrated against his collarbone, and chills raced down his back.
"I'm not going anywhere, then."
They stood together, center stage, and while Faith finished crying, Kyle breathed in her scent: sweat, citrus, chalk she used to fix the floor when she danced. This girl was inside his head. Could he tell her the truth?
Just the thought made his hands shake. He gave her a final pat and let her go. She sniffed for another few seconds and wiped her eyes. "Thank you. For coming."
"I'd do anything for you," he said, hating the tiny tremor in his voice. Some knight he was, terrified of a damsel in distress. "Anything."
She peered up at him, her expression shy. "Can you dance in the musical?"
He laughed. "I could, but I'm not sure the cast would like that."
"Josh can't lift me. He says I'm too heavy." Tears welled up over her eyelashes again. "NYU rejected me. Do you think that's why? That I'm too heavy? Or too tall? Or is it my voice? My dancing?"
"Faith, it's none of those things. I've seen you dance, and now I've heard you sing." He reached for her arms, gripping them tightly. "It's like professional sports-sometimes the break comes because of luck. You are a great singer, a beautiful dancer, and you sure as hell aren't too heavy." He shook his head in disgust. "This Josh needs to do some weight training if he can't lift you, especially if you're doing half the work by jumping first."