Free Sweet Spot by Rae Lynn Blaise Page B

interpreted my confession to Jamie as an excuse to really fuck up and I’m dying. It takes all I have not to limp.
    What I need to do is tell Coach so they can send Henry in. I know this. But Pride is a fickle mistress and we’re currently locked in a heated affair. The real kicker here is that I know Ally is watching…and I’m letting her down.
    “Fife!” Coach barks during the seventh inning stretch. “What’s going on tonight? You limping?”
    Shit shit shit. “It’s no big deal, Coach.”
    “The fuck it’s not. You aren’t playing up to speed and you’re limping. What the fuck happened?”
    I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from exploding in the dugout. I’ve buried too much for too long. “Just overdid it in the gym this morning, Coach. I swear I’m fine.”
    He studies for me a minute. “Can you make it to the end of the game?”
    “Yes, Coach.” I say immediately. “It’s no problem.”
    “Looks like it’s a problem.”
    “It’s not a problem.” All I can think is, please fucking believe me .
    Finally, he nods. “All right. But if you can’t hold it together, let me know so we can send in a sub.”
    “Yes, Coach.”
    “Don’t push yourself to injury, Fife. Don’t be a fucking idiot.”
    If he only knew. “Yes, Coach.”
    Jamie covers my ass the rest of the game and I’m surprised Coach doesn’t pull me. Fortunately, I catch two line drives between the seventh and eighth innings, securing my place in the game and Coach stops giving me shit. Jamie, however, doesn’t.
    “Don’t make me regret this.” I mutter at him as I shovel another handful of seeds in my mouth. “I’ll never trust your ass again.”
    “I’m not the dumbfuck who’s playing with a jacked up knee.” He shoots me another knowing look and I consider smacking it off his face with my bat. “I just don’t want to lose you, brother. Henry’s all right, but he’s no you out there.”
    I frown and pick up my bat, ready to face down the Sox closer. “Thanks. I’ll be alright.”
    And now I need a hit more than ever before. One for Coach. One for Jamie. One for Ally. Everything for Ally.
    Home plate looks daunting and their closer—Gonzalez—has been a beast. I settle into my stance, bite my lip until I can’t feel the pain in my knee anymore, and swing at the first ball he throws.
    It’s out of the fucking park. The guys in the dugout start jumping around as I make my lap around the bases. The crowd is peppered with cheers and boos. The base coaches high-five me, Coach high-fives me, Jamie slaps me on the back.
    Somewhere out there, Ally is cheering for me.
    I collapse on the bench, a tangled web of emotions. I did it—but it hurt. Why do I keep ending up in situations where I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t?
    My run isn’t enough. The Sox score two more in the ninth and secure their win. It’s a somber mood in the locker room.
    “We still have two more games in the series.” George slaps Carlos on the back with a wink. He’s one of the louder guys on the team, always trying to rev us up. “Tonight ain’t no thang.”
    “Fife.” Coach pops his head in and I nearly piss myself in fear. “I want you down with the trainers to ice that knee.”
    Relief is sweet. I try not the exhale too loudly and nod. “Yes, Coach.”
    If Ally were here, she’d know exactly how to cheer me up. She’d help me down to the trainer’s room and kiss me. Everything would melt away with her. But between my knee and Coach being pissed, my career is narrowing down to a fine point. The end of what could have been us.
    I keep the trainers mostly at bay and grab my own ice. Prying eyes can be kept the fuck away, thank you very much. I lay back on the table with my hat over my eyes and try not to think about anything.
    “Nice hit tonight!” Jamie sidles and sprawls out on the next table over. “You need to give me some pointers on my swing, brother. I’m hitting a slump.”
    “We all are.”
    “Nah, man.