Page 19 of Catch and Cradle

Zach shakes his head. “You know I can hear you, right?”

“You guys are too cute. I’ve really got to go now, but I’ll call you again before the semester starts.”

DeeDee blows me a kiss. “Bisous!”

“Love you, little sis.” Zach slides his arm around her and waves at me.

“Love you guys!”

I end the call and drop my phone onto the mattress. I need to get up, but I just keep lying there for a minute.

‘Bang it out’ does not seem like the advice I needed, but I guess there’s a difference between need and want.

5

Becca

I grab my phone from my bag on the side of the field and check for an update from Coach Jamal. Normally we get laps for going anywhere near our phones during practice, but Coach is late today, and I’ve been trying to track him down.

It’s the last practice of summer training camp. I can feel the strands of hair that have slipped out of my ponytail sticking to my sweaty forehead. We’ve had a pretty mild week, but today is boiling with a humidex that’s off the charts. Halifax doesn’t usually get this hot. Everyone is gulping down water while they wait for me to locate our coach.

I let out a long exhale of relief when I see a text from him. I knew he was supposed to be spending a couple hours before practice looking after his daughter, and him going AWOL had me worried.

“He’s on his way,” I announce to the team. “He had a childcare emergency, so he’s bringing the baby to practice.”

Everyone starts jumping around and cheering. We only met the baby once last year, when the team presented her with a ‘Future Lax Rat’ onesie and another one featuring the UNS Lobsters logo.

“Yes, I know, babies are exciting,” I shout over the noise, “but he also gave me some drills to start with.”

Most of the team starts booing, but even when they’re overheated and pretending to be unamused, I can tell they’re all caught up in the thrum of anticipation I can feel shifting in the field under my feet.

I have another year at UNS after this, and in all likelihood, I’ll be captain again then too, but this year has an inescapable do or die feel to it. When I was a freshman, the team was only just getting whipped into shape and polished into something special. We nearly lost everything we gained after all my stupid mistakes turned the whole team into a war zone, but somehow we pulled it together in my second year and qualified to play for ECULL. Last year, we went all the way to the finals.

This year is going to be our year. I know it. I’ve given everything I can to take us to the top, to prove this team really does mean the world to me the way I always say it does.

To prove I belong.

“Okay team,” I begin, “let’s grab some sticks.”

You’d think by now none of them would laugh at stick euphemisms anymore, but everyone still cackles and does whatever their version of provocatively grabbing their lacrosse stick is.

I try not to watch Hope, but it’s like attempting to look away when you’ve noticed someone sexy undressing through their window at night. You know it’s probably creepy, but you still keep staring.

She’s laughing with her friend Jane as the two of them slide their hands up and down their sticks in long, slow, exaggerated strokes. I can see her bicep flex under the sleeve of her t-shirt, and she even makes her calf-length lacrosse socks look sexy.

It takes a lot to make lacrosse socks look sexy.

The two of them head for the middle of the field, and Hope glances over her shoulder at me before I can look away. Our eyes lock, and for a second, it’s like we’re back on the sidewalk that night she came to get her phone. There’s an insulated box pressing in around just the two of us, one that blocks out every sound and traps the heat between us until it’s hard to breathe or think or do anything except want each other.

Want each other?

I blink, and the moment slips away. Hope turns around, and I stand there asking myself what the hell I’m thinking. I don’t know if she wants me. I could be making it all up. Anything that’s happened between us could be interpreted as totally normal behaviour for two teammates.

And it should stay that way. It has to.

I grab my stick and the bag of lacrosse balls—affectionately known as the ball sack—and jog my way over to face the group.

“Okay! We’re starting with some catch and cradle drills today. Split off into pairs. Your partner will pass you the ball, you’ll catch it, run halfway up the field while cradling, run back, pass the ball off to them, and then they’ll run up the field while cradling, etcetera, etcetera.”