Page 36 of The Curveball

I could clarify. Ishouldclarify. Tell her it’s a big misunderstanding, but I’m lost in the whirlwind, my head is screaming, and I think if I keep my lips parted too long, the toast I ate earlier will land on her shoes.

All I can manage is, “Yeah. Great to meet you too.”

Marti gives me a vigorous wave at the door, then practically skips to her car in the driveway.

The moment the door clicks, I let my head fall gently onto the kitchen table.

I’ve now sealed that we’re dating in the minds of not only my father, but Griffin’s family. And Griffin has no idea his temporary house guest became his girlfriend.

His day is definitely not going great.

CHAPTER13

GRIFFIN

I’mcareful with the trash bags filled with Wren’s things.

I went to the tow company and gathered what I could from the mess of her car.

It was packed with clothes, home décor, and framed pictures. I gathered what I could, focusing on the essentials: laptop, a bag of toiletries, a random potted plant that seemed like it had been well-loved. Couldn’t leave the poor guy to wilt and if it was Birdie’s pet, then I already loved it. Then clothes. I enjoyed the look of her in my shirts, and already had an argument planned on why they should become a permanent part of her wardrobe, but I brought hers as backup if it went down in flames.

All of it fit into three black trash bags, and I hauled them to my jeep.

The tow truck owner helped at the end after I gave him a big, fat tip for keeping her laptop safe inside his shop instead of letting it roast in her car.

I’ll never admit it to my Birdie, but I’d like to do nothing more than curl up behind her again and take a five-hour nap. The adrenaline from the game, the accident, the new roommate situation is fading, and sleeping for days sounds blissful.

Today is strange. A little off, a little perfect in the same breath. I love the idea of coming home knowing Wren Fox is only a wall away, but there is a weirdness I can’t shake. Normally, I’d be reviewing my season, I’d be planning my workouts, my schedule with family over the offseason.

All I’ve managed to do is wonder if Wren’s head is feeling better, and if she’s as happy to be at my house as I am.

The off-kilter feeling isn’t helped by the weird texts Martina keeps sending me. She’s six years older than me and has always been a mother hen.

Marti:What sort of quote would you want on your headstone?

Me:Morbid. Why?

Marti:You know me. I like to be prepared.

Me: Since I’m 50% certain you’re going to poison me at the next family feast, something about baseball.

Me:No, wait. Let’s confuse people. Do the white water in the morning quote fromAlmost Heroes.

Marti:How does it go again?

Me: White Water in the Morning . . .

Marti:*smiley face emoji* And . . .

Me:That’s it. *laughing emoji*

Marti:Good to know. P.S. You have one more day to be babied by us, then you’re history, Creature.

I haveno idea what she’s talking about, but I’m definitely sold on using the movie quote on my headstone whenever I kick the bucket.

By the time I pull into the garage, it’s late afternoon. I should haul Wren’s things to her side of the house, but showering seems more pressing. It’s hot, and digging through a boiling car all afternoon didn’t do me any favors.

In Las Vegas, even the October sun scorches to the bone.