Page 70 of The Curveball
He turns onto a street we both recognize too well, and I force a gurgled chuckle to simply break the stoic quiet.
“Ah. Good, old Burton Field.” I nudge his shoulder from the passenger seat. The only thing he’d said to me when we drove away from my dad’s was he wasn’t ready to go home yet. When he parks near the gate, I turn in my seat. “You want to play some catch? I should warn you, Marks, I write about baseball but have no natural talent.”
He slips out of his seat and walks around to the passenger door, opening it for me. “Everyone is a ball player at heart.”
“What are we doing here?” I ask as I fumble out of his jeep.
“Come on” is all he says.
His hand is outstretched. I hesitate, but hate the idea of not touching him right now, so I hurry to slip my fingers through each of his.
My throat thickens like I’ve swallowed a spoonful of honey. Warning bells ring in my head, urging me to protect my heart. I’m worried he’s going to end our game. It’s all the evidence needed to know I’ve fallen too far into our ruse and caught real, tangible feelings.
“Griffin, can we talk—”
“We will,” he interrupts. “But not out here. We’re going in there.” He points toward the locked field.
“Um, how?”
“I know at least five ways to sneak in from the outside, not including going through the Clubhouse.”
My smile breaks. Unburdened. Free. One with remnants of the girl I used to be, the carefree, live-life-to-the-fullest, Wren. No one has been able to reach through the cracks and bring her back to the sunlight until now.
I tighten my grip on Griffin’s hand, smiling when he reaches behind a loose brick near the field fence.
He withdraws a gold key and wiggles his brows. “Park and I put this here our first year on the team. I think we couldn’t quite get over that we’d made it to the Kings and kept sneaking onto the field.”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know, smell the grass or something equally embarrassing.” Griffin holds up the key, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “This is top secret, Birdie. I’m trusting you.”
And I’m trusting you. “Brave of you, Marks.”
He merely laughs and slides the key into one of the service-access gates where field maintenance trucks can enter.
I’ve been on the field several times since being adopted by the Vegas Kings, but there is something unique about stepping foot on the grass with quiet stands and a quiet field. A subtle scent of popcorn coats the air. The hint of damp sand and grass is familiar, comfortable.
Griffin leads me through the gate, guiding us to the outfield. A few feet deep into centerfield he stops, releases my hand, then sits down.
With another look at me, he lies back, eyes on the unique cover used to keep the heat of the Vegas summer from roasting fans. It can adjust to block more sun or let in the night sky. Tonight, it’s open enough to see the gold-tinted sky from the haze of lights on The Strip.
My fingertips dance at my sides. My heart races. Lingering doubt creeps into my head. This moment is important, I sense it to my bones. The same as in my books, this feels like a turning point. Where I can run, or I can stay.
Instead, I sit on the cool field, and slowly lie back the same as him.
“What are we doing here?” I ask softly.
Griffin props onto his elbows. “Why’d you do it, Birdie?”
“What?”
He scoffs. “You know what. That’s what the stakes were with this whole thing? If we convinced him, he’d donate to the All-Stars?”
My chin quivers and I turn my head away, embarrassed. “He told me I was nothing but some toy you could use, like I had no respect for myself, you know? I blurted out that you were my boyfriend, and I thought he’d leave it there. But he . . . he said if we showed up at the party, he’d give you this insane donation. I-I-I couldn’t turn it down.”
I roll onto my shoulder, daring to face him now. Griffin is on his side, eyes dark, totally focused on every word I’m saying.
“The things you could do with it, Griff,” I whisper. “I couldn’t take that away from you.”