Page 25 of Running Home to You
“I don’t want you to hate me.”
“You care enough about me liking you that you’d give up your position?”
Abby grimaced. “It sounds really lame when you say that.”
“Sorry.” Kate uncrossed her arms. “I’m just surprised. I thought you didn’t like me.”
“I do. A lot.” Abby lowered her volume like it was a middle school secret, though the way her cheeks warmed suggested that wasn’t too far off. “I guess I feel stupid around you. I know I’m another assignment to you and you don’t care—”
Kate’s eyes widened. “Of course I care.” Her bottom lip firmed against her mouth’s falling corners. “I notice, you know? That you’re sad some days. I know you’ve been through a lot.”
Abby’s heart contracted just once. Her throat tightened like it had in Coach Whitley’s office, and at Isla’s condo on Christmas, and on the dock, and any place that someone alluded to her loss.
“I don’t pity you and you’re not stupid.” Kate shook her head, then chuckled. “Granted, any inferiority you feel is a small fraction of what I feel playing against you.”
“You don’t have to play against me. We’re a team.” Abby unconsciously shifted closer. “Play with me. Really, you can play shortstop, and I’ll play second.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, I care too. I notice you too.” Abby’s brows drew together. She gulped to steady herself before the rest. “You’re the only reason I’m on the team, Kate. I was drowning. I mean, I almost really drowned that day in the river. And you were the first one to help me.”
Kate’s eyes rippled with something softer. A fragile shimmer that threatened to break. Abby only caught a glimpse of it before Kate cleared her throat and looked away. “You can’t give up shortstop for me,” she said. “I want to earn it.”
“Understood.” Abby smirked.
Kate smiled back. “And I’ll give second base a shot.”
“Good. Let’s turn two then.”
“Let’s turn two.”
Turning Two
Turning two, successfully completing a double play, requires the utmost trust and timing, especially when executed between the shortstop and second baseman. It’s the closest thing to a ballet you’ll see on a diamond. Whoever doesn’t field the ball catches the toss at second base for the first out, then throws to first base to complete the double play. The opposing team’s runner usually has sights on your ankles during the exchange, so add dodging spiked cleats to the list. It happens so fast that the second baseman and shortstop don’t have time to look or speak. They simply trust the other person will arrive at the right moment.
The week before their first tournament, Abby and Kate focused on perfecting their timing. Granted, working as one instead of competing took getting used to. Not just because a hint of envy lingered when Kate eyed Abby at shortstop, but because their styles clashed harsher than before. Abby’s wild feats and risky throws versus Kate’s desire to do it clean, correct, and consistent.
To no one’s surprise, Abby turned two like an art form. When receiving the ball from the second basemen, she floated. She’d brush the bag with her toes, fearlessly jump or twist out of the runner’s path, and fling a bullet to first. On the reverse side, she never just threw the ball to the second baseman. She delivered it underhand,behind her back, flipped it out or on top of her glove, occasionally between her legs. While the team laughed, Coach Whitley yelled at the circus-like feats. “Quit faffing around, Cruz!”
More than once Kate would scoop a grounder and glance up to find Abby not covering the base. Instead of throwing, she double clutched, letting the runner breeze safely by.
“Why didn’t you throw it?” Abby asked.
Kate’s mouth dropped. “Because you weren’t there!”
“I’ll always be there! Just trust me.”
“How can I trust you when you’re not where you’re supposed to be? Why can’t you just do it right?”
Abby smacked her glove before turning away. “It’s not going to be perfect every time, Kate!”
Their arguing became such a normal part of practice that Jill took to sitting on first base while they hashed things out. Once, they didn’t even notice Coach Whitley dismiss everyone for a break, until it was just the two of them bickering on the empty infield. The problem was that they both staunchly believed that they were right. That and maybe they secretly enjoyed it. When Mick suggested as much, Kate shook her head and slammed her locker shut, but her cheeks flamed bright red.
Before Abby, Kate never yelled except to call a play or cheer for her teammates, never cursed or argued, never lost her composure or said an unkind word—so much of which was instilled in her as a child—but she unloaded on Abby daily. And Abby never flinched. Kate discovered unexpected freedom in it. In saying what she wanted. In the way she never had to apologize to Abby and Abby never apologized to her. In how it lit up her chest when Abby’s vigorous eyes met hers and paused there, even with practice fluttering around them as if daring Kate to tear away first. Or daring her to stay. In the way it all made that perfect double play sweeter, because it was purely theirs. Pure Abby and pure Kate.
“Just try it from here.” Abby grabbed Kate by the forearm to adjust her positioning at second base. That also became a commonoccurrence. Abby demonstrating better ways for Kate to throw or change her footwork, never hesitating to grab or graze her in the process. Kate always tugged her hand back, but she enjoyed Abby’s closeness, the calluses on her palms, the rough but assured movements.
Kate shook her head. “If I do that, the runner’s going to take me out.”
