Page 27 of Running Home to You
By the time they left the field, stars sprinkled the dark. Kate used the walk home to gather her composure. Abby stayed quiet too, but it was an easy solitude that filled the space between them, a welcome change from their stiff silences.
“It’s almost unfair how good you are,” she said.
“I’m not that good.”
Kate scoffed. “You are that good. I wish I could play like you.”
“I wish I loved it like you do.” Abby’s plump lips hitched between a smile and a frown.
Kate stared at her as their steps kept a peaceful rhythm on the damp pavement. “I think you do.”
“Maybe.” Abby kicked a rock down the road. “I just don’t know if I can feel it anymore.”
“You play like you do. Like it’s part of you.”
“It might be.”
“If you were a guy, you’d go pro.” Kate pictured Blake and shrank into herself. Tonight, the overwhelming excitement for someone else brought her pause. She’d done nothing wrong, but didn’t know what it meant.
“If I was a guy, my name would be Audie Cruz, Jr., and I’d be a prick.” Abby laughed. “We’d get divorced in like a month.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “Oh, we’d be married in this reality?”
Abby shrugged like it was nothing, but her ears flamed bright red. “I mean, we bicker enough. Match made in heaven.”
“Or hell.” Kate chuckled, desperate to make a joke of the entire thing. Desperate to hide that it unfurled wings inside her.
“Probably that,” Abby said with a throaty laugh.
Kate diverted her gaze, thankful the February chill overpowered the heat threatening to burst through her cheeks. They walked the rest of the way in silence and stopped at the edge of the driveway.
“Well, have a good night.” She started toward the door when Abby stopped her.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been overbearing.”
Kate turned back. “I’m sorry for arguing with you.”
“I don’t mind.” Abby smiled. “You look great over there, Kate. I know the change hasn’t been easy. I know I don’t make things easy. I guess I just feel like I can do anything with you.”
“I feel the same way.”
Kate slackened, but not with sadness or shame. The declaration breached the barrier she had long ago formed to keep Abby at a distance. The one built to thwart a rival. The one that stayed, even astheir worlds grew closer, and prevented a friendship. But that night, Kate couldn’t find it.
It dissolved beneath the gleam in Abby’s gaze, not just sorrow and something unknowable, but soul. While Kate thought it new, she also understood that she’d seen it before. Seen it on the dock, in the library, in their arguing, in their competing and working together. Abby was alive, swimming and fighting against the grief, and Kate was what she latched on to.
The weight of it rocked her. She wanted to both shirk and sink in it. She wanted more of Abby, of her laugh, of her teasing, of her infuriating pushiness, of her soul. She’d call it friendship but knew as she peered into Abby with new sight, something deeper sprouted, leaving her chest and stomach tender but full.
The Spring Tournament
Thunderous clouds shifted above as Abby dug in at shortstop and T.K. wound up in the pitcher’s circle. When the ball left her hand, a cellphone rang, the sound so penetrating that Abby stood straight up and missed the grounder whizzing past.
Her teammates, Coach Whitley, and the crowd screamed and booed, as the runner rounded first and flew to second. The ball sat in the outfield, but Abby didn’t move. The ringing continued. It squealed from the sound system like jet engines. Abby asked Kate if she heard it, but she yelled at her too as more runners scored.
Abby sprinted off the field to answer the call. She frantically searched the dugout. Ripped down bat bags, tore them open, chucked gloves and helmets as she rifled for the phone. Abby shuddered when she finally found it, the game roaring behind her. She flipped it open, said hello, and her mother answered.
Abby lurched awake. A ding filled her ears, and the seatbelt sign flashed red.
“Flight attendants, take your jump seats,” the pilot said overhead.
