Page 84 of Running Home to You
She charged relentlessly at third base, as if she wanted to get smacked in the jaw or nose. On her opening at bat Abby drilled a shot right at the pitcher’s head, then made eye contact with her like she’d done it on purpose. So, it was no wonder, the next time Abby sauntered to the batter’s box, a chill touched Kate’s spine.
“Come on, Cruz!” Mick yelled from the on-deck circle as Abby sliced a practice swing.
The opposing pitcher glared as Abby crowded the plate. The same cocky invitation, a dare really, she’d extended all season. The pitcher brushed her back with a ball that nearly skimmed Abby’s thighs.
“Ball, inside!” the umpire shouted.
Abby spit and opened her arms at the pitcher. “What was that?”
Kate clung to the dugout fence so hard it indented her palms. The feeling swept over her. Something wasn’t right.
The pitcher grunted and sent another ball zooming higher, this time a sliver from Abby’s chest.
“Jesus!” Jill widened her eyes at Kate. “Did you see that?”
“She’s doing it on purpose,” Kate said, but she didn’t mean the pitcher.
“Do it again!” Abby pointed her bat at the circle. She and the pitcher stared each other down, and the field fell silent except for the droning stadium lights. “Do it again, I dare you!”
“Come on, batter!” the umpire shouted.
“Do it!” Abby smacked her helmet twice and settled into the box.
Kate covered her mouth ahead of the windup, swore she saw it before the pitch. She wanted to close her eyes, but held on. The ball veered exactly as expected. Higher, tighter, faster. It collided with Abby’s helmet, cracked the plastic, spurring squeals in the stands and dugouts, as the formidable Eagle became a heap on the dirt.
She’d hit the median. The crunch, the force throwing her head back, and the ring in her ears convinced her for a few glorious seconds that it was over. Then she opened her eyes, home plate beneath her like heaven sent her back.
Abby blinked away the black spots in her vision. The umpire stood above, but she couldn’t understand him. She staggered to her feet and assessed her hands. She wasn’t injured. Nothing hurt except her ears from the incessant whistling tone.
“You okay?” Mick came through garbled. “Abby? You with me?”
She swayed, but nodded. The helmet did its job. If anything, the impact of the pitch just shocked her. Put distant images in her sight. Her mother’s car crushed into metal scraps. Her casket beneath a pile of lilies.
“Cruz, you all right?” Coach Whitley eased toward her.
Abby removed her helmet. A gnarly crack ran down the ear hole. The face mask hung on its hinge. The pitch could’ve killed her. She didn’t know if she was angrier that it almost did or that it didn’t finish the job. Abby gritted her teeth at the pitcher. But it wasn’t the pitcher she imagined. It was Audie. It was her mother. It was Kate’s parents.
“Why don’t you come at me for real!” She chucked her helmet at her. It didn’t reach the circle, didn’t come close, and she hadn’t intended it to. If she wanted to hit the pitcher, she would’ve. But it still triggered what she needed.
The pitcher stalked toward her as someone jerked Abby back. She thought it might be Mick or the umpire, but it was the opposing catcher, riled up in her ear. “What the fuck is wrong with you.”
Abby welcomed it. Fed on it. She turned to push the catcher, but Mick was already yanking at the woman’s arm. The pitcher reached Abby just as the umpire stepped in, not allowing for anything more than a push.
“Fuck you!” Abby turned on him. “She did that on purpose! You saw it!”
“One more word and you’re out of here!”
Abby opened her mouth to say it, even if it meant getting thrownout. Especially if it meant getting thrown out. Instead, Coach Whitley stepped in front of her and pointed a finger at the umpire’s chest. “Are you out of your mind, fuckwit? She could’ve been killed!”
“That’s a warning!”
Mick and Jill dragged a flailing Abby to the dugout. The ringing persisted until Kate. The only person strong enough to cut through the chaos. She asked if Abby was okay, then whispered the rest like she’d done something unforgivable. “Why did you do it? Why did you have to do it?”
“That’s it! You’re out of here!” the umpire screamed.
“Fucking wombat wanker arsehole!” Coach Whitley kicked dirt at the ump’s feet, unleashing the most artful combination of insults Abby had ever heard. Full fucking kangaroo.
Coach Ackers dragged her away to boos and clapping. The stands rattled, both teams screamed at each other, adrenaline oozed, a perfect mirror to Abby’s turmoil. It satisfyingly scratched the scab over every grizzly wound.
