Page 12 of The Score We Never Settled

“So he didn’t know how to be a proper boyfriend,” Fallon defends. “All the signs were there.”

“He only began actin’ as if he liked me when Cruz started coming around.”

My best friend shrugs. “Men don’t like it when their territory is being stepped on.”

“I’m not Switzerland.”

“You acted like it.”

“To keep the peace.”

“Layla, you didnotkeep the peace between Cruz and Briggs. You helped keep that rivalry so big that the townstilltalks about it. And, the insane part, no one knows you were behind it.”

I scowl. “Boys’ egos. Nothing more.”

“Then why did Briggs knock Cruz’s two front teeth out in our junior year? Why did Cruz kiss you out in the open when he took you to the Sweetheart Ball like he was goin’ marry you straight out of graduation?”

“I can’t speak for any of them when I wasn’t them.”

“But you continued to see him. Every time Briggs would practically beg you to come out, you did. He fucked you until you couldn’t see anymore?—”

“Fallon,” I scold, lightly slapping her forearm. “Do you seriouslymind?”

“Not at all. You know they’rebothsuspended, right? That this so-called rivalry you won’t claim is still going on isstillgoing on. In themajor leagues, Layla. Those two idiots can’t keep their hands off each other half the time when they play. It’s headlines. People go specifically to that game in case it breaks out into a fight with them. It’s like a WWE match…but with bats…and balls.”

Yeah, I know.

I may have Briggs blocked from my phone, but I still get the ESPN reports.

“He broke Cruz’s arm this time.”

I know my expression speaks volumes because Briggs’s actions are wildly inappropriate and insane. “This needs to stop.”

“Then tell Briggs you’re not interested, and he doesn’t need to fight Cruz over whatever. Obviously, you datin’ Cruz is still a thing.” She lowers her voice a bit when she adds, “And the dozens of alleged stray balls that just happened to hit Briggs at the plate.”

Crap.

I stare at my blackberry pie filling. “He did it again, didn’t he?”

“Did what?”

“Hit him at the plate.”

Fallon doesn’t answer that right away, but I know the answer. While Briggs has been trying to calm down—whether it’s for my sake or not—Cruz has not. And it’s not like Briggs can get away from him because Cruz is a highly sought-after pitcher, and you just can’t dodge that.

“Yeah,” Fallon finally says. “Almost got him in the head this time.”

“How many times?”

“What?”

I squeeze my wooden spoon a little harder. “How many times did he try for his head?”

“Four. In one game.”

“He keeps targetin’ me, Short Stop. How many times do you want me to get clobbered by this guy?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a mistake?”