Page 110 of Under Pressure

I almost puke again when I hear the words out loud.

The burn of bile crawls up my throat before I swallow it. There’s a disconnect between my head and my heart. I knew this would happen, but I’d gotten so used to being around Beck that I let it make me weak. This is exactly why I didn’t want this to get serious. That was the whole point.

It’s what I made us agree to in the first place.

“Don’t be an idiot. Not every person you let into your life is going to turn out to be like Mom.”

I flinch, then tug my legs up onto the bed, out of her reach. “I didn’t say he would.”

“So, what’s this about, then? Aren’t you happy? This should be something good, Quinn. Scary, yeah, but isn’t it supposed to be?”

“We’re still getting to know each other.”

“That’s a weak excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse. He doesn’t know everything yet.”

She nods slowly. “About Mom?”

“I don’t usually lead with her.”

“You aren’t our mother. The choices she made don’t reflect on you. Beck isn’t going to think poorly of you because of our childhood.”

“How do you know that? We’ve been judged plenty because of it.”

“Yeah, from people who don’t know how to separate us from her. And they’re losers because of that. I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing if I let our past dictate my life. I want to be bigger than what we went through, and I know you do, too.”

I almost laugh. I’ve lost count of the number of dirty looks or sympathetic smiles we’ve gotten over the years. It started when we were young but didn’t end until I stopped telling people altogether about why we grew up with ratty old hand-me-downs and unwashed hair. Explaining that we spent hours walking to and from school because I couldn’t register us for a bus route without Mom’s signature and not because we just had time to spare. That all of Callie’s science fairs that went unattended were because I couldn’t miss a shift at Lucy’s and not because I wanted to miss watching her shine where I didn’t.

I’m burning with resentment, and some days, it feels like it’s going to consume me completely.

Telling Beck these things brings the risk that he’s going to see me the way too many other people have. Like I’m broken, tainted, a charity case. If he looked at me like I was damaged, I’d fall apart. The illusion would shatter, and I couldn’t come back from that.

Callie can tell me I’m being stubborn or too guarded, but she was also too young to remember the worst of it. I shielded her as best I could, and I’m grateful that I did. But at the same time, that means she doesn’t understand. She can’t.

And right now, I’ve never felt that divide more.

38

The last placeI should be is the stadium.

My shoulder throbs badly, and the muscle feels like tender meat ready to fall off the bone as I whip another ball at the wall. An exhale rips up my throat, making it burn as the taste of metal sticks to my tongue. I’ve been here for what feels like hours. I want to leave, but I continue to stay.

The first place I went when I left Blank Page was to drop Bodi off with my mom. She took one look at me, and her eyes filled with questions she didn’t ask, knowing I wouldn’t answer them. They’ll come later, I’m sure. Once I’ve let my guard down and I’m forced to tell her everything I’ve been bottling up inside.

Running out of the café like that was cowardly. I hate that term, but it’s true. I’m being a big fucking baby.

Reaching for another ball, I toss it up in the air a few times before launching it at the wall. It hits with a loud thunk before falling onto the growing pike on the turf. Silence makes the noise echo up the stands that threaten to swallow the bullpen.

This place usually feels like home to me. I’ve been in plenty of pens in my career, but none have ever been this . . .mine. Jesus, I’m out of it right now. I tip my head back and inhale, trying desperately to get my lungs to stop burning.

Without a catcher bracing ahead of me, I can unleash my arm. If Roman caught me here, throwing this way after straining myself the other day, he’d have me strapped to a chair in his office while he scolded me badly enough that I’d walk out afterward with score marks on my skin. It’s careless, especially when I’m already sore from yesterday.

Gritting my teeth, I whip another ball at the wall. The answering throb in my shoulder travels down my arm like an electric shock. I stretch my fingers and grunt.

If I called one of the guys, they’d come. No questions asked. Jett especially, even if he had to bring his daughter with him. Ever the father figure, he’d probably force me to sit and talk my feelings out before letting me escape. Maybe that’s why I already decided he’d be the last person I’d tell I’m here.

If Asher were back, it would be him catching these balls and whipping them back just as hard. His arm is nasty, which is what makes him such a double threat in the outfield. Not only does he lead the team in home runs—a feat that riles Kellan from time to time—but he’s got the reputation that has every opposing team terrified to run when the ball’s in his hand.