Last night had been a curse disguised as a blessing because as Garrett read the email, he knew any ground he'd gained at the bridge had been lost. Now he lived under a cloud of suspicion as she tried to reconcile the fractured pieces of her life. It was fair given the way he'd handled matters, but the boy in him who had selfishly hoarded his toys wasn't as lenient. He wanted her complete trust, and he wanted it now.
The dark bruises in her eyes made him wonder how long she could hold herself together before toppling over the edge. He knew from experience it would only get worse. Juicy gossip was a lure human nature couldn't resist. It allowed people to escape from their own problems. Made them feel superior. Knowing Arianne the way he did, she was going to push him away, which meant he needed to find the culprit. Soon. Nothing could stop the rumors from spreading, but at least he could clear his name. If he didn't, he could kiss the sweet promise of her goodbye—a wrenching pain in his gut at the idea.
After Arianne left, he texted Greg asking if he wanted to get lunch. For once, his roommate's shadiness would come in handy. Even if he didn't know how to hack, Greg knew all types of people. No doubt he could scrounge up someone willing to help. And if they didn't, well, he had a bank account at his disposal. He'd keep that part from Arianne. She had too much pride to accept monetary help.
As he waited, he waded through the derogatory comments already popping up on social media. They'd even started a hashtag —#STDgirl. At least, her name wasn't included. A small mercy in the big scheme of things. Although—he cringed as he scrolled through the messages—her picture popped up an awful lot. They must have pulled it from one of her social media handles.
His phone pinged with another text from a teammate. He hadn't told Arianne, but when he'd checked his phone, he'd been flooded with texts. Most asked if the email was true while others worried he'd slept with her and advised to get checked at the university clinic right away. They meant well, but their words dug into an already open wound.
He could only avoid the questions for so long. What would he tell them at practice? Ugh. Practice. He was already dreading it. The sheer thought of everyone staring and gossiping made him double over in pain. It was high school all over again. His breathing turned shallow as he remembered the journal pages stuffed in his locker and the crude drawings painted in every bathroom stall. What if the same happened at Eason?
The pressure around his chest tightened until he couldn't breathe. He blindly reached for the bed, pulling his comforter off as he collapsed to his knees in a useless heap of memories. No, he thought as he hugged the comforter to his chest. He couldn't afford to panic. Arianne needed him.
Just like Spencer needed you. You're going to wind up disappointing her too.
He wouldn't. He wouldn't. Resolve flowed through him. This time was going to be different. He wouldn't abandon her. He wouldn't pretend she didn't exist. Arianne was going to have a support system whether she liked it or not.
***
Garrett, Stephan, and Marcus stood in a silent stand-off outside of the locker room. He'd asked them to come ten minutes before practice to talk, but so far, no one was talking because he didn't know how to bring up the subject without insulting the hell out of them. He thought it'd be easy, but as he hawed and hemmed, he realized how much he'd come to rely on them. Not just for the daily jokes and ribbing, but the times when he struggled, and they understood, and let him be.
"So," Stephan said at long last. "Time for the inquisition? All I ask is no water torture. I had a bad experience with a bath once."
"Rubber ducky nibbled on your toes?" Marcus asked.
"Fingers actually."
They joked, but Garrett could feel the sting of hurt. "Listen," he started but faded as he wrestled with the right words. He just got his friends back. He didn't want to lose them as quickly. "I told her it wasn't you."
Stephan let out a derisive humph. "And yet here we are."
He licked his lips nervously as Marcus and Stephan gave him mocking looks. "I need to know...you didn't talk about it between yourselves in public right? Or write it down and lose the paper?"
It was foolish, but he couldn't stop the doubt creeping in. Someone had to have told. At lunch, he talked to Greg who admitted he couldn't break into the university's server but had a friend who might be able to. The only problem was the person required absolute anonymity. Non-negotiable. Greg promised to talk to the person, offer money if necessary, but couldn't guarantee they would take the job.
Stephan's eyes flashed as dark as his hair. "Yes, Marcus wrote it in his diary and accidentally lost it in the chaos of class."
Marcus nodded. "I call it, Diary of a Baseball Player. The inner workings of a first baseman."
Stephan snorted. "More like the inner workings of emotionally challenged."
Garrett had to be sure. "So you didn't...?"
"We didn't, Saint. Nothing left these lips." Stephan pretended to lock his mouth and throw away the key.
"I know you weren't the biggest fans of her at first," he replied, remembering their first encounter at Cardboard Under the Stars.
Marcus' voice, clear and strong, cut through Garrett's doubts. "It doesn't matter what we think of her. You're our friend. You told us something in confidence. We wouldn't betray you."
The sincerity reflecting in their eyes made Garrett's shoulders slump in relief. "I'm sorry. She was pissed that I told you guys. I had to ask."
"How did she even find out?" Stephan wondered.
"I may have mentioned it," he admitted.
Sighing, Stephan squeezed Garrett's shoulders and shook him. "Why would you do that? Now, you are enemy number one."
Garrett's chin jutted out. "I couldn't lie to her. That would have made things worse. How could she ever trust me again?"
Stephan cuffed him on the back of the head. "She doesn't trust you now, idiot, so what's the point?"
"She knows I'll be honest with her," he replied. Stephan rolled his eyes but didn't comment on what he apparently thought was a stupid move. Garrett knew it was the right choice. Arianne valued honesty.
Garrett's stomach cramped as the other baseball players started arriving, curiosity stamped on their faces. Marcus moved to block their view of Garrett while Stephan hauled him close and threw an arm over his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get to practice. Just be sure to keep your idealistic talk to yourself. I don't want them rubbing off on me. I have a reputation to maintain." Grateful, Garrett gave him a weak smile and followed his friends lead.
At first, the team kept their mouths shut. Most likely because of the warning glowers Stephan and Marcus sported, but as practice wore on, they shed their caution and started gossiping. They sent him covert looks as they traded rumors, acting like they were hoarding state secrets. He flashed back to his high school days when the team would do the same, making him feel alone. But he wasn't alone, was he? Marcus bumped his shoulder as they passed each other in the dugout, a silent reminder he had people in his corner.
As batting practice wound down, Coach sent Garrett and Eli to collect balls hit into the outfield. Garrett used the bottom of his shirt as a makeshift bag. When it was full, he dumped them into the bucket where Eli was doing the same.
Eli looked around, then whispered, "Did you hear?"
Frustration licked up Garrett's spine. "Yeah, I fucking heard and it doesn't matter," he snarled, his movement jerky. A few of the balls spilled to the ground.
Picking them up, Eli gave him a curious look. "Thought you'd be a little more excited about getting to pitch since Jordan's hurt." He shook his head in wonder. "Man, you really took Coach's speech about team solidarity to heart."
Time came to a screeching halt. "Wait. Jordan's hurt?"
"That's why he hasn't been at practice. I texted him this morning, and he said his shoulder's acting up. Guess it's been bothering him since last year when he got injured in the Clemsonville game." Eli flicked him a curious glance. "He's out for the season."
Blood roared in Garrett's ears. "You're sure?" he asked hoarsely. Please don't let this be a practical joke.
"It's why he's been so hard on you. Knew you'd need to step up at some point." Jordan's behavior made sense now. He must have known his arm was deteriorating when he had those talks with Garrett about being a team player and leader. "I wonder if Gus knew," Eli murmured. Gus had to have known. They were roommates. Now that he thought about it, Gus had been spending more time on the mound, getting extra pitches in. Had he been prepping to be Garrett's relief pitcher?
Sweet anticipation coursed through him as Coach Foley motioned for him to stay after practice. "Good session out there today, Delko. How you feeling? Your pitches where you want them?"
"Yes, sir. I've been happy with my pitching." He'd been throwing consistently and accurately. Of course, he hadn't been tested in a pressure cooker situation yet. A small pang of doubt. What if he crashed and burned like before?
"I don't know if you heard, but Jordan will be out for the rest of the season."
"Eli mentioned something about it. Is Jordan alright?" Garrett knew damn well, he could as easily be in Jordan's position. There were no guarantees in sports and injuries were a part of life.
"He'll be fine. Needs physical therapy, but we're benching so he can heal. We want him right as rain for next year. I don't need to tell you that if we win this next game, we have a real shot at regionals and if we win that..."
College World Series. The height of college baseball. And where the best of the best competed on live television. He remembered watching with his dad and Spencer. They would bet on each game with things like chores or baseball cards, and his mom would make baseball-themed snacks.
"Delko, keep doing what you've been doing, and you'll be fine. You still going to meditation?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I don't want you to change one thing in your routine. Not one."
Baseball players were a superstitious lot. If a player won a game with a particular pair of socks, then he wore that pair religiously until he lost again. Or if someone had a specific ritual, they kept that ritual no matter how wacky it appeared. It seemed ridiculous to Garrett, but he'd do as Coach wanted. "What about extra pitching practices?" Garrett asked.
"Let's see what happens after this weekend and adjust accordingly." They had a three-game series against a team from Portland. They were evenly matched so it would be a hard fight, but Garrett was up for the challenge. He had a lot to prove. Not just to the coaches, but to the team. After his talk with Jordan, he'd been making strides to reconnect with the team, but how could they believe in him with his track record? His thoughts must have shown because Coach Foley patted his arm. "You don't have anything to prove. Pitch consistently. The team will do the rest."
"I know, sir, but last time..."
"Leave the past in the past," Coach Foley advised. "You're a different player. The efforts you've made haven't gone unnoticed. Trust in your training. Your body will do the rest."
He hoped Coach Foley was right, but somehow he didn't think it would be that easy. Not for him. Trust didn't come naturally, not even in himself. Maybe if Arianne went to the games, it would be easier. He grinned ear to ear as he pictured her in the stands, watching over him like a guardian angel. They could develop hand signals to communicate. Two pats over the heart meant they were missing each other and an ear tug meant good luck.
He slapped his forehead. What was he thinking? Arianne couldn't appear at a public event. Not after that damn email. Should he even tell her about being in the starting lineup? It felt disloyal to tell her good news when her life was spiraling out of control.
No. Arianne wouldn't begrudge him, but maybe he should downplay the situation. Focus more on her, and less on him. But that felt wrong too. Not genuine. And who they were together—Arianne and Garrett—was based on genuine emotions and words. He couldn't taint them even if it were for a selfless reason. Of course, who knew if there would be a them if he couldn't find the culprit behind the email.
Would he even have time to investigate now that he was the starting pitcher? He fully planned on researching every batter of the Portland team to learn their habits and weaknesses. He banked on family members and friends posting past games on YouTube. Usually they were crappy quality and shaky camera handling, but it was better than nothing. Maybe he could rope Arianne into helping him. They could spend their evenings cuddled up on his bed while they watched. Or would that seem presumptuous?
And what about his nightmares about Arianne? They continued to plague him, each more gruesome than the last. They hadn't affected his pitching yet, but what's to say it wouldn't in the future? And if they did, then what? Each question was a weight locked around his ankles, adding up, until every step felt like walking through drying concrete.
As soon as he walked into his room, he stripped off his clothes and showered, but no matter how much soap he used, he couldn't wash off his worries. So when he got back to his room, he did what any self-respecting guy with an ulcer would do. He called his therapist. It was a rather short conversation and gave him rather unpleasant things to think about.
To avoid those thoughts, he called his parents to share his news. His dad was out getting drinks with friends, but his mom answered. She said she'd tell his father when he got home.
"Unless you'd rather tell him. I'll get him to call as soon as he steps in the house," she promised.
"No, no. It's okay. You tell him." His heart wasn't into it.
"What's wrong, jelly bean?" she asked. "I thought you'd be more thrilled."
"I am." He'd been dreaming of this moment since his dad took him and Spencer to a college baseball game. They cheered until they were hoarse, enamored with the energy of the game, the competitiveness of the players. On the car ride home, they pretended to be players on the college team, acting out various scenarios. When they pulled into the garage, Spencer held out his finger and whispered, "Pinky promise to be on the same team in college?" Their dad smiled as Garrett pinky promised, adding he would be in the stands at every game.
"I just...I've been distracted. There's some things going on here..."
"Things? What kind of things?" Her tone turned sharp. "Are you in trouble? Because if you are, we can—"
"It's not like that," he interjected. "It's a f-friend of mine. She's in a situation."
"Garrett Lee Delko, did you get a girl pregnant?"
"Mom! It's nothing like that. She's going through a hard time. And...I've been having nightmares."
"What kind of nightmares?"
"Like the ones I had right after..." Spencer's death.
A long pause. "I see." Her curtness was sandpaper against his heart. He ached to talk about Spencer—to relive the good times, and try to understand the bad—but his mother would cut him off before he had the chance. "Who is she?" his mother asked.
"Like I said, a friend."
"A friend," she mulled. He could feel the questions coming. "And not more than that?"
"It's complicated." He refused to go into detail. It'd only give his mother another reason to be nervous.
She proved him right by saying, "I don't like this. You're having nightmares. You're not sleeping. And all because of this girl. You should be focusing on school and baseball."
Before his mom could get going in what he called her Energizer Bunny Mode, he said, "I've already talked it over with Dr. Shinn." He could feel her surprise over the line. Yes, Mom. I've grown up.
"And what did she say?"
His body tensed. Dr. Shinn asked why he thought Arianne was his safe haven. And why he kept placing his happiness on the shoulders of people like Arianne and things like pitching. She expected him to have answers by their next call.
"Garrett?" his mom prodded.
"Just the usual," he evaded. "I have a follow-up appointment next week so don't worry."
"Okay," his mother said softly. Another long pause. She cleared her throat. "Does this girl remind you of him? Is that why?"
"No. They're complete opposites." Spencer was the sun—bright and warm, and compelling to everyone who dared to look—while Arianne was the moon. She was steady. Calm. Only showing her true beauty in the darkest of moments. And god, he wanted the beauty of her surrounding him.
"Just be careful, okay?" He could hear the struggle in her voice as she tried to reign in her worry.
"Always."
"H-he would be proud of you, you know, and not just because of pitching. You've handled everything better than anyone. Better than me," she admitted, and he wondered if she'd been going to therapy too.
"Thanks, Mom." He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "I love you."
"I love you too, son."