There was nothing we could do. My back fell on top of the base and Santiago landed on my torso diagonally. I just felt the weight of the world land on me and expel all the air out of me. I saw black for a solid moment and, this may sound dramatic, but for a second I thought I died.
"Peyton!"
I drew in a gasp the pushed in a lot of air with flying dust. That made me hack out a round of nasty coughing. I rolled on my side, still struggling to breathe and in so much pain that my eyes were leaking.
"Oh, God."
I recognized the voice as Santi's and tried to open my eyes a little. Through the haze of dust and the stars in my eyes I could see that he was on all fours over me. A lot of steps were approaching. Or people were running.
"Please tell me you're okay."
"Wow," I rasped out and between gasps said, "you're really good at hurting me."
He got pushed away and then my dad grabbed my face.
"Honey bunny, tell me you're fine."
I groaned and rolled back on my back. "Stop calling me that."
He looked down at me, inspecting me and then he got the weirdest expression. The top of his face was a frown but the bottom was a smile. "Well, that's an out."
I struggled to understand what he meant until I felt him pry the ball out of the vice my hand had it in. I couldn't help but grin.
"Toldya, I'm good," I said to him.
He sighed. "Maybe, but I'm going to sub you out."
He and Domingo helped me stand up. The latter looked like he was in way more pain than I actually was.
"No, I don't want to." I put on my bravest face. "I'm not going to give this up."
Domingo sighed. "That was a really bad fall. You might have broken a rib, we need to get you checked."
I drew in a deep breath and it hurt like a motherfuck, but I figured a broken rib wouldn't even let me breathe. "I'm fine. I can keep playing."
"Not this inning," dad said with finality in his tone. "Dom, mind subbing in?"
Santi's dad gave a thumbs up. "Count me in."
I pursed my lips. "But dad-"
He put his hands on both of my shoulders and looked me in the eye. I knew that look. I grew up dreading that look. "No. I wasn't keen on you playing because I feared something like this would happen, and now that it's happened I'm not going to put you at more risk. Your mom will kill me if I don't die here of a heart attack first."
My whole face dropped. "But dad..."
"Walk it off. If you're fine by like the middle of the game I might consider letting you play, but in the outfield."
I knew that was as best as I was going to get at that point, and I had to take it. Because it actually hurt a lot. Most of the guys were standing around us and checked on me as I walked. The only one I didn't see was the boulder that ran me over.
"Where's Santi?" I asked Chris, he shook his head.
"He walked away as soon as your dad got to you. He didn't look okay."
I blanched. What if he was hurt? The team would crumble without him.
"Um," I said with a shaky voice. "Where'd he go?"
He shook his head.
I turned around and thought, if I were a hurt, moody teenage boy, where would I go? I tried to walk at a brisk pace but it was kind of hard, actually. I tried the bathrooms by the grills first, but no luck. I didn't know which cabin he'd gone to, so I went to mine and grabbed my phone to call him, but he didn't pick it up.
"Shit," I told myself. He'd probably be somewhere isolated. I grabbed my first aid kit just in case, but if he was really hurt I didn't know what I could do with it. I went outside and noticed that a breeze had picked up. It was beautiful out there coming out of the cabins and overlooking the lake. And then I saw him sitting on the pier with his head hunched.
Oh, no. I ran to him, or limp-jogged, more like.
"Santi!" I called out, but he didn't react. Maybe he couldn't hear me. As I approached him I saw his shoulders shake almost imperceptibly. I dropped on my knees next to him. "Where are you hurt? I brought the first aid-"
He didn't let me finish. He pulled on my arm and hauled me to him, twisting me so I sat on his lap. He buried his face on the crook of my neck and shoulder and cried.
I froze. My hands looked like claws in mid air. No doubt my face was the copy of a deer caught in the headlights.
After a moment I managed to say, "Santi, I'm okay." That didn't seem to dissipate whatever was messing up his head. He kept crying in that weird, silent way of his. But I felt the tears on my skin. I turned slightly in his arms, so I could wrap mine around him. I stroked his hair softly, just allowing him to get whatever was on his chest off. I ran my fingers through the dark, thick locks. I traced the rim of his ear and caressed his neck. "It's okay, it's all okay."
Santi shook his head slightly. "No, it isn't."
I bit my lower lip. Okay, I couldn't deny that, in general. Everything sucked. But I really was fine, at least. "It was an accident and I'm okay, see?"
I held the side of his face and gently lifted it, so he could see me. The pain in his eyes was so terrible that it couldn't be about what just happened. My stomach bottomed. This went beyond simple remorse.
With as tender a voice as I could manage I asked him, "What's wrong, Santi? Talk to me, please."
He shook his head again in a jerky motion. "Accidents kill people, Pey. What if I had..."
A shiver racked my spine.
Accidents killed people.
But I wasn't Sebastian. And his brother's death had not been his fault, but a drunk driver's who was also dead and would never pay for his sin.
My chin trembled and my hands did, too, as I continued stroking his hair.
"Accidents are not your fault, Santi." I tried to wipe away his tears even as mine started to fall. I tried to keep him in the moment, not allow his mind to wander to that night a year ago. "We're just two intense people and get crashed because we were both giving it our all."
His eyes closed. "I should've held back. I tried to brace myself, but-"
I kissed his forehead and I could tell that it shocked him to the marrow. It made me smile, the little payback. "I'd have killed you if you'd held back. There's nothing more offensive."
Santi dropped his forehead against mine and sighed, his eyelids grew heavy. He didn't speak for a while. "That'd be nothing compared to what it would be... if I'd hurt you really bad. You're right." He paused. "I'm really good at hurting you."
"No. God, no." I winced. "I said that in the moment, I didn't mean it — okay, you've hurt me a lot this week, but not physically-"
"That's the whole thing, though." He grabbed my long braid and brought it between us. He ran his fingers over the tightly coiled hair like a caress. I swore I could feel it. "I don't want to hurt you. Never."
I grabbed his hand and laced my fingers through his. My hand was so much smaller, dotted in freckles and stark against his large, tan hand. His fingers were long and straight. His nails were prettier than mine, damn him. He didn't let go and neither did I.
"Then, don't."
The words remained between us until our tears dried. Our eyes found each other.
He swallowed hard. "I don't want to make you choose."
I gave him a smile. "I'm not choosing. It's not fair." He frowned a little, not quite getting it. "Fuck the world and its rules. I'm getting my cake and eating it to."
And I did. I grabbed my cake by his cheeks and brought his lips to mine. I was hungry for it, and I ate my cake like someone was trying to steal it, with big bites that had my tongue stroking his with abandon. With small bites to savor his lips. With handfuls of his hair between my fingers, gasping for air as I I felt the cake start to bite back. He stroked my bottom lip between his in a way that traveled all the way down between my legs and made my head roll back. He took advantage of that to place open mouthed kisses on my neck, sweet little bites here and there that drove me wild with the need to do the same to him. But everywhere.
"Shit," he cursed suddenly. I opened my eyes and tried to clear the haze that had possessed me. He was looking at my neck with pity. "That's a hickey forming right there."
I groaned and touched the tender area he was looking at, right below my left ear where there was no hiding it. I might have to let my hair down for the rest of the trip and the next few days. It gave me a thrill to think about it.
His deep set, green eyes pinned me with a mischievous look I hadn't seen often. It almost made me afraid.
"I can fix this," he said, grabbing my right arm and bringing it up to his lips. He kissed my open palm and then just the middle of my underarm. Without breaking eye contact, he licked the skin and closed his lips around it, sucking hard. What I felt right then couldn't be described with pretty words. It was primal, attacking all my senses and wrapping me only in the desire for him. I had fallen so hard and fast that the free falling made me feel like I was floating instead. When he was done he said, "There, now you can tell everybody that you were bitten by nasty mosquitoes."
He had to help me stand up after that because my knees were so weak. I hated his shit-eating grin, but I could feel a copy of it blooming on my face. We walked with our hands held to the cabins, where we let go.
I snorted. "So I guess we're going with my original plan of keeping this a secret, then?"
He sighed, as if this were a chore. "I hate it when you have the better idea."
I played left field for the last two innings. I didn't get to do much, except catch a pop fly for an out, but that was okay. My head was dancing with all sorts of crazy ideas that I struggled to shake off. I was coming up with baby names for our kids and we hadn't even practiced making them yet.
Heh-Sooz. I officially would never judge boy crazy girls again. This was some heady type of drug.
The next day I felt like shit because between my dad's snoring and the butterflies in my stomach I hadn't managed to sleep much. As predicted my entire face graduated from shrimp pink to red lobster. I put on some heavy duty Nivea cream all over, hoping it would soothe the irritation. Ellen was going to kill me when she saw me, either by me ruining my face further or when I told her the news.
Dad hissed once he took a glance at me after waking up.
I motioned at my face. "Thanks for passing along the ginger curse, dad."
"Just make sure today you really cake on the sunblock."
I saluted at him. We went out to meet the guys. This time everybody was contributing to making ham sandwiches and chopping fruit for breakfast. I hated that the first person who saw me was McCann and he just smirked at me. Maybe he kept it just at that because I flipped him the bird before he could open his yap. Chris, sweetheart that he was, just ignored it and addressed me as a normal person would. I sat with him because I was hoping Santiago would join us. Anthony did instead, he took one look at me and just gaped.
Santi walked by us with his plate in hand. He stopped to look at me. My heart skipped a beat, two.
He opened his mouth. "Well, I guess you've officially become a freckle with hair and legs."
I glared at him as he walked off to join our dads. Not only was he a traitor for ditching us, but he was too good at keeping up the friendly act up.
Chris shook his head. "Don't listen to him. His brain got rattled in that fall yesterday."
Between bites Anthony asked, "Speaking of, are you okay?"
I nodded. "Sore but I've had worse."
He laughed and slammed his palm on the table even before he said, "That's what she said!"
I admit I had to avoid looking at Chris after that, because it just made me think of Elle.
The fun part came after we were done with breakfast. Domingo, dad and I lined up the entire team as we waited for the contenders to arrive for the last practice game. I tingled in anticipation as the first few cars started rolling in. I might even have rubbed my hands like a villain.
Whatever our boys were expecting hadn't been a bunch of middle aged men with beer bellies and balding spots on their heads. Jaws started to fall and eyes pop out. I savored every second.
The first few guys reached Domingo and dad and exchanged one arm hugs and handshakes. Dad turned to all of us with a wide grin. "Everybody, meet the Altamonte Springs Devils. They meet every month for a friendly game with another team of fellow baseball enthusiasts."
I swallowed down a snicker as our boys looked at each other with wary glances. They didn't dare openly mock their opponents, though, which was good. Because underestimating your rival is the surest path to a big L.
The men introduced themselves. Jim, an accountant. Greg, a construction engineer. Matty, a bank teller.
One of the boys closest to me muttered, "What the-" and the guy next to him elbowed him.
I realized then that there were only eight of them, so I raised my hand. "Are we waiting for one more player?"
Their leader seemed to be Jim, the accountant. He shook his head. "Roberto's grandson was born last night, so he won't be able to join."
I heard an astounded whisper. "Grandson..."
Dad stepped forward then. "I'll join them."
The boys broke into a fit of chaos there. How dare he! Who would coach them now?
And then dad pointed at me. "There's your coach, right there."
My eyes popped open like saucers.
"I, what?"
Domingo nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I was going to be the coach for the Devils all along. You don't mind, do you?"
Of course I didn't fucking mind.
My chest swelled to about twice its size, which hurt a bit but I didn't care.
I was coaching a team of grown ass babies, instead of just little pee wee babies. This was a major step up and definitely going on my college applications.
I bumped my fist in the air. "Let's do this!"
They whopped our asses like we were all a bunch of pee wee babies. Which I knew would happen all along because all of these guys, including the accountant, had been pros in their youth. Some had retired after decent careers that didn't earn them eternal glory or name plates in the hall of fame, some others had retired due to injury or because the pressure of the MLB was too much. But they loved baseball, and although their bodies couldn't keep the pace of a full nine innings game, they remembered how to play to a visceral level that not many of our boys had.
So we played only five innings and lost 9-6. It was amazing. Once our boys realized whom they'd lost to, they also understood why they lost. Experience was only gained through practice. And it never went away. Seeing them thank the older men with reverent handshakes was an experience in and off itself.
One of them, Greg, approached me at the end and shook my hand. I knew him. In his hey days he'd been a shortstop for the Marlins. I also got a bit star struck and then plain stricken as he said, "You were really good out there. Your grasp on the boys' personal skills is your biggest asset."
I managed to stutter out a thank you.
I felt a soft pull of my braid and turned to Santiago.
"Well done not sucking."
I rolled my eyes but grinned. "Top compliments right there."
As he let my hair go I felt it then. This was my dream. Santiago Miranda and I together on a baseball field. And I would fight for it.
all i can say is: GO PEYTON!!! bite that fine piece of cake girl, i'm just sayin'