Game On (34 page)

And I'm not going to say that I love
him
, because I'm not entirely sure that I do. But I know that one day, there's a chance that I could. And the anticipation? I think that's even more amazing.

Circling my arms around his neck, I kiss him. I kiss him slow, and steady, and gently. Because he's right—we've got all the time in the world.

He lays me back onto the bed, my head sinking into his pillow, and I don't think I've ever felt more safe, more
right
, than I do when I'm with him. He rests his forehead against mine, his thumb trailing across my cheek as he says, “If it's too much too soon, I'll back off. Just tell me.”

Yeah, no way. I pull him back to me, kissing him with everything I've got. His hands slip down, down, down, his fingers lingering at the top of my jeans, and I smile into his kiss. I don't know if he
wanted
me to tell him to stop, but that's not happening.

We've got a lot of time to make up for. We've got a lot of time ahead of us. And I'm so, so ready for whatever it brings.

Chapter
Thirty-One

Eric

One week before our final game of the season, I arrive at the field long before everyone else. Well, everyone, except Coach. I'm convinced that the man lives here.

I've always loved sanctuaries. Call it an effect of being a pastor's kid, but there's nothing like 'em. They're peaceful. Calm. When you're in a sanctuary, you have this overwhelming sense that everything is gonna be okay. Maybe not right then, maybe not the next day, but somehow, it'll all work out.

That's what this field is. That's what it'll always be.

Coach is sitting on the bench when I step into the dugout, clipboard in hand. He glances up as I approach. He gives me the slightest of smiles before looking back to the clipboard. “You're early,” he says.

I shrug and drop my bag onto the bench. “Someone once told me that if you're not early, you're late.”

“I like this person.” He sets the clipboard aside as I sit next to him. I follow his gaze to the field. The sanctuary. If I could be half the coach as the man sitting beside me, I'd be set for life.

I don't know how he does it. I don't know how he has faith in us when we don't even have faith in ourselves. I don't know how he gives us chances when we don't deserve them. I don't know, but I'm grateful. Really damn grateful.

“I don't think you'll ever know how proud I am of you.”

I
turn. His gaze remains locked on the field as he continues. “Before the first game, the boosters wanted you on the bench. After that game, they wanted you gone. Off the team for good.”

My stomach clenches. I figured that they didn't want anything to do with me—I mean, the headlines were proof enough—but actually hearing it is another story. “So why'd you keep me around?” I ask.

He finally looks at me. “Because I knew they were wrong.”

“I didn't.”

“But now?”

My lips curve into a slow grin, matching his. “Now, I think we've proved 'em wrong.”

He shakes his head. “Nah. You did.”

“What if I screw it all up?” The question slips out before I can stop it. He gives me a questioning look, so I add, “Next year. What if I go to Winthrop and fall flat on my ass?”

Pursing his lips, he looks out at the field. Moments pass, ticking away in my head before he finally says, “You're eighteen years old, Eric. You don't need to know what you're going to do with the rest of your life. Some people get it figured out by now and that's all well and good, but it's not necessary. Not yet. So you make the best decisions you can for right now, and you go with them. And if you fall flat on your ass, that's fine. Just get back up.” His gaze moves back to me. “You're good at getting back up. You would make a damn good coach, son. Any kid would be lucky to have someone like you.”

He slaps my shoulder and stands right as guys begin filing into the dugout, the silence giving way to a low buzz. Matt's noticeably been missing from the dugout for the past couple of weeks, but we've made it. It's weird—I haven't played a game without the dude in years.
Around
here, baseball lets you slide with almost anything—hell, my ass would be rotting in a jail cell right now if that weren't the case. But sometimes, we get it right.

I grab my glove and start across the infield, my cleats kicking up dirt along the way. Lewis Creek isn't perfect—it can downright suck once in a while. But this'll always be the place where I learned to walk, to drive, to shoot, to throw, to swing. It's gotten me where I am, and where I'm going to go. It's where I've learned that I screw up a lot, but that it's okay to screw up sometimes. Some of your best memories come from screwing up. And yeah, I'll say it: some of the best lessons come from screwing up, too. You find out who your friends are, and who's got your back. Knowing that people have your back is one of the best damn things there is.

There are always gonna be people who think I'm a screw up, and that's okay. I know who I am. At the end of the day, that's what matters.

They can't take this game from me. They can't take these memories. And they sure as hell can't take me down with them.

Coach told me to prove 'em wrong, and call me crazy, but I think I did. If anything, I proved myself wrong. And I think that may be even better.

Acknowledgements

It's strange (and also wonderful) to go into a book with one plan, and then have the characters take the story into their own hands and tell me what they
really
want to say. But I think that's a testament to the power of stories, and I'm so very thankful that I was able to share Eric and Bri's.

With all my heart, thanks go to…

God, for being by my side every step of the way. (Romans 8:38-39)

Danielle Ellison and Traci Inzitari: This book would not be what it is today without you two. I have no idea how you manage to know what I'm trying to say and drag it out of me, but I'm eternally grateful. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for believing in this story. Thank you for always making me answer the tough questions. And thank you for suggesting that perhaps Bri had plenty to say, too.

Lana Popovic: You, lady, are absolutely, positively glorious, as well as an amazing cheerleader and the fiercest of champions. I'm so lucky to have you on my side.

Meredith Rich and the team at Bloomsbury Spark: Thank you for taking this little story under your wing and giving it a place to call home.

Dahlia Adler: 1) You are the fiercest of fierce copy editors, 2) I'm so lucky to call you a friend, and 3) I don't care how much you say otherwise—this book would not have been finished without you. One email made all the difference. Thank you for pulling me out of my own head.

Marlana Antifit, Rina Heisel, Diane Bohannan, and Cheryl Ham: Best. CPs. Ever. I'm not entirely sure that I'd be sane without you. Thank you for being you.

Brandon and Tristan: Thank you for being my home.

My
parents: Your encouragement is unsurpassed, and I'm so incredibly lucky to be your daughter.

Every blogger and reader who has taken the time for my books: You are simply phenomenal. I've been blown away by your support. Thank you.

And finally, I'd like to offer a very special thank you to anyone who has shared their personal story with me over these past couple of years. Your stories of struggle, stories of uncertainty, stories of hope and bravery and perseverance hold a special place in my heart. I hope you realize that I don't take those conversations lightly. To hear your story is a privilege, and for that, I thank you.

About
the Author

Michelle Smith was born and raised in North Carolina, where she developed a healthy appreciation for college football, sweet tea, front porches, and a well-placed “y'all.” She's a lover of all things happy, laughs way too much, and fully believes that a little bit of kindness goes a long way.

Michelle lives in eastern North Carolina with her family. You can find her online at
www.msmithbooks.com
.

Bloomsbury
Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York, Oxford, and Sydney

Copyright © 2016 by Michelle Smith

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

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First published in August 2016
by Bloomsbury Spark, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
www.bloomsbury.com

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request

ISBN 978-1-68119-523-0

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Cover design by Jenny Zamenak