Page 88 of Make My Heart Malt

At the next inning, I’m squatting behind the plate. I signal to Holloway for a slider. As the ball soars toward the plate, the batter swings, nicking the ball with the top of hisbat. The ball spins backwards and smacks my catcher’s mask, getting lodged between the metal wires. Five minutes later, and with help from the ump, we release the ball. Minnesota scores two more runs, one because of an erratic throw to home plate even Stretch Armstrong couldn’t catch.

When I reach the dugout, I peel off my mask and slam it against the bench. “What the fuck, guys? We need to get our shit together.”

“Same goes for you, Playboy,” Carlson, the right fielder, snarks.

“That’s why I said ‘we.’” I yank off my cap and run a hand through my hair. The whole situation with Dessa has my head swimming. I need to talk to her, and the sooner the better. I’m chalking that up to my shitty playing, but I don’t know what everyone else’s excuse is. Throwing myself onto the bench with a thud, I reach next to me and grab a handful of BBQ sunflower seeds and shove them into my cheek like a chipmunk. I’m desperate for anything to calm my frustration and sometimes my favorite snack, that I can only get in the Midwest, helps me. Mom even sends me the occasional package stuffed full of bags of the sweet and salty snack, so I’m not without while in Seattle.

At the seventh inning, we’re down four runs. As in we haven’t scored a single run. We can still come back—we just need a few good at bats. I rake my hand through my hair as my leg bounces on the balls of my foot. From next to me on bench in the dugout, Ramirez backhands my bicep to get my attention.

I twist my head toward him. “What the hell, man?”

He points across the field to the jumbo screen. I follow the imaginary line outside the dugout, across the field, and to the enormous screen spotlighting Camila.

“Is that your ex-girlfriend?”

My stomach plummets to the dirt. Fuck. What the hell is she doing here? She’s only ever been to one game of mine, even though I invited her to all of them. And I certainly didn’t ask her to this one. This is the cherry on top of my shitty evening.

By the ninth inning, we’ve scored one run but still get decimated six to one. We haven’t experienced a loss this devastating in quite some time. It fucking sucks. As much as a debilitating blow the loss is, I tell myself it’s part of the game. Overcoming the loss will always be the greatest challenge.

After my shower, I throw on sweatpants and a hoodie. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and make my way to the family room where Dessa’s waiting. As I enter the room, people mill around with whispered condolences, and we’ll-get-them-next-times.

When Dessa spots me, she excuses herself from the conversation with Melanie and Tori and greets me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Sorry about the loss.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head. Having her here with me takes a little bit of the sting away. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to stay for a while?”

“Nah. Let’s get out of here.” I nod toward the exit.

“Okay.” Dessa waves goodbye to Melanie and Tori before lacing her fingers with mine.

As we stroll across the stadium, I’m thankful one nightmare is over, and I’ve escaped the other. It’s still a mystery why Camila showed up tonight, but I have Dessa so it’s irrelevant.

“Garrett!”

I pinch my eyes shut. My name coming out of her mouth grates on my last nerve. Our breakup, if you can call it that, was amicable. But after being with Dessa, I nowknow it would have never worked with Camila, and she’s not who I want. I increase my stride, but Dessa stops, forcing me to halt in my tracks, and she spins around.

“Oh…” Dessa’s voice trails off.

“Garrett! Wait!” Camila’s heels clack against the cement floor atrium.

I turn on my heel and face her since running away isn’t an option. “What are you doing here, Camila?” I try to keep the bite out of my tone but fail miserably.

Her brows draw together as she purses her bright red, stained lips. “You invited me here. At first, I thought it was weird that you were sending me messages telling me you weren’t over me and you wanted to see me again. But it was kind of cute. Like pen pals, sending love messages to each other.”

Now it’s my turn to be confused. “I never messaged you.” I peer down at Dessa as she meets my gaze. “I never messaged her.”

Dessa nods in understanding.

“You did,” Camila exclaims. “You told me how sorry you were that we broke up and you want to try again. That’s why I’m here.”

“Look.” I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t know who you were talking to, but I assure you, it wasn’t me. In fact, I’m with someone.” I nod at Dessa.

Camila’s face falls. “Oh.” She holds her hand out to Dessa. “Nice to meet you, I’m Camila.”

Dessa clasps her hand. “Hi. Dessa.”

After they shake hands, I pull Dessa against my side, making it clear I’m taken.

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