Page 28 of The Catcher

My neck still ached from where Tanner had sucked and bit at me and I examined myself in the mirror. The marks were dark, an angry red and purple against my pale skin, and I felt an unwelcome heat pool deep in my belly to see them.

He marked me up like he wanted them on there permanently.

It was an early 10 am game today, and after Tanner keeping me out until 4 am I felt like I had been run over with a dump truck. I threw on some clothes and sleepily brushed my teeth as I picked up my phone.

You better be at the game

It was like a shot of espresso to see a text from him, jolting my body awake, my adrenaline thumping through my guts. Itossed my phone down on the bed in disgust. I was going to the game anyway.

There was a new trainer for the Phoenixes at the game today, and he frowned as he saw me in the dugout.

“No unauthorized personnel allowed here!” he barked.

I opened my mouth, because I would have liked nothing more than to either go back to my office or watch the game from the relative safety of the stands like a normal person, but then I heard Tanner’s harsh voice. He was stretching, the black of his uniform only emphasizing the darkness of his hair and those unearthly silver eyes.

“She stays in the dugout,” he said, in a voice that meantdon’t fucking mess with me.

The trainer darted his eyes at me, probably wondering what was so indispensable about a quiet girl in a wrinkly and drooping pearled pantsuit, but he nodded and raised his hands in submission.

Everyone always rolled belly-up to Tanner. I wishedIhad the guts to call his bluff. He wouldn’t bother to actuallyreportme for cheating, would he?

But I didn’t know. I saw his lips quirk up as he looked at me, his smile uncomfortably assessing, possessive. I felt my face flush. Surely he couldn’t tell that my lips burned from how roughly he had taken me.

Tre wasn’t pitching today, so he loped over to me, lean and relaxed. Matt who had been punched in the face by Tanner was studiously ignoring me.

“If Tanner’s bothering you, you can tell me,” he said.

I forced myself to smile and shake my head, even as my neck ached, my long hair carefully arranged to hide his marks.

Tre was sweet and nice. But he couldn’t stop Tanner. Tanner didn’t talk to me in between innings, but I could feel his eyes on me anyway, like they were assessing what he owned now.

It was the bottom of the 9thand they were down by 3 with 2 outs when Tanner walked out to the plate.

And the hometown crowd was restless. This was a game against a big divisional rival. They didn’t want to lose. The Phoenixes were onlyonegame out of the wildcard spot now.

Tanner swung way out of the strike zone at the first pitch.

Shit.That wasn’t even close.

Despite myself, I was more invested in the game than I had expected to be. Tanner had the same ritual before each pitch. And he performed it once again. Right shoe-left shoe-tap-tap-tap with his bat. At this point it seemed impressed on my eyelids, painted in permanent marker on the inside of my skull.

Surely, he would be smarter this time. I had heard Steak warn him about this pitcher’s fastball.

But no. The next pitch came, once again outlandishly out of the strike zone, and Tanner swung at it again.

I heard the scattered boos from the crowd getting louder. “What the fuck was that, Juicer?” I heard someone yell, and I felt popcorn and peanuts hit the back of the dugout.

I felt myself tensing.I don’t care who wins or loses,I reminded myself, but Tanner sucking would make my job harder.

And harder to escape.

He fouled off the next pitch. The stadium groaned. I saw Kenji twitching at third. He could steal home, I’d seen him do it before, but it wouldn’t win them the game.

And here we went again with the ritual. Right shoe-left shoe-tap-tap-tap. I gritted my teeth. I had to figure out some way ofgetting out of here. I wanted to rip my hair out. I couldn’t do this shit anymore.

The pitcher threw an absolutely outlandish changeup way out of the strike zone, and for some inscrutable reason Tanner didnotswing at it. I clutched my tablet tighter. The next pitch was practically in the ground. The count was now 2-2. Right shoe-left shoe-tap-tap-tap. The pitcher signaled for more time. The stadium groaned in unison, beginning to boo the pitcher now. I saw Steak twitch at second base.

Stay on the fucking bag!I wanted to shriek at him. He could and had gotten picked off.

---