Page 30 of Tagging Bases

No more predestined future.

No more trying to change myself for others.

No more denying what I truly want.

Chapter 12

Shitting Bricks

Charlie

Kneelingin front of the toilet, I hug the porcelain as if it’s an old friend. The coolness seeps through my skin, soothing the feverish flush that runs rampant over my body.

This feeling of shitting bricks is new territory for me.

Closing my eyes, I tell myself the following:I’m Charlie McManus. I’m a badass pitcher. I can play baseball in my sleep.

So, why do I think that the second I step out onto the mound, I’m going to forget everything I know about the sport?

I can see it now, the ball foreign in my hands, the red seams tearing up my skin when I throw it pathetically into the dirt. Everyone in the stands, pointing and laughing at me as if someone dumped a bucket of pig blood over my head. The scouts’ faces set in scowls behind their aviator sunglasses, muttering words like “What were we thinking?” and “This was such a waste of time.”

I’m basically an Olympic gold medalist in freaking out right now, and there’s only one person who can help.

Grabbing my phone off the counter, I slide down against the bathroom wall and dial my brother’s number with shaky fingers.

It rings once, twice, three times. Voicemail.Dammit, Roy.

I stare at the screen, debating whether to leave a message or scream into the receiver at the top of my lungs. Before I candecide, the phone buzzes in my hand, and Roy’s name flashes across the screen. My thumb jabs the answer button, and Roy’s face instantly appears.

“Little bro.”

“Roy,” I cry out. “Thank God.”

“What’s up?” His brow furrows as he takes in my pale, sweaty face. “You okay?”

“No,” I say honestly.

“Why are you sweating? I swear to God, Charlie. If you’re calling me in the middle of a fuck?—”

“I’m not!” I sweep my phone around the room so Roy can see I’m in the bathroom. “That was one time. And it was an emergency.” My face reddens at the memory of calling my brother because I had no clue how to put on a condom. It wasn’t my fault that I’d been sick the day they taught us in health class. “How was I supposed to know they made them so damn confusing! All that ‘roll down’ this and ‘pinch the tip’ that and looking the same inside and out?! I was under a lot of pressure, okay?”

“You’re lucky I picked up,” Roy chuckles. “Imagine if you had to call Dad for condom advice.”

I visibly shudder. “Don’t even joke. I’m pretty sure that conversation would have ended with me joining a monastery.”

“Well, you know what they say—with great penis comes great responsibility.”

“Wow. Profound, Roy. You should embroider that on a pillow.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs. “The point is, you survived. Becky didn’t get knocked up, and you learned a valuable lesson about prophylactics. Though I have to say, mood-killer much? Bet she was real turned on by you having a sex ed pow-wow with your big bro.”

“Ugh. For the next three months after that, every time I saw a condom, my dick practically retreated inside my body. It took some serious coaxing to get the big guy to come back out and play.”

Roy’s face scrunches up. “TMI, dude.”

“Hey, you started it! But seriously though…” I sober up, meeting Roy’s gaze through the phone. “Thanks for picking up that night. I know I interrupted whatever it was you were up to, but I didn’t know what else to do.” After a beat of silence, I add, “You’re always there when I need you most.”

Roy’s expression softens. “That’s what big brothers are for, kid. To make sure you don’t royally screw up the important stuff.”

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