Page 2 of Hale
No matter what I do, someone’s feelings will get hurt.
But Mom is right. Without college, how will I be able to buy Amy a nice house and all the things she’s used to? Unlike our family, Amy comes from wealth. Her dad is a family attorney and her mom owns a boutique in downtown Columbia, Missouri. Where I drive a beat-up pickup that Dad helped me fix up, Amy drives a brand-new Honda Accord. Our love won’t buy us nice things. A college degree will.
“Okay,” I concede, hating the word as it tumbles out of my mouth.
She walks over to me and hugs me tight. “Good boy. My good, good boy. You always make the right decision in the end. You have a good head on your shoulders like your father.”
I pull away from her and give her a nod. “I need to break the news to Amy.”
“Of course.” She sends me an encouraging smile. “You’re doing the right thing.”
Then why does it feel so wrong?
Hudson
Three years later…
“Hale!” Coach Brass barks out. “My office. Now.”
I groan and my buddy Nick laughs beside me as we dress. The locker rooms stink of a bunch of sweaty fucking guys who just killed it on the field. We’re all a little rusty after a long winter break, but each of us is ready for spring training. This season we’re going to smash Florida State.
“He’s probably going to ride your ass for running like a girl,” Nick says and nudges me with his elbow. I nearly drop my phone that has been buzzing nonstop.
“I still killed your time,” I tell him with a smirk, pocketing my phone without checking it. Amy knows I have practice today. I don’t get why she’s been blowing up my phone.
“Whatever.” He shakes his head. “We still going out tonight? Caitlin at Noggins will hook us up with free shit.”
Because Caitlin wants his nut sack.
And her bartender friend, Jada, wants mine.
Last time we went, I got so wasted from the free shots the girls were getting us that I nearly fucked up everything with Amy. Jada had her shirt off, was in my lap, and her tongue down my throat before I finally snapped out of it and pushed her away.
Long-distance relationships are fucking hard.
I always see Amy when I make the almost five-hour trip north from Fayetteville to Columbia. We spend 90 percent of our time together fucking and making up for lost moments. But in between those times a few weekends a semester, I get lonely. Our Facetime chats usually end with her making me feel guilty in some way. Sometimes she can be such a nag.
“Hale!” Brass bellows. “I said now!”
His tone is sharp and not at all like the one he uses to razz on the baseball field. It unnerves me.
“Coming, Coach,” I holler back and zip my bag closed. I shoulder it and amble through the locker room to his office where he paces. His back is to me and he runs both hands through his thinning hair.
Fuck.
Am I in trouble?
“Sit, son,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.
Son?
Something tells me this isn’t about baseball. My job then? I’ve been working at Mrs. Brass’s accounting firm on the days I don’t train. Since I’m getting my degree in Finance, I get to mentor under her while making a little bit of money in the process. I’m saving up to get Amy an engagement ring.
“I was sick last Friday,” I lie. “If I messed up on someone’s return, it’s because I was sick.” Really, I was nursing that hangover and the mountain of regret I had from making out with a girl who wasn’t my girlfriend.
He turns and regards me with sadness gleaming in his eyes. I slump into the chair, hating his expression.
“Coach…”
