Page 40 of Pitcher Perfect
As soon as Elton stomped out of the room, Robbie sat heavily in the stool he’d vacated. In dire need of a distraction, he turned around a picture frame on the counter, revealing a family photo. Doug and Vivica, along with their children. Arms resting on one another’s shoulders, standing in front of a sign welcoming them to the Grand Canyon.
Elton totally at ease, with a buzz cut and a smirk, captured inthe middle of goofing off. A much younger Skylar, as solemn-eyed as he knew her to be, but relaxed. Less tense.
The baseball mitt on her hand made his stupid heart squeeze.
Even at the Grand Canyon.
As someone who never went anywhere without a hockey stick, he got it.
He got... her.
But as much as he wanted to carry on cataloging things about Skylar from the past, he couldn’t help but notice something else about the snapshot.
Everyone pictured wore a Brown University T-shirt. Even Skylar.
Robbie glanced up from the photo, seeing the pennant framed on the wall in the living room for the first time. The blanket folded up neatly on the couch. All red and brown, the colors of the apparent sacred family alma mater.
Nothing for BU anywhere?
Robbie went back to his place on the floor in Skylar’s room with a frown on his face... and he didn’t fall asleep for a very long time.
Chapter Twelve
Skylar woke up to an empty pile of bedding on her floor and a text from Robbie.
Gone for rations. Be back soon.
“Rations?” she echoed through a yawn, stretching on her way to her suitcase, where she’d left it sitting in the corner. Still groggy, she flung the luggage onto the bed and unzipped, reaching into the mesh pocket for underwear and a sports bra. The sun had yet to rise and the house remained mostly quiet, except for her father, who was puttering around in the kitchen counting down the minutes until trumpet-blowing time. Didn’t matter that everyone was already awake this particular morning—he’d probably blow it regardless just to put everyone on their guard.
Looking out the window, she could see her mother and Elton sharing a cup of coffee on the back porch, comfortable in their companionship. A familiar scene in which she was rarely included. The few times she’d joined her stepbrother and mother for their morning chat during the Page Stakes, they’d talked mostly about their experiences at Brown, his and her former professors, news from the alumni board, of which they were both members.
Of course, they didn’texclusivelytalk about the college, but it was an easy segue into other topics. That bond made it easy for Vivica to relate to Elton in a way she couldn’t seem to relate toSkylar. As an all-American student athlete, academics were a huge part of Skylar’s life, but talking about her courses inevitably drew comparisons to the Brown curriculum. Criticisms, too. And at some point, Skylar had decided to avoid morning coffee sessions with Doug, Vivica, and Elton because they left her feeling deflated. Like someone standing just outside of the inner circle.
Now, Eve, her Page Stakes teammate, was a great friend. However, she’d raised herself in difficult circumstances, and as the daughter of the town pariah, Eve had grown up with a tough outer shell that Skylar couldn’t always penetrate.Notthe warm, fuzzy type—and not everyonehadto be. Her quiet strength and no-nonsense pragmatism were some of the reasons Skylar loved Eve. Now that she’d taken over her father’s strip club and turned it into a burlesque lounge, she had some hefty responsibilities, too, meaning Skylar’s best friend was now emotionally and physically distant. Something that hadn’t really registered until last night when Robbie, as her new teammate, had been so... there. Ready for anything.Withher.
Which also made Skylar wonder if she was missing something with Eve. Hadshenot been present enough for her best friend?
In the bathroom, Skylar sat down on the closed toilet lid and called Eve.
Four rings. Voicemail.
“Hello, you’ve reached Eve, lady proprietor of the Gilded Garden. Lucky you. Leave a message and make it brief. I don’t have all day.”
Beep.
With a fond half smile on her face, Skylar left a message. “Hey, I know you’re super busy this week, just wondering if you had time for coffee. Would love to catch up. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll just show up at the lounge later this week. When you least expect it. Boo.”
Deep in thought, Skylar took a quiet shower, dressed, and brushed her teeth. Fashioned her wet hair into a braid and, for old times’ sake, slid her feet into an old pair of cleats that still held clumps of dirt from senior year of high school.
Then she tucked her planner into the back waistband of her yoga pants and snuck outside to pitch. The sound of her spikes on the front porch steps was familiar enough to raise a pebble in her throat, as was the rusted lock on the shed adjacent to the house, where the sporting goods were kept. The black wire bucket of dirty softballs that waited for Skylar made her sigh with pleasure. And after dragging out the nine-pocket practice target she’d been using since middle school, she got to work.
Relax into stance, breathe, wind up, release.
Relax into stance, breathe, wind up, release.
It would be so easy to let herself become distracted. To think about the Page Stakes kicking off this afternoon, the pressure of competition, the high expectations of her family, even when they were only battling against one another. It would be so easy to think about the man who’d slept on her floor last night, mumbling in his slumber about forechecks, his face softened by sleep. How she’d lost her battle with curiosity and reached down in the middle of the night to test the texture of his beard. Just a teeny, little finger graze.
Why did it have to be the perfect combination of bristly and smooth?
