Almost Home

Chapter Sixteen

As Faith and I throw, girls trickle in one-by-one until the entirety of the team arrives.

They all offer me small smiles, but none of their reactions have been as exciting as Faith's.

We're running our second lap around the field, per coach's instructions, when Sydney, our bright-eyed third baseman, asks how the tournament went.

"Good," I reply, surprised at how in shape I still am, despite not exercising at all in the previous weeks.

I'm barely breathing hard when I say, "Carson's team won."

Faith, who'd always been good at reading my body language, taking special consideration into the relationship between a pitcher and a catcher, wiggles her eyebrows, "Any other interesting things happen to you over the summer?"

I'd tell her of Easton later - something that I trusted her with, but, maybe, not the rest of the team.

Not yet, at least.

"Nope," I reply, instantly, hoping the rest of my teammates write my red cheeks off as overexertion and not embarrassment, "Nothing that I can think of."

Faith narrows her eyes at me, a slight grin twitching at her lips, but if she wants to say anything more, she must be waiting until we're alone.

When there aren't any listening ears.

The opportunity arises nearly an hour later after a couple more laps and some hitting drills, when Faith finally gets the chance to pitch to me.

The catcher's gear feels like home; I nearly squeal in excitement as I strap the shin guards and chest protector over my sweat-soaked clothes.

We start simply, both of us too focused on our task to say much, but when she's regulation distance away from me and throwing with full force, she says, "You were lying."

I catch the ball, relishing in the fresh snap of the ball in my leather catcher's glove before saying, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"When we were running," she catches the ball that I throw back at her, "I asked you if anything else happened while you were gone-"

"Yeah, I know what you asked," I'm suddenly grateful for the mask that hides the majority of my face, "I didn't want to answer in front of everybody."

"I knew it," she grunts as she throws the ball this time, a specialty pitch right to the strike zone. I didn't even have to shift on the balls of my feet.

When I supply no explanation, she quirks one, groomed brow and says, "Well?"

Pursing my lips, I shake the softball around in my hand as I say, my voice quiet enough that only she can hear, "I met a boy. We're dating now."

I'm glad I kept the ball in my hand because I think, had she been holding it, she would've thrown it at me without pitching it.

Just to try to hit me in the head.

Her face portrays complete betrayal, her lips open in both shock and a slight pout before she rights herself, holds her glove open for the ball and says, "Tell me about him."

I throw the ball back as I say, "His name is Easton."

Faith raises both eyebrows, her lips tilting into a side grin, "Easton? Like the bat brand?"

I tilt my head back and laugh, narrowly avoiding getting hit directly in the sternum as she doesn't notice and pitches the ball.

"Exactly like the bat brand."