Christina Lee - Before You Break

“You can’t just do this for Quinn, though,” she said, smoothing my hair with her fingers. “You do this for you.”

“Obviously, dill weed.” I playfully yanked a piece of her hair. “Besides, he may be attracted to me, but that doesn’t mean he’d actually go through with it. Or that he’s dating material, either.”

“Oh, to get that boy in my bed for just one night,” Rachel said dreamily.

“It would be pretty epic.” Avery winked at me. “You should try it sometime.”

Thankfully, Coach said this would be a short practice followed by a team meeting.

This breather away from Ella gave me a good chance to get my head screwed on straight.

She had a boyfriend, for fuck’s sake.

I had already messed around with someone in a similar situation and it had ruined my life.

Lots of people’s lives.

It had ended a life.

Still, I was so drawn to her and I didn’t understand why. Except the fact that Ella was smoking hot. She turned me on in ways I hadn’t felt with other girls. And so far as I could tell, Ella was cool and kind and real. Being around her not only revved me up but filled a quieter place inside me that I didn’t quite comprehend yet.

Damn, I wanted to pound her boyfriend’s face into the ground. The way Joel strung her along reminded me so much of what Sebastian had done to Amber. And it pissed me off. It brought out the caveman in me. The need to protect her, save her, show her what she was worth. Ella seemed like a smart girl, so I didn’t understand why she was putting up with his shit. And it just made me want to take care of her even more.

I needed to stay the hell away from her.

Besides, what could I possibly offer her? I needed saving myself.

At Coach’s whistle, the practice ended. The outfielders ran in while the first, second, and third basemen pulled up the bases to stack in the corner of the dugout for the equipment manager to put away. It was hot as hell out here and I was glad to wrench the suffocating catcher’s mask off my face.

I helped retrieve a couple of bats off the ground and placed them in their rack. Then I sat my ass down on the bench between McGreevy and Smithy, wiped off my face with a towel, and waited for Coach.

“You threw some nice pitches out there,” I said before taking a long swig of my Gatorade.

“Thanks,” McGreevy mumbled. He was always so damn moody.

A hint of a smile appeared on Smithy’s lips. He never showed jealousy toward our star pitcher and he could hold his own on the mound, along with the five other pitchers in the rotation. Besides, McGreevy only pitched once every few games unless it was playoff season, so most of his fandom was only in his head.

McGreevy was also pissy because he thought Coach relied on me for team stuff even though Phillips, our short stop, was the captain. He was like that damn princess book with the mattress and the peas. Everything bothered him, no matter how small, and Coach refused to kiss his ass. It became tiresome.

Normally, smart pitchers like McGreevy called their own pitches during games. But he was so temperamental that coach started asking me to study up on players the week before a match. Coach and I had gotten into a good rhythm of calling signals together and as a result we were up a few games on our biggest competitor in the league.

I couldn’t help rubbing it in when McGreevy was especially irritable. “And I’ll have some nice fucking bruises on my thighs to show for it.”

McGreevy pulled his hat lower on his head and leaned back, jutting out his legs. “Fuck you, Quinn.”

I took off my hat and pushed my hand through the mess on the top of my head. I’d never admit just how many knots I’d gotten in my shins and thighs from stray pitches. Some of them hurt like hell for days. “Hey, just taking one for the team.”

“Maybe you should learn to catch better,” he mumbled as he lounged his head against the wall.

I toed the dirt with my cleat. “Maybe you should aim better.”

The other guys on the bench howled with laughter. They enjoyed our banter, and I’d admit, it helped me blow off some steam. Smithy was way easier to deal with and certainly not as uptight as McGreevy. He called his own pitches and didn’t complain when I called some, too.

I had nothing to lose as far as baseball was concerned. Most of these guys were hoping to make it into the minor leagues and then to the big time from there. I enjoyed the game but not enough to want it as a career. I just didn’t let any of these guys know it. I pretended to be just like them—like I could jack off to seeing my own stats and shit like that.

The laughter died down the second Coach entered the dugout and a few of the players straightened on the bench. All eyes were trained on him. You didn’t mess around too much when he was here. He’d bench your ass quicker than McGreevy’s hardest fast pitch.

“We’ll be on the road the week after spring break,” Coach said, meeting each player’s eyes. “I’ll be checking the log to be sure you showed up to train before school is back in session. And I better not hear about anyone partying hard. That’s an automatic suspension.”

He paced up and down the dugout, hands on his hips. “But be ready to come back here and play some good ball. We’ve got LSU up next and then Michigan State after that.”

He spit some chew into his red cup. That habit was some nasty shit. “They’ll both be tough to beat, and we need to kick some ass, you hear me?”

The energy on the bench immediately changed as the guys began pounding their cleats in a rhythm that reverberated up and down the bench. We all put our hands in the center, yelled a Titans cheer, and were on our way.

“Joel said he’d replace our rum when we got back to the house,” Jimmy said, plopping down on the bench in the locker room. “He’s been making himself rum and Cokes all afternoon.”

Just hearing his name fired me up. I slammed my locker door shut harder than I’d intended. “Fuckin’ Joel!”

Jimmy placed his hand on my shoulder. “Whoa, where is that coming from?”

“Sorry, a little on edge, I guess,” I said. “He doesn’t do shit around the house anymore. He’s only interested in partying.”

“Yeah, dude’s been partying harder than me, and that’s saying something. Drinking for days on end,” Jimmy said, removing his cleats. “I don’t know how that girlfriend of his puts up with it.”

“Yeah, me neither.” My heart clenched at the thought of Ella being around Joel when he’d been drinking. Joel was more of a happy drunk, so he probably just passed out most of the time.

“Pulled that shit with the last one, too.” Jimmy tugged a clean shirt over his head. “Last year, before you moved into the house.”

I’d commuted to classes last year, but it had gotten difficult between the ball schedule, classes, and frat house events. I missed living at home, only because it allowed me the option to rebuild that engine in our garage. The reality was, I hadn’t picked up a wrench since the crash. I’d tried a couple of times, but I just couldn’t do it. I questioned whether I had it in me anymore. But something about what Ella had said to me earlier today about making time had sparked a longing inside me.

Right then and there, I promised myself I’d get back out there during spring break week. Or at least I’d give it a good shot. I’d go home, put up with my parents’ bullshit, and get busy on the one thing I used to love most. As long as I pretended it was a hobby, I didn’t catch any flack from them. Besides, I needed to finally finish the candy-apple-red paint job on the classic that I’d been restoring for years.

I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear what Jimmy had to say about Joel, but I asked anyway. “Pulled what shit?”

“When he wants to get rid of some chick but he doesn’t know how, he acts like an idiot,” Jimmy said. “The other day, he hooked up with this hot piece of ass from the bar and I told him not to bring her back to the house because he . . .”

“Wait a minute, so he’s full-out cheating on Ella?” My fists were clenched so tight, my nails were digging into my skin. “That’s some messed-up shit.”

“Whoa, man. What are you so uptight about?” I had Jimmy’s full attention now as he looked me up and down, from my fists to my tight jaw. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve got a thing for his girl or something.”

“Nope, I just have a great dislike for cheaters,” I said, trying to deflect his thoughts away from Ella and me. All I needed was a rumor to start that I was messing around with her on the side or something. She’d be crucified. But I wouldn’t mind the pleasure of kicking Joel’s ass.

“Been burned that bad by somebody, huh?” he asked, but I didn’t respond. Let him think what he wanted. They all wondered about me anyway.

“I hear you, though,” he said, spinning the combination on his lock. “Ella seems like a cool girl.”

“Yeah.” I shook my head. “What a douche.”

“When it comes to chicks, yeah,” said Jimmy, heading toward the exit doors. “But it ain’t my problem. I just want our booze replaced.”

By the time Rachel and I headed back to the frat house, everyone looked spent. The sun had been blazing hot and everyone had ended up inside with the fans pointed toward the large family room. Some of the sorority sisters had stayed and Brian’s girlfriend, Tracey, sat next to me on one of the couches. Rachel found her ballplayer and was sitting with her legs crossed on the floor next to him. Jimmy, Quinn, and a couple of other players had joined us on the periphery of the room.

Joel was on the other side of me, sweaty and groggy from the sun. I found myself staring at him—really looking at him—trying to remember what it was about him that attracted me in the first place. Sure, he was cute and charming. But could he and I really talk about things on a deeper level? Could I trust him with my feelings?

The answer came as a resounding no.

The longer I hung in there, the less respect I was starting to have for myself. Maybe others were respecting me less as well. Like Avery and Rachel. And Tracey. And Quinn. That thought alone propelled me forward.

As I took in the Sigma crest painted on the far wall, it hit me that I wouldn’t be hanging at the frat house anymore after I broke it off with Joel. I had never truly felt like I belonged here, anyway. Come to think of it, Quinn didn’t seem to belong, either—not that it mattered. It was bound to make things awkward all the way around.

All breakups were awkward, weren’t they?

“Let’s play a game,” Lucy said. We were spread out on the couches and chairs, looking worn and tired, and Joel’s eyes were slits.

At least those other girls weren’t here tonight. The ones that hung around the frat houses all the time. The ones that made me just a little bit suspicious of Joel. Had he hooked up with any of them?

“Like what?” Tracey asked. “As long as it doesn’t involve heavy drinking. I am spent.”

“How about Truth or Dare or Would You Rather,” Lucy said.

“Ugh, sick of those games,” another sorority girl named Katy said.

“I know a game,” I piped in. “We played it in high school. It’s called Five Fingers.”

I hadn’t played the game in years. Avery told me that she’d used the game to get to know Bennett on a weekend trip to one of his art shows.

“How do you play?” Quinn asked as he squeezed himself into an empty spot on one of the couches. Our gazes crashed for the first time in a couple hours. His eyes lit me up from across the room and sent the butterflies in my stomach into a drunken tizzy, slamming them against my sides.

“You ask someone a question and they have to answer in five words or less,” I said, looking at Lucy instead of Quinn. “The more you drink, the worse you become at counting the words.”

“Never heard of it before,” Joel mumbled as if he was suddenly aware I was next to him. He reached for me and attempted to pull me across his lap. My whole body went rigid. Joel was on the verge of being sloppy drunk so when he thrust his tongue in my ear, it had the opposite effect of what he was after.

“Stop it,” I pushed away from him. “Not here, in front of everyone.”

He tried shoving his hands beneath my tank top and I yanked them from under my shirt.

“You’re never any fun,” he slurred.

“If I’m not fun,” I hissed in his ear, “maybe you should find someone who is.”