Rocket Car

Chapter 13

Rocket Car

After his brief apology he goes back to his position at shortstop. I eye him curiously, wondering if the memory bothers him as much as it does me. It must have. He folds his arms over his chest and stands rigidly. An experienced shortstop like James would never make the mistake of being so stiff before a pitch. I'm not sure if the sight helps me relax or not. Are we supposed to accept apologies for moments like that? Are we supposed to apologize for our actions in our youth? Did he do it because he felt obligated or…?

The crack of a bat breaks me from my thoughts. Forget James, I tell myself. Forget all about it. That was ten years ago. Who cares?

"Kiki are you going to run or what?!"

Barry's voice breaks me from my stupor. The man is barreling toward me at speeds beyond comprehension. If I wasn't so startled I would've taken a moment to admire his athletic abilities. Instead, I take off in a sprint for third base. Where he smacked the ball to I have no freakin' clue, so I round third without thinking about it. After all, if his speed was any indication, he's probably thinking an inside-the-park homerun.

Clearly, that wasn't the case. A rocket of a throw from the outfield sends the ball sailing right into the catcher's mitt. There's no hope for me to even slide – although, with the amount of grass on the base path, that isn't exactly possible. I stand there like an i***t, a foot from the plate, and let the catcher tag me on the shoulder.

As the teams get ready to change I find myself stuck. My feet aren't working. A hand places itself on my head and pushes my cap over my eyes. "What the hell was that, Kiki?" Barry asks. I say nothing. My mouth isn't working either it appears. Barry pulls the hat up and peers at my face. I just hope my frustration isn't painted all over my face.

"Hey, is your knee sore?"

Davis. Good ol' Davis. I could just kiss him for the quick save. Obviously, my face is twisted in some sort of odd expression; otherwise he never would've said a word. I feel Barry move his hand to my back, a comforting gesture because now he's legitimately concerned about my wellbeing.

"Maybe you should take a break," Barry suggests.

"No, I'm fine. I – "

"It's cool. My arm is hurting anyway. I don't think I could pitch another inning. I'll sit with you, okay?"

I'm amazed Barry doesn't crack a joke at our expense. Maybe his "big brother" instincts had taken over and he realized it wasn't a good idea. Either way, I resign myself to the fact that Davis isn't going to let me play another inning. If Barry notices how desperate Davis is, he'll also make sure I don't play. The entire group is going to get concerned if I don't accept the excuse Davis came up with. Well, my knee is pretty sore, I suppose.

We pass by the first baseline where our ragtag group has been sitting while I batted. I tell them my knee was a bit sore and I wanted to sit this inning out. No one argues. When Davis says he plans to call it quits, they again see no reason to fight it.

Davis leads me to a small grassy hill past our teammates where we can still watch the game. After I'm seated on the ground he disappears to a cooler so he can grab us some drinks. I'm presented with a cool bottle of water to which I say thanks. He plops down next to me and we sit in silence for a while.

Finally, he says, "Sorry. I didn't know he was going to be here."

I shrug. "It's not a big deal."

"You don't have to be strong all the time, you know? At least… you don't have to be strong around me."

I say nothing. What am I supposed to say to that? I focus on wetting my parched throat with the cool water Davis has given to me. It's damned hot outside. Summers were always brutal in this small town. It was certainly something that I hadn't missed in my time away from here.

In my attempt to forget about Ochoa I focus on the next batter. It's Jolene. I can't help but compare our batting stances; mine is strong and determined, hers is light and ready. In an odd way I want to see her fail. I want to be the better at something. I'm convinced human beings can't help but be jealous of whoever ends with their first love, even if we tell ourselves otherwise.

Naturally, she's got a great swing. She connects effortlessly on the pitch sent her way and it's flying over the centerfielder's head. I'm not surprised. Willie would never even talk to a girl that couldn't play at least a little ball. Her run is good, too; the way she strides down the base path can only be described as elegant.

I sigh. Davis obviously hears it because I feel him elbow me lightly. If it was to get my attention, it didn't work. Can't I just be left alone for a few minutes?

Apparently not, as he says, "Hey. What was last night about?"

I turn to face him, annoyed. I don't know what it was about. Does he not remember he's the one that burst into tears for no reason? Is he mad that we placed him in bed with Willie? There's no way for me to answer other than a rude, "Huh?"

"Babe, you kissed me," he says with a small laugh.

"Babe?" I question. It's not a nickname he's ever called me and it's not one I'm particularly comfortable hearing from him.

I watch as his brows furrow in confusion. "Is that not right?"

I want to shake him and demand to know why he's acting like a confused teenager. I never get the chance, however. A loud curse followed by the bellowing laughter of Barry has both of us turning to the field. Ochoa is on the ground near home plate covering his head; Barry is on the pitcher's mound howling in delight. If the dead ball that's near Ochoa is any indication, he'd just been plunked in the head. No doubt Barry was just being an ass after an accident, but it felt like revenge regardless. Karma of some kind, I suppose.

"Barnum! Don't laugh!" Jolene chastises, even going so far as to smack him.

I'm about to comment on how bold she is, but I never get the chance. I feel a warm hand grab mine. Of course it's Davis, I don't need to turn and confirm this. We're quiet for a moment before he asks, "Do you… like him?"

"Like who?" I ask, my eyes still on the field. Barry's stopped laughing (now he's just talking s**t and taunting people) while Ochoa is being helped back to his feet.

"Barry."

Instantly I'm laughing. Certainly he's joking. I turn to face him and find that my reaction was not what he was expecting. The furrowed brows of earlier have only gotten deeper. "Are you serious?" I ask. There's no more trace of any laughter in my voice.

"Well, yeah. You've always just… I don't know. Put up with him? No, that's not right. You've never pushed him away. He gets away with doing a lot to you that other guys don't. I don't… I guess I'm just confused."

All of that rambling was hard for me to follow. I don't say anything right away, trying to digest exactly what he was trying to ask me. Had I acted warmly to Barry since last night? No, I hadn't. In my youth I'd let him hold me at Willie's games, but I never thought anything of it. There may have been a few times when he'd kissed me yet it was never anything s****l. I suppose all the odd one-liners Barry had tried on me were a bit weird, but he says those things to every girl.

I decide to test the waters, and see if I can figure out what Davis is trying to get at. I say honestly, "He's a good looking guy, right? Athletic, too. I don't think he'd make a good husband. He certainly wouldn't be faithful. But I can see why women fall so easily for him. Plus, I've heard he's pretty good."

Davis is squirming. It takes a lot not to snicker at the sight. Apparently my little confession has made him uncomfortable. No, I had no intention of spending even a single night with Barry. Regardless of his looks or reputation, no matter how exciting the prospect of taking that road may be, he'll always be Willie's big brother to me. Besides, the qualities I loved the most about him weren't his looks or his wild side, it was his brotherly love and advice. I loved him because he cared about me like I was one of the family, nothing more.

"It just is, he said some things I didn't like. And I don't know where you're staying this weekend – "

"My house," I say, effectively interrupting him. Whether it was the fact I interrupted him or what I said, something has made his face turn into a disappointed frown. There's no stopping the fact that I'm laughing, but honestly… I think it's a nervous laugh. I don't like this conversation.

"I was hoping you'd stay at my house for the weekend," he confesses, his eyes elsewhere.

"Davis…" I let it trail off. I realize I have no idea how to respond because I honestly I have no idea what exactly it is he's asking. Does he want to spend all night watching bad monster movies, playing cards, and chatting like we did when we were kids? Is he offering me a place in his bed, a weekend to spend exploring each other in ways we never have? And, if so, is that an option I'd dare take?

He must've sensed my awkward state. "I wasn't propositioning you or anything," he says, somehow sounding smug. It's an odd tone that I had never expected to hear from him. "I just figured it'd be nice to catch up some more. And to be honest, I don't think you really want to be alone."

I raise my brows at him. "Oh? And what makes you think that?"

"You've wordlessly gone along with every idiotic idea I've had since the baseball game," he answers.

Hm, good point. I concede to his argument and say nothing in response. I stare blankly at him, digesting our conversation and seeing what action I want to take. I wasn't propositioning you or anything. There must have been some strange expression on my face for him to clarify like that. I guess I had been wondering if that wasn't his intention.

And just like that, I'm laughing again. It's a gut twisting laugh that nearly sends me doubling over. A shaking hand grabs his shoulder to keep myself stable. If he was confused before, he's certainly lost as hell now. I managed to sober up long enough to admit, "I can't believe I actually thought you might be asking that! Can you imagine?"

"Yeah, I can."

My hand recoils off his shoulder at the monotone statement. Previously he'd been unable to properly express a damn thing, but now he slips that out evenly and without missing a beat. All of the muscles in my body tense at the realization of what he'd confessed to. For the first time in twenty years, I'm unbearably uncomfortable with him.

I know he senses it. He refuses to look at me. Rejection has been his greatest fear for as long as I can remember. That unshakable fear has landed him in the position he's currently in: without the career he wanted and with a painful past marred with an unhealthy relationship. So how do I tell him that I'm not rejecting him, but I'm not accepting, either?

It has nothing to do with his worth as a human being. Davis is more deserving than anyone I know. Happiness should be his for the taking. Yet I've been around long enough to know without a doubt that happiness should be an eternal gift, not some fleeting feeling experienced during a weekend between two lonely people. I can't guarantee him the eternal side of that. I can't even guarantee him more than weekend.

"Heads up!"

I'm startled from my thoughts as a screeching warning hits my ears. I look toward the field just in time to see Willie barreling toward us at high speeds. The ball is nowhere in my sights, but it seems to be all that Willie has his eyes trained on. As he scurries up the small hill we've rested on, I manage to lean my body far enough over that he can safely hurdle between Davis and I. We both watch as he dives for the ball and misses by mere inches. It's a play he would've made in his youth.

"Damn!" he curses to himself as he scrambles back to his feet and tosses the ball in. He jogs past us as though we were never even there.

Sex changes people. Willie and I are forever shaped by the fact that we've been intimate. That's just a fact. Willie thinks that's great; it's something special that we shared and even if we never share it again, it'll always be ours. I can agree with that in some respects, but I also can recall his fits of jealousy over me afterward, the bouts of anger he'd get if he thought I wasn't interested anymore. It wasn't just his youth, because I honestly believe somewhere deep inside all of us that monster of jealousy and possessiveness is there.

On the other hand, Davis and I have our own bond because we've never been intimate. Not even remotely. I think I've felt more of Barry's body than his (not always on purpose). It has nothing to do with Davis's looks. He certainly isn't as cute as Willie or as handsome as Barry, yet he's not unattractive. I'd say he's average. I guess, anyway. I just know realize I've never examined him in that light before.

"Sorry if I made you uncomfortable," he says with sincerity.

Hesitantly my hand finds itself back on his shoulder. "It's fine," I say automatically. Why am I overthinking this? With anyone else it has always been a simple yes or no answer. Perhaps the fact he'd acted like an awkward teenager leading up to that sudden confession has me more unsure than normal. If I went into this the wrong way, he might get the wrong impression. Especially considering his only other experience with women is the disastrous Alexa.

"We don't have to… we can just watch TV or whatever. But, if you want to, that's okay."

I don't answer right away. The moment that question has been asked, it doesn't matter the response. Our relationship has just taken on a very different dynamic.

June 17th, 1996

"You guys are gross! Why don't you get married already?"

The taunt of the Bryce flew in one ear for Davis and out there other. He was much too concerned with ensuring the Lego house they were building was absolutely perfect. Kristy heard it just fine, however. Bryce always had to tease her when it came to Davis. There were girls nearby she could've befriended, yet somehow she had taken a liking to the lanky and awkward "four-eyed nerd" from the hobby ranch down the road. They were total opposites; Kristy was loud an bossy, Davis was quiet and easily intimidated.

"Shut up, B!" she screamed back. Davis heard that loud and clear, yet he stayed out of the argument. Just a few more pieces and their little town would be completed. Hours had been spent on that project. It was like a work of art.

"I bet you guys kiss! Gross!"

There was no chance for Davis to dodge what happened next. Kristy grabbed him and smacked her lips against his. It was painful. Teeth clashed, noses bashed, and it felt kind of uncomfortable. Hurriedly she pulled away, and he instinctively licked his lips. That was… weird.

"I'm telling mom!" Bryce yelled as he trampled off into another room.

May 31st, 2002

Someone was shouting – a voice she didn't recognize. It didn't matter. There was a runner on second – Davis – and she was leading off on first base. She'd taken a few steps off of first than she normally did, because the pitcher didn't have a pickoff move worth mentioning. More than likely, the pitcher wasn't even paying attention, considering Davis was on second anyway.

She wanted to win. This was the last year she was going to be able to play baseball with him. Every game counted. It wasn't as though a national title or anything was in their reach. All she wanted was to play baseball with him forever. Whatever it took to extend their season one more game. Just one more game…

There was a time when she didn't understand the need to separate the boys and the girls, but that year she had to admit defeat. Her body was changing rapidly. The differences between her and Davis had been highlighted more than ever before. In many ways she was still faster and more coordinated, yet he was stronger and full of brute force. That and these boys' uniforms didn't really fit her new body type.

Two outs, bottom of the ninth, and she was the winning run. The kind of moments she lived for. With the crack of the bat she took off at full speed, rounding second before Davis was even at third. His sprinting form became her focus. If she could keep up with him, then certainly she could cross home plate. He was leading the way, daring her to catch him.

Before she knew it, Davis had crossed the plate standing up. The sight of his arm extended in the air as he leapt up and hugged the awaiting batter, she smiled. One more game.

The batter was throwing his hands down for her to slide; she complied without thought. The sensation of her cleat crossing home plate reached her brain before the sound of the ball hitting the catcher's mitt rang out. In a single motion she completed the slid and leapt into the air higher than she ever had in the past.

Teammates were on their way but Davis was already there. She'd leapt into arms effortlessly. He knocked her helmet off and kissed her. It was quick and friendly, but warm and inviting. At first she thought it might've been an accident, but the glow in his eye and the blush on his cheek made her think otherwise.

June 1st, 2007

Black caps and black gowns formed black dots on the football field. For once it was a cool June evening, something all the graduates were thankful for. Everyone had converged onto the football field after the ceremony in the gymnasium. It seemed as though the entire town was there, but in a place that small it wasn't really impressive.

Davis was a tad taller than most others so he was able to cast a glance over the entire area to find his group. Apparently everyone had divided up to be with their family. He'd already spoken to his mother and that was his entire family. Well, besides…

Willie and Kristy were near the thirty yard line, chatting with her parents. Willie was beaming proudly and blushing, certainly receiving ungodly amounts of praise from her parents on his scholarship. Something inside his gut turned; is it jealousy? Probably not. Willie was more than deserving. He does look a bit like a weasel though, he thought. Such a terrible thing to think of a good friend.

Next to him was a girl he'd known for what feels like an entire lifetime. He remembered when they first met, how she threw a mudball at him and told him he'd better be friends with her. The dumb little fights they got into, the moments where they opened up to each other, the hours spent in serene silence with one another…

It's not the same girl, though. Gone are the puffy, rosy cheeks and wavy blonde hair. The scratches of roughing with the boys have long disappeared. In the place of the petite body that had outrun him baseball every day are the elegant curves of womanhood, a body designed to love and create life, not to wrestle and fight.

He's changed, too. He's a man now. His muscles have developed and toned. There's a strength in the way he carries himself that never existed before. In years past, she had picked him up with ease. Now that was reversed, a situation he never thought possible.

"Hey," he greeted the group with a small wave. His eyes were solely on her. There was no way for her to avoid the strong hug he gave her or the peck on her lips. "We did it," he smiles to her. She is motionless in his arms, stunned by the brazen display of affection.

"Whoa, buddy. Calm down," Willie said as he pushed the two apart. There was no fight, however. Davis hurriedly gathered his friend into a hug as well. There was no kiss, of course.

"I'm proud of you, Willie," he said quietly.

Willie returned the gesture, and then said, "Yeah, alright. But don't kiss my girlfriend without cleaning your mouth first, okay? Who knows what diseases Alexa gave you."

Davis laughed. Willie was not laughing. The red on his cheeks was the only sign of jealousy Willie ever showed. It was also the last time Davis ever dared to kiss her, until nearly a decade later.