“Oh, shit,” she whispered. “What is Henry doing, shoving a bat in Atlanta’s face?”
“Atlanta? Oh, I begin to see the issue.” Jaime hummed, sliding a hand into his pocket. “Um, I forgot to give you this.”
At the tap on her wrist, Fontana glanced down—reachingbefore she even realized it. Cursing under her breath, she curled her fingers around CampbellLomanTrue’s blessed driver’s license. “Where did you get this?”
“My coffeemaker’s on the fritz, so I stopped at the diner. Henry met me in the parking lot, shoved it in my hand, and told me to give it to you. I guess he knew I was picking you up. Didn’t he have to take his truck by the garage?” His attention fixed on a game he knew nothing about, Jaime traced his finger along a dent in the bleacher, avoiding her gaze. “Seemed a little angry, now that I think about it.”
Fontana’s gaze strayed to the dugout. If it came down to anything physical, Campbell had the height advantage, but Henry had at least thirty pounds of solid muscle on his side. Horrified, she watched as Henry thrust the bat at Campbell again. “Oh, please don’t.”
In response to a plea he couldn’t have heard, Campbell lifted his head, drilling her with the first unguarded expression she’d seen on his face. A scalding mix of emotion—fury, disgust, and, most disturbing, blatant, heart-stopping dread.
A shiver of realization racked her. She’d been a frightened child.
She wondered if he had been, too.
chapter
five
Fade Into You–Mazzy Star
CAMPBELL
Campbell released a breath,but his chest still felt tight. Surely, he’d imagined the sympathy crossing Fontana Quinn’s lovely face.
No. More than sympathy.
How could a woman he barely knew possibly understand the revulsion that returned with stepping back onto this field? Back into a life he’d run from as if hell were burning his heels.
And why—why damn it—had he shown her?
“Take it, True,” a deep voice from somewhere behind him chided. “Teach these boys how to swing like a pro.”
Campbell turned, leaden and defeated.
He loathed this park, loathed the memories it stirred—grit on his teeth, the crack of ball against bat, skin slick with sweat. Sports had never held his interest, and if not for coercion from his father...
Now he stood on the same stinking field, in the same weary body, facing the same group of assholes. Only now theywere fullygrownassholes. One in particular seemed to have a personal reason for his hostility. A reason sitting on the top row of the bleachers, wearing form-fitting Levi’s and a hideous flannel shirt.
Henry Bowman. Star cornerback for the Promise Eagles the two years Campbell had played unenthusiastic quarterback.Fucking great.
“Whadaya say, True? Be a fine treat for these boys. Especially your little brother over there.”
Campbell started, momentarily forgetting Kit was on the field.
His brother stood between second and third, a jersey at least two sizes too big hanging from his gaunt shoulders. The resemblance to the boy he’d been blew a breath of frigid air down Camp’s spine. A whispery, grazing touch of sorrow. A tentative smile crossed Kit’s face as he dug the toe of his sneaker into the dirt and gave a shy thumbs-up.
Before deciding whether he’d take the dare—and why he did this, he’d never know—Campbell looked into the stands. Fontana stood with a fist perched on her hip, the end of another slick ponytail wrapped round her finger.
She was angry.
Campbell glanced from Fontana to Henry.
Huh. Remarkably, not at him.
Henry shuffled from one foot to the other, lowering the bat to his side. “Forget it, True. Just ah...um, old times. Not fair to ask when you haven’t played in years. Besides, Russell hasn’t pitched since softball season. Might wrench his arm.”
“Russell on the mound? Really is a replay of old times.”
