Rounding Third - Michelle Lynn Page 0,52

I was young and took the advice of my parents.

“Crosby’s returned.”

There’s no surprise on his face.

“Did you know?”

“No, but I always knew he’d come back for you.”

“Xavier Bishop announced it to the whole store, including Mom.” I cross my own legs, my finger picking at my skin.

“Loudmouth asshole. I swear, that kid is trouble. He’s still harboring the disappointment about not getting that football scholarship.” Uncle Wally shakes his head.

I have no idea what he’s talking about, nor do I care at this point. Xavier Bishop can go take a hike through the mountains, and come face-to-face with a black bear, for all I care.

“Mom’s not happy.” I look up at him. “I swear, Uncle Wally, why does this town put themselves on a pedestal? They’re all so damn high and mighty. It’s not fair—what they did to the Lynches.”

He shrugs. “Two families lost their children. They were sad, and when the grief turned to anger, they wanted to blame someone. It’s not right, but you can’t go knock down everyone’s door to convince them otherwise.”

“It could have been me.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“It could have been Noah.”

“Then, he would have been the murderer.”

With the word murderer, my skin crawls. Murderers are people who seek others out and do ungodly acts on them. Crosby was a teenager, who never wanted to hurt anyone.

“So frustrating.”

“We’ve hashed this out numerous times. You shouldn’t be surprised by these small-minded people. Now, tell me the good stuff.”

My eyebrows crinkle.

“Have you seen him?”

“I have.” The smile that transforms my face is undeniable.

“By the smile, I’ll take it, things are good?”

“I’m not with him or anything, yet.” Even though his hands were up my shirt. Actually, his lips were all over me.

My body heats with the remembrance.

“But you want to be.”

Uncle Wally is like talking to a woman. He’s not dismissive about chatting on with feelings, and he’s observant on nonverbal communication. He missed his calling for psychology.

“Yeah, but there’s too much baggage, you know?”

Uncle Wally stands up and saunters behind the counter, passing the same Jimi Hendrix signed album that’s been here ever since I can remember. Sometimes, I think the store is more of a museum for Wally than an occupation.

He grabs a vaporizer and holds it out to me. I shake my head.

“Sweet Ella, neither of you will ever be over it. It changed you both, and you’ll never be who you were before it happened. If you’re waiting for that, then you need to walk away because it will never happen.” He inhales and blows out a long stream of smoky breath.

He’s right. I’ve done everything by the book, and still, that guilt was enough to shred me back in Bishop’s.

“He’s playing for the Tigers,” I say.

“Nice. He’s a great ballplayer.”

“Want to know something else?” A conniving look crosses my face, and his even-leveled eyes rise up. “You remember Spencer, his brother? He’s dating Ariel.” I bite my lower lip and nod my head to confirm this unimaginable juicy piece of gossip.

“He was a good kid, too, but I feel for you girls. Telling your parents you’re each in love with a Lynch boy? Well, that’s a rougher road than I’d like for either of you.”

He’s right again. My parents will not only give me hell for Crosby, but they’ll do the same for Ariel because of Spencer. A weight lowers on my shoulders as I draw in doubt. Even if I admit the connection between Crosby and me, there’s too much against us.

“That doesn’t mean, you don’t go after what you want, Ella. Some things don’t come easy.”

“Everything comes easy for you. Stress doesn’t exist in Groovy Self.”

He laughs. “I choose to take things one at a time. You, my sweet Ella, like to dissect every problem, predict outcomes before you let yourself enjoy the good. Maybe that’s what will make you a kick-ass doctor.”

“I figured you’d be here.” My mom walks in. “Hi, Wally.” She rolls her eyes in disgust at his store.

“I’m going back to Ridgemont.” I stand, and I catch Uncle Wally’s lips turning up.

“No, you’re not. We’re going home. Your father is expecting you.” She crosses her arms. Her purse is perfectly placed on her shoulder, the watch my father gave her for their twenty-fifth anniversary adorning her wrist. Her round golden earrings pierce through her hair tucked behind her ears.

She’s perfect.

“You two, have fun. Sweet Ella, come back and see me sometime. Maybe Aunt Darla will be back by then.” He winks.

“Thanks for the talk, Uncle Wally.” I