Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,58

been envisioning things in my head all day. Of course that’d be too easy. I must have seriously screwed something up in a past life.

I jump out of my truck and jog up to the door, where Momma’s cleaning the windows. Marisa’s job.

“Where’s Marisa?” I ask.

Momma looks about as tired as I am freaked. “No practice today?”

“No more practice ’til after Easter. Where is she?”

“That’s right.” She uses her sleeve to wipe the hair out of her face. “She called out this morning. Didn’t sound well at all.”

Somehow, my stomach drops and leaps into my chest at the same time. “Momma—”

“I’m sure your girlfriend’s just fine,” she says, squeezing my shoulder. “I know you want to rush in and save the day, but for all you know, the poor girl’s sick as a dog.”

“Then I can help her. She came over for me. I’ll take her soup, or ginger ale, or something. Anything.”

“Relax.” She shoos me on toward the counter. “That’s what her momma’s there for. Give the girl some space. Her momma can handle things just fine until we close up. If she says she’ll be okay, then she’ll be okay.”

That’s three hours from now. I can handle three hours. I think.

Dang it. No, I can’t. I’m gonna go insane. I plop onto the stool behind the counter.

The sky darkens outside as clouds roll in. Our weatherman said to expect one heck of a storm this afternoon. I usually crave a good thunderstorm, but today, I really hope he’s wrong. Storms always bring the bad shit that life throws at you.

The bell above the door chimes. Mr. Joyner strolls into the shop, a frown on his face.

Speaking of the bad shit.

See, people in this town love our team. They’ll do anything under the sun for us when we’re on a winning streak. But when we lose? You’d think we just proclaimed our love for torturing kittens. It turns nice guys like ol’ Mr. Joyner into hornets.

“Lordy, Lordy,” Momma mutters under her breath. She plasters a smile to her face as he approaches the counter. “What can we do for you, Mr. Joyner?”

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he nods toward me. “Thought I’d take a minute to talk to Austin here about last night’s game.”

I’d prefer if he didn’t. Coach talked to us enough. And I’m really in no mood to watch him smack on his chewing tobacco.

Momma folds her arms. “If it’s all the same, Austin has work to do. Some other time.”

Shock flashes across Mr. Joyner’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He strokes his chin, looking between the two of us. That Lewis Creek High baseball state championship ring on his finger glimmers beneath the store’s lights. I’ve got my own ring from last year, but there’s no way in heck I’d wear it on a daily basis; that thing’s a prized possession. I’m pretty sure Mr. Joyner never takes his off.

He drums his hands on the counter and points at me as he backs away. “Remember to keep your eyes on the prize,” he tells me. “Eyes always on the prize.”

The door slams behind him. Momma blows out a breath and squeezes my shoulder, her hand lingering there. “There are more important prizes than baseball,” she says. “That’s all you need to remember.”

At six o’clock on the dot, I flip the door’s sign to Closed. Not that I really need to, considering I haven’t seen a soul other than Momma since Mr. Joyner went on his way. Rain splatters against the shop’s windows like nobody’s business as the wind whips, rattling the awning above the sidewalk.

“Go check on your girl,” Momma calls down from the office. “Be careful out there.”

My shoulders slump as I turn toward the stairs. “I’m sorry. I’m just—”

“Worried. That’s okay. Go on. Make sure you let me know how she is, all right?”

“Will do.” I yank the door open, cringing at the wind and water smacking my face as I make a beeline for my truck. After hopping in and cranking up the wipers, I speed through downtown.

I grab my phone from the passenger seat, hitting redial over and over, but Marisa’s not answering, just like she wouldn’t answer the other dozen times I’ve tried calling today. And now my panic mode has shifted to full-blown freaking out. Pressing the gas down as far as it’ll go, all I can do is pray there’s no bored cop on the back roads today. Avoiding hydroplaning would be nice, too.

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