We Don't Talk Anymore (The Don't Duet #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,48

stakes are too high for these kind of mistakes. Everything is riding on my ability to deliver consistent wins in front of the scouts.

My future.

My way out.

My dream.

Get it together, Archer.

Perhaps sensing my nerves, the crowd roars encouragement from the bleachers. If I search the blur of faces, I know I’ll see my parents out there somewhere. Pa munching Cracker Jacks, cursing under his breath each time I mess up a pitch; Ma clutching her rosary, praying for a miracle.

But I won’t see the one person I need to the most.

I grip the ball tighter, summoning focus. No matter how I try, I can’t seem to locate it. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me tonight.

Actually… I do.

My head is a downright mess — even worse than it was on Tuesday, after Rico and Barboza’s unexpected visit. I think I was still in a certain amount of shock when they walked out of my house. Because instead of freaking out, falling apart… I simply tossed my duct tape bindings deep in the garbage pail where my parents wouldn’t see them, changed into my baseball uniform, and drove to the field.

I played, but my heart wasn’t in it — throwing pitches on autopilot, just trying to make it through each inning without thinking too much. And… trying not to notice the blonde head missing from its normal spot in the bleachers.

We squeaked out a narrow victory, thanks in no part to my efforts. Coach assured me everyone has an off game, now and again. The guys on the team slapped my shoulders in the dugout, telling me to let it roll off.

Little did they know, baseball was the last thing on my mind.

That night, I lay in bed feeling unsafe in my own home for the first time, flinching in the darkness at each creaking floor board and falling tree branch. I held my aluminum bat beneath the sheets, finding some small solace in the makeshift weapon.

But what good is a bat against a gunshot?

I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes, afraid of what I’d find when they opened again. Instead, I prowled the house, checking the locks a hundred times. As if any lock could actually keep the danger out.

They got in before.

They can do it again.

A room away, my parents slept on, blissfully unaware.

As the night marched onward toward dawn, my eyes grew as heavy as the heart inside my chest; my soul as exhausted as my body. The only thing in the world that I truly needed… the only thing that might offer some reprieve from the encroaching darkness… was the one thing I couldn’t risk reaching for.

Jo.

All I wanted was to run to our spot in the boathouse. Straight to her. To wrap my arms around her warmth, pull her against my chest, and let her absorb all my pain and fear and hopelessness. To take comfort in her soft whispers.

It’s okay, Arch.

We’ll figure it out.

Together.

Like we always do.

But I couldn’t. The thought of what might’ve happened if she’d been with me when those assholes were here… if they’d laid a hand on her instead of me…

You seem pretty tight with that girl, Rico’s voice haunts me. The blonde with the legs.

My mental state only devolved as the week went on, sleeplessness and stress driving me to distraction. At school, I was edgy. Irritated. Snapping at anyone stupid enough to come near me. At practice, I was so preoccupied Coach Hamm called it quits early, telling me to rest up before the big game against St. John’s Prep.

Not that it did much good.

Here we are, final inning, and the score is dangerously close. 7-6 — a meager one point lead over our rivals. Which is laughable, really. This should be an easy victory. A walk in the fucking park. The Exeter Wolves are ranked first in our division; St. John’s didn’t even qualify for playoffs. And yet, they’re handing me my own ass on a silver platter with each play. Hitting balls that any other day should be strikes.

There’s only one person to blame.

Myself.

I’m off my game.

If I can just manage to keep St. John’s from scoring any points this last turn at bat, Exeter will win — by a sliver, sure, but I’ll take it if it means salvaging our undefeated record.

Normally, striking out their final batters would be a simple task. Tonight, it feels more than daunting. The fastballs I’m throwing are sluggish in comparison to my normal speeds. My jaw