Pitched, p.1
Pitched, page 1
Pitched
Ella Goode
Contents
Summary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Epilogue
Also by Ella Goode
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Summary
Coltrane Broussard has his eye on a prize. With a rocket arm, he plans to pitch his way out of poverty and into the big leagues. Besides his family and baseball, nothing deserves his time or attention. Parties? Not interested. Drugs? Dumb distraction. Girls? Even worse. With a winning record at hand and fantastic team behind him, Colt’s cruising for victory until he meets Georgia. This gorgeous girl might just be his downfall. Can Colt find a way to win both the game and the girl? Or will Georgia’s secret past come back to take them all down?
Chapter One
Colt
“Booker’s dad is going to hire strippers if we win regionals,” announces Dean. “Hitting it out of the park per usual!” The sound of palms striking palms fills the bus along with a chorus of excited cheers. I push out another deep, even breath.
Ethan peeps over the back of the seat. My eyes aren’t open but I imagine that his long, sandy blond bangs are obscuring his vision. “You hear what Dean said—Oh, never mind.” He slumps back into position. “Colt is sleeping.”
“Of course he is,” our shortstop, Tommy, snorts. Because I’ve played with some of these guys since Little League, I know he’s rolling his eyes and throwing his head to the side. “When is he not?”
“When he’s on the mound,” Ethan says. “But other than that, you’re right. I guess that just means more pussy for us.”
“They’re strippers, not prostitutes,” Booker clarifies.
“It’s the same thing.” I can feel Ethan’s shrug.
“No. No one is going to sleep with you, Eth. You’re seventeen. They send people to jail for that.” Booker’s dad is a lawyer. He would know.
“It’s not like I’m a virgin,” Ethan protests.
“You act like one,” Booker shoots back.
Tommy laughs and exchanges a high-five with Booker.
“Fuck you,” cries Ethan. “I had Frankie bent over the locker room benches last Saturday, and you all know it because Tommy walked in on us.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m trying to shut that image out of my head. Had nightmares that night,” Tommy says.
I have to turn my head further into my pillow to hide a smirk. Beside me, my catcher, Mick, slaps the side of my leg.
“Fuck you!” Ethan repeats. “It was fucking hot and you thought so too, or you would have left.”
“Frankie told me if I moved, she would take her art knife and slice my dick off. What was I going to do?”
Mick muffles a laugh.
“Didn’t know she was into the voyager shit,” Dean comments.
“It’s voyeurism,” Tommy corrects. “How is your dad a doctor and yet you’re illiterate?”
“Curse of the second germination,” Dean says.
“It’s generation, you fool,” Tommy shouts.
I bust out laughing because he’s so fucking funny even if it’s unintentional.
Tommy’s head pops up. “I knew you weren’t sleeping!”
“You fucking liar. You knew shit.” Dean swats the shortstop across the back of the head. The two start fighting until Coach Harvey stands up in the front of the bus and bellows for us to shut the hell up.
“Germination isn’t entirely wrong,” says Mick beside me.
“I know. That’s why I couldn’t keep from laughing.” I shake my head. This team’s a bunch of meatheads, but I guess they’re my meatheads.
“You excited about the strippers?”
“Not really.” I rotate my shoulder. “Last time Booker’s dad set up a surprise like that one of the girls kept hanging on my pitching arm.”
“Oh right. During the Louisville tourney.”
“Thought I was going to have to ice myself down after it.” I wince at the memory. Maybe some guys, like Ethan, are into the group thing, but that doesn’t interest me. Girls don’t interest me in general. Like someone dancing on my dick isn’t going to make me a better pitcher. If anything, they’re a distraction. Ehtan played like shit during the afternoon game because he was thinking about how Frankie was waiting in the locker room for him. We won because Dean hit a three-run homer in the bottom of the seventh, and the other team couldn’t get a hit off me or our reliever, Logan. Tommy likes baseball, but he doesn’t love it—or, at least, he doesn’t love it more than he loves girls, Jaeger bombs, and collecting sneakers.
“There’s a new Nike drop on Friday,” he announces, waving his phone. He’s always glued to it post game since phones aren’t allowed in the dugouts.
The entire bus groans. Headphones get clamped on, and volumes on phones are raised. It’s not like the rest of us hate the shoe releases, but Tommy talks about them nonstop.
Mick lays a towel over his face. “You woke up at the wrong time.”
I grunt a reply and check my messages. There’s nothing there. I squeeze the phone tight and tell myself no news is good news. No news means my alcoholic mother hasn’t gotten herself in trouble. No news means she showed up to her night shift at the windmill company where she helps to attach the rubber fittings on the giant blades. No news means my brother, Tucker, age fifteen, is at home either gaming or doing his homework. I hope it’s his homework.
I stare at the blank screen, my fingers itching to type out a message. Tuck would not appreciate me checking up on him. He thinks I don’t trust him, and the problem is he’s right. He’s impulsive and hot-headed, and half the time I dread my phone ringing because it’s news he’s been in a fight. But the times I don’t get messages, my imagination goes into overdrive.
I shove the phone under my leg and close my eyes. If they need me, they’ll text me. I can’t do anything while I’m on the road anyway. Tommy and Dean’s dads are doctors. Booker’s dad is a lawyer. Even Mick’s old man brings in a ton of coin from his financial investment job. My dad’s a deadbeat who rarely remembers he has a family, and my mom is a drunk who is on her fifth job in as many years. I don’t have time for girls or shoes or Jaeger bombs. My arm is my ticket to lifting my family out of poverty. I’ve got to focus on impressing every damn college scout that sits in the stands, not the pretty things that shake their asses in my direction. If Booker’s father was getting us a crew of scouts for winning, that would make me excited. Strippers? When I’m in the majors, I’ll buy my own. For now, though, the only thing I give a damn about is baseball.
Chapter Two
Georgia
I run my finger up and down my thighs, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric. It’s not coarse or itchy, and it doesn’t cause my skin to turn red. I used to hate my clothes before, but this material is utterly delightful. I’d gotten the dress from my grams on Christmas. It was the first one I’d ever actually celebrated. It was all so surreal.
It has bright yellow flowers all over it. Not only that, but it lands a few inches above my knee, and there is only a thin strap at the top over each shoulder. It was so unlike anything I was used to wearing. It gives me a sense of freedom that I’ve never had before.
The dresses I was given when I lived at Guiding Temple covered every inch of my skin. All of the girls were made to look the same. Clothes were only a necessity, nothing more. It was considered breaking the rules if you dared to try to show any kind of individuality. And there were consequences to breaking the rules.
“You want some more bacon, honey?” Grandpa breaks me from my thoughts, causing me to look up at him. He’s standing next to the stove, cooking as usual.
“No thank you.” I smile at him.
The first few weeks after I was handed off to my grandparents, I’d eaten everything in sight. They had so many new things for me to try. I ended up making myself sick a few times. I was so used to eating oatmeal for breakfast every morning. When I first bit into a piece of bacon I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I’ve gotten better at controlling myself, knowing that my grandpa will feed me until I pop.
“You excited to start school today?” Grams walks into the kitchen and begins making herself a cup of coffee.
She leans up against the counter waiting for me to answer. I love how interested they are in my feelings. For so long I had to just do as I was told and not have a say in anything. It feels nice to be surrounded with people that actually care about my thoughts.
“Kind of,” I admit.
“You’ll be fine. A pretty girl like you.” Grandpa winks at me, making me smile.
They both are always so loving and sweet all the time. It was a true gift the day the FBI came flooding into Guiding Temple. At first I was petrified, not sure what was going on. A few days later Grams and Grandpa showed up. I had vague memories of them as a child. But I hadn’t seen them in a very long time. They’ve engulfed me with nothing but love and kindness since they brought me home with them.
They sai d they’d been looking for me for years, but my mom dropped off the map after my father passed. They’d not only lost their son but lost me too.
“I think it will be okay. I always got along well with the other girls in school.” Grams’ lips purse at the reminder. I went to school in a giant barn. All the girls on one side and the boys on another. There was a scattering of ages. Everyone learned in the same place.
“You’re going to need to take the phone today.” She sets her cup of coffee down before pulling the cell phone off the charger and bringing it over to me. “Most teenage girls love phones.”
I take it from her hand and slip it into my bright pink backpack. I have an addiction to all things colorful. There are so many colors in the world, and I went so long without knowing them. Now I want to experience them all.
“I’m sure I just need some more time to get used to it.” I don’t understand why a phone needs to do five million things.
Grams gives me the same warm smile she always has on her face. Even when I can see the sadness in her eyes, she is always smiling.
“It will take you no time at all to learn to use it. You’re a smart girl.” So they keep telling me.
I got tested a few months back so they would know where to place me in school. I’d tested way above high school, but still only being seventeen, Grams and Grandpa thought it was best that I do a little time in a real school with other kids my age. I think they meant normal kids, but they don’t say that. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings. It’s the truth.
“I packed you lunch, honey.” Grandpa brings over a purple bag, setting it down next to me. “Unless you want money for the cafeteria,” he offers.
“This is fine. Thank you. That was very sweet of you.”
“Always so polite,” he says. From his tone I can’t tell if that is a good or bad thing. “Here, just in case you need it. You should always have a little money on you.” He pulls out his wallet, handing me a few twenties.
“That’s too much.” I try to hand it back.
“Just put it in your bag. No one said you have to use it, but if you need it for some reason, you’ll have it.” He puts his wallet back in his pocket. I relent, stuffing the money into my bag.
“You got everything you need? I’m going to drop you off today.” I look through my bag for the millionth time to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
“Am I allowed to have my Kindle at school?” My Kindle is hands-down the best gift I’ve ever gotten in my life. Grams gave it to me. It has thousands of books all at your fingertips.
“I’m sure. You’ll have some down time at some point during the day.”
“Okay.” I hop from my chair and head back to my bedroom.
I quickly grab the Kindle off of my bed, not wanting to be late. I pause when I catch myself in the mirror. The three faded white lines on my back are showing. They are a reminder of the life my grandparents saved me from. Suddenly, I feel self-conscious. I grab my white fuzzy jacket off the back of the chair and slip it on over my dress to hide the marks.
“I’ll be in the car,” I hear Grams yell down the hallway. The sound of her voice pushes away any bad thoughts.
Today is a new start. I can be anyone I want, but all I dream about is being normal.
Chapter Three
Colt
I can hear the drill-like chants of the track team as they run outside of the weight room.
“We should have an outdoor weight room.” Logan stares out the window. It must be the girls’ track team. He has a thing for one of the juniors. Renoir is her name. Like the painter. She runs cross country and has been dating another runner since junior high. Logan always gets that despondent, dreamy expression on his face whenever she’s near. One time they were conditioning near the baseball field and Logan missed a catch at home plate. No one scored and we won the game, but Coach tore him a new asshole and benched him for three games. Logan was sorry, but he still can’t move on. He’s never going to make it to the Bigs with that attitude, but it’s not my problem.
“Put another ten on,” I say.
Logan jerks his attention back to me. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I need to get stronger.”
“Too much muscle and you’re going to affect your pitching.”
“I’m only going to do a few reps. Want to test myself.”
Without any more objections, Logan slips on the weights. I do twelve reps and then stop when I feel my arms shaking. “You want a turn?” I climb off the bench.
“Nah, I’m good.” He’s still staring out the window.
“Why don’t you just ask her out?”
He visibly shakes himself. “She’s with Matthews, and I’m not that type of guy.”
I swallow back a sigh of frustration. Logan’s going to be distracted this whole season, but fuck, it’s our last one, so I guess it doesn’t matter. I slap him on the back. “Your funeral.”
The weight room doors slam open, and Tommy rushes in. “Party tonight!” he hollers.
I ignore him and walk toward the locker room. Tommy follows, practically bouncing. “Dude, did you not hear me?”
I grab my towel. “Yeah, I heard you, but I don’t know what that has to do with me.”
“Nothing. I know you’re a saint, but we’re interested, aren’t we boys?” The rest of the locker room sans Logan nods. Tommy turns back to me. “You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply dryly. Parties aren’t my thing either, but I go because we’re a team, and doing things together helps with team unity. I can’t totally close myself off from these guys. A thought occurs to me, and I stop Tommy before he can run off to someone else. “Invite some people from a different school. Maybe South?”
My shortstop’s jaw drops. “What?”
“The West crowd is stale. We’ve been staring at these same faces for the majority of our lives. We need new blood.” Logan’s stuck in this mindset that only one girl can move him, but I think it’s because when you’re playing a sport, it’s all consuming. You don’t have time to meet new people. Maybe someone new could change his mind. “Maybe ten?”
“You want me to get ten smoking hot chicks to the party that we’ve never seen before?” Tommy can’t believe me.
I flash a grin. “I believe in you, man.”
“Fuck you, Slider.” But Tommy is smiling back. He likes a challenge, and he likes that I think he’s up to it.
I take a quick shower and then start toward B pod where my AP history class is. The module is World War II, and our teacher is obsessed with military maneuvers. If he shows up in full camo and tries to blend in with the chalkboard, I will not be surprised. Last night I had to identify thirty different pieces of weaponry and explain their modern counterpart. I’m sure I’m going to have a lot of use for this in the real world. I’m tired of school, tired of classes, and just want to jump forward to the part in my life where I play baseball for a living. I get to the door of AP history when my phone rings.
Dread sweeps over me. There’s only one person who would call me at school, and it’s not my brother.
Someone taps me on the shoulder. I look down to see the shiny blond head of Tricia Long. She flips her hair back and bats her lashes. “Hey, babe, you know I love looking at your fine ass, but it’s blocking the door.”
“Sorry.” I step to the side. My phone keeps ringing.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Tricia asks.
Not while you’re standing here. “Tommy’s having a party tonight,” I say as a diversion.
“I heard, but I’ve been to Tommy’s parties before, and it’s the same thing every time. All you guys get hammered, someone pukes in the pool, Frankie is ‘caught’”—Tricia uses finger quotes—“having sex with some jock, and Coraline and Perry get into a fight.”
