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kiss the top of her head. I could tell myself that friends who date do this, but it’s way too late and I’m way too tired for lying.

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Beth

THIRTY MINUTES OF observing Ryan squirm on the couch across from Scott was enough to atone for allowing Ryan to drag me to the marathon game at the ballpark. Scott finally let me go with Ryan only after he threatened to kill Ryan if he returned me with any marks on my body.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever admit it to Ryan, but this has been my best Saturday since being sentenced to hell. On the drive into Louisville, Ryan explained baseball. Most of it I knew, but Ryan somehow made it interesting. The sport came alive when he described a game that’s more than a bat and a ball and some bases. He said it involved teamwork and trust.

As I sit on the bleachers and watch the

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glances and unsaid understandings.

What I really find amazing is Ryan. The raw intensity in the way he moves. The strength of his broad shoulders and the power that

explodes from his body when he throws the ball. Ryan is a force all his own. A force that pulls me in. An attraction that curls warmth into my body. He possesses a simple touch that’s strong enough to hold me together yet soft enough to make me shiver.

We’re friends. Just friends. I sigh. Even as a friend, he deserves better than me. He seems hell-bent on liking me. Hell-bent on dating me.

Why? What does he gain by being with a girl that everyone else has thrown away?

Chris pops a ball into left field and the other team catches it for the third out. Ryan stands in the dugout and winks at me before taking the field. My answering smile forms in spite of myself. You’re setting yourself up for a world of hurt, Beth. Like when I set myself up with Luke at fifteen. Luke called me pretty. Luke said all the right words. Then again, Luke never brought me to a place as public as this.

Maybe Scott is right. I have a clean slate.

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should enjoy the ride while it lasts. After all, I’ll be leaving with Mom soon. Each day that she remains with Trent is one day closer to her death. Today, after the game, Mom and I will work out a plan to leave, but until then, maybe I should enjoy what’s in front of me.

Ryan likes me or at least he thinks he does.

Why am I in such a rush to move on to the next guy who’ll treat me like Luke did or the way Trent treats Mom?

I can be the girl who shows Ryan a few

things. The girl who doesn’t laugh when he blushes. I can be the girl who, in the future, when he’s been married to the good girl and has three babies clinging to his leg, he can remember and smile at the memories. Then

he’ll look at his wife and be grateful I left when I did. Grateful he didn’t end up with me.

“Are you Ryan’s girlfriend?” A tall guy

plops next to me on the bleachers and watches as Ryan throws the ball. This dude is close.

Super close. Not touching close, but he has broken the unspoken barrier of how close

complete strangers should be to each other.

The skin on my arm prickles. “And you

are?”

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He turns his head and gives me a smile

that reminds me of Ryan’s. In fact, he looks a lot like Ryan, just a little older. “Mark. I’m his older brother.”

Hello. Could this be the brother Ryan was all torn up over in the barn? But curiosity gives way to nerves. I’ve never met a guy’s family and I don’t know a thing about etiquette. “Nice to meet you.” There, isn’t that what proper girls say?

“Are you sure? I’ve seen worms on hooks

happier than you.”

My lips twist up. “I’m Beth and we’re just friends.” Friends who are dating, but I don’t need to broadcast my insecurities.

“Huh,” he drawls. “Ryan doesn’t bring

friends to games. He calls people distractions.”

Not sure how to respond, I focus on the

game. Mark lowers his voice. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

I might as well be honest. It’s not like I could pass as respectable for long. “Guys who invade my personal space generally make me uncomfortable, but I don’t blame you. Ryan has space issues too. Must be genetic.”

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that causes people to stare—even Ryan

from the mound. Ryan’s eyes flicker between his brother and me. A shadow crosses his face as he focuses on Mark. Not liking the hurt he’s wearing, I give him a halfhearted wave and he gives me his heart-stopping smile in return.

Heat creeps along the back of my neck and marks my face.

“Yeah,” says Mark. “You two are just

friends.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I mutter.

Mark laughs again, but not as loudly. “My mother must hate you.”

I should be insulted, but I’m not. If she ever met me, she probably would. “Don’t know.”

“That’s okay. I like you.”

“You don’t know me.”

Mark gestures to the scoreboard. “We’ve got a few more innings to rectify that. So, tell me, how did you meet my brother?”

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Ryan

UNLACING MY CLEATS, I STARE at the bleachers.

Mark is here and he’s talking to Beth. Actually, he’s laughing with Beth. Jealousy lurches inside me and I’m pissed at both of them. I’ve texted and called Mark for months and I got shit. Beth smiles once and he’s rattling like he’s on a talk show. And to top it all off, Mark’s talked to her for a whole twenty

minutes and Beth’s already laughing. It took me weeks to get her to laugh with me.

I slam my cleat against the bench to knock the dirt off. Mark is my brother, therefore he wouldn’t steal my girl. Not to mention that he likes men. Several of the guys glance at me when I hammer my cleat against the bench

again. Logan raises a brow. I shake my head to stop him from speaking to me.

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it up. Beth’s not really my girl. We’re just friends who date because I screwed everything up with her from the beginning.

“Ryan?” Coach waves me over to him. I

shove my feet into my Nikes and toss my bag over my shoulder. He probably has plenty to say to me. I pulled the game out, but I cost us two runs in the last inning. Mark and Beth’s friendly interaction distracted me.

“Yes, sir.”

Coach nods to a man in his thirties and a woman standing next to him. They’re dressed in Sunday casual—jeans and nice shirts. “I’d like you to meet Pete Carson and his wife, Vickie.”

I shake the extended hands—Mr. Carson

first, then his wife. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pete is a scout with the University of

Louisville.”

I glance at Coach and try to keep the

surprise off my face. He knows how Dad and I feel about playing pro ball after I graduate. Mr.

Carson clears his throat. “Ryan, I’ve been scouting for the early draft and your name is the one on everyone’s lips. I was wondering if you’ve given any thought to our school.”

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“No, sir. I plan on joining the pro draft after graduation.”

“That would be a waste.” The words rush

out of his wife’s mouth. The three of us look at her and she laughs nervously. “Sorry, but it’s the truth. I should introduce myself

appropriately—I’m Dr. Carson, dean of the English Department at Spalding University.”

“Uh-huh.” A very un-grammatically-correct response. Why do I feel cornered?

“Mrs. Rowe, your English teacher, is a good friend of mine. She’s shown me some of your writing. You’re very talented. Both on the field and off. Spalding University offers a wonderful course study in Creative Writing and many of our students go on to pursue their master’s in Fine Arts.…”