Bad Ball Hitter

Can Boston Bears bad boy catcher, Drake Gunner, win back his first love?

I live my life according to a plan, even if that plan hasn’t taken off like I thought it would. It's an even bigger punch in the gut knowing how happy my ex-girlfriend is, moving on without me. For this reason, I vow to try and make a go with this new girl I’m seeing. She isn’t Lila, but quite honestly, no one is.

Truth is, I haven’t been serious with anyone since Lila, my first girlfriend. I made the biggest mistake letting her go, and by the time I came back to find her, she had already moved on. Serves me right.

But who marries their high school sweetheart anyway?

Even if no one can come close to what Lila meant to me.

So when Boston picked up the last year of my contract with the goal of winning them a championship, I decided to play hard and find the perfect partner. I thought I found it in Miranda. She’s all about securing a future with a sports star and all the perks that come along with that, and I figured, why not? I have to move on eventually.

But then life threw me the biggest curveball.

I wake up to find Miranda’s roommate is none other than Lila, AKA the only girl I ever loved.

You know what they say about life and plans. Now what am I going to do?

Lila

Eight years old

Why couldn’t I be taller?

Letting out a frustrated cry, I grip the tree branch
tighter as I stretch my arm upwards. Just a few more inches, I’ll have the
specific pinecone I want. Dirt cakes my knees from scouring the forest floor,
and my hands are sticky with tree sap, but I don’t care. All that matters is
getting this perfect-sized, stubby cone. Though, I need to hurry. It’s getting
late, and being stuck in the woods after dark is scary.

I push on my tiptoes. So close that my fingers brush the
bottom of the prize, the branch wobbling beneath. Almost there.

“Whatcha doin’?” His voice slices through the quiet like
the crack of a bat against a ball, startling me.

The limb beneath me snaps and falls to the ground, bringing
me along. Oomph. I land right on my butt. To be fair, the fall
wasn’t far—only a foot from the ground—but it stung all the same. I turn to
glare at the rude intruder, fully prepared to chew him out. But my breath
hitches at the sight of Drake Gunner leaning against a tree with his arms
folded and that ever-present scowl etched onto his face.

Speaking of being just out of reach.

Even at eight years old, he’s got this intensity about him.
All dark and brooding, with a sense of raw, untamed power. He’s like a wild
animal honing its focus on its prey.

“None of your business,” I say, pushing to my feet. It
takes everything in me to ignore rubbing my bottom.

“It’s best to stick to thicker branches to climb trees.”
His nonchalant voice angers me even more.

“I wasn’t climbing the tree.” I angrily brush off the pine
needles from my sleeve and pick up the bag of pinecones I’ve amassed.

“Then what were you doing?”

I huff out a frustrated breath. “If you must know. I was
reaching for a pinecone.”

His gaze drops to the bag in my hand, nose scrunching.
“What’s wrong with those?”

“Nothing. But I wanted that one.” I point to the dangling
pinecone, tilting my head to the side and admiring it. I can picture its
placement on the wreath I wanted to make for Daddy. A wistful sigh escapes.
“It’s the perfect size.”

“The perfect size for what?”

The questioning tone snaps my attention back to Drake. He
sure is curious for someone known as a wild child. “For making my wreath. You
know, like the one in art class.”

He rolls his eyes. “That ugly thing?”

My mouth drops open. “Daddy’s right about you.”

“About me? What did he say?”

“That I should stay away from you.”

“Yeah?” He pushes off the tree, and those long legs chew
the distance between us. My breath stills as he towers above me. We’re the same
age, but he stands more than a foot taller. “Why would he say that?”

“I don’t know. He said you’re a ‘Wild Child.’ Nothing but
trouble.”

Drake flashes me those pearly whites. “You afraid of the
big bad wolf, little cub?”

I scoff at the nickname. “I’m not scared of you.”

My chin tilts forward, a hint of defiance in my voice.
Drake doesn’t frighten me. Quite the opposite, if this strange sense of safety
enveloping me is anything to go by. I find him interesting, even though he’s
always getting in trouble with the teachers. But being scared? No, he doesn’t
frighten me.

He shifts to where his body practically engulfs mine. With
a tilt of his head, he studies me. “You should be.”

His breath grazes my skin, sending my heartbeat racing, but
I’m still not scared. I don’t know what I feel, but it’s not fear. It’s
something thrilling, something that makes a warm shiver spread down my spine.
It’s the same nervous excitement I feel right before the starting whistle of a
soccer game.

“I’m not scared,” I repeat, trying to sound braver than I
feel.

Drake chuckles lightly, his eyes twinkling with the
slightest hint of amusement. “You really are a tiger cub, aren’t ya?”

“You don’t know anything about me,” I retort, but there’s
no venom in my voice. In fact, it comes out softer than I intended.

He reaches up, grabs the dangling pinecone, and hands it to
me. “No, but I’d like to.”

That throws me off. No one’s ever spoken to me like that
before. The surprise must’ve shown on my face because Drake laughs, a low,
rumbling sound that seems to echo around us.

I open my mouth to speak when a low growl rumbles through
the air, more felt than heard. Chills skate across my skin as I scan the woods
for the source.

“What was that?” I ask, all bravery relinquished.

Drake twists his head toward the sound, his chocolate brown
eyes narrow and intense. He’s eerily still, like a predator listening,
calculating.

“Behind me!” Drake shouts, suddenly all action, shoving me
so hard I stumble backward as a wild dog bursts from the underbrush, teeth
bared and eyes wild.

“Run, Lila!” he yells, but my legs refuse to obey. How can
I leave when he’s standing there, fierce and defiant, protecting me?

The dog lunges and latches onto Drake’s arm. I shudder as
his piercing scream slices through the forest. Panic surges within me. It takes
a moment for me to notice Drake trying to reach for something—his knife—but it
slips from his belt and clangs to the ground.

“Drake!” My voice is a mix of terror and determination as I
dive for the knife.

“No, Lila. Get out of here.” Drake’s desperate plea echoes
through the woods as he falls to the ground with the wild dog latched onto his
arm.

I scream in horror as they wrestle. Adrenaline pumps
through my veins, urging me to flee. And yet, my feet remain rooted to the
ground. Drake’s eyes meet mine for a split second before pain and fury consume
them. He lets out another blood-curdling scream, which jolts me into action.

Without thinking, I grip the knife tightly and lunge
forward, driving the blade into the rabid dog, my heart hammering against my
ribcage.

It yelps and lets go, giving Drake enough time to snatch
the knife from me and strike back. He wounds the beast enough for it to whimper
and retreat.

“Come on!” Drake grabs my hand, and we run as if the hounds
of hell are snapping at our heels. We don’t stop until we collapse in a heap,
gasping for breath, far away from the danger.

“Are you okay?” I ask between panting breaths, my eyes wide
as I take in the sight of his torn sleeve and the blood that seeps through.

He gives me a weak grin, those soulful eyes meeting mine.
“I told you to run.”

But I didn’t, couldn’t—I stared at him. This boy, who
everyone said was trouble, and all I see is the bravest person I know. My chest
tightened, and suddenly, it was hard to breathe, not from running but from
something else—something like awe.

“I couldn’t leave you.”

Something flickers in those dark eyes, but Drake’s face
contorts in pain before I can decipher it. He reaches for his blood-soaked arm
and winces. “I’m trying to be brave, but this hurts.”

“We need to get you help.” I survey our surroundings. The
edge of the forest is far behind us. In front of us lies a vast open field with
a small farm in the distance.

He groans. “It’s just a scratch.”

“That won’t stop bleeding. You need stitches and rabies
shots.”

“Shots?” Drake scrunches up his face, a playful glint in
his eyes despite the pain. “That sounds worse than the bite.”

I manage a weak laugh, my hand still trembling as I dab his
forearm. The sight of blood has always made me queasy, but I can’t let him see
that. Not now. “Stop being dramatic. You’ll be fine.”

He grins at me, a lopsided smirk that makes the situation
less terrifying. And for a moment, as I look into those warm brown eyes flecked
with gold, everything else fades away—the wild dog, the panic, the fear—all
replaced with an indescribable sense of peace.

“Come on,” I say gently, standing up and offering him my
hand. When he takes it, my heart flutters in my chest. It’s a strange
sensation, new and unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“Lila?” Drake stops walking and turns to face me, his
expression serious. “Please don’t go into the woods without protection again.”

“Okay, I promise,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
We head out, and as the adrenaline fades, I’m left with an undeniable truth:
Drake Gunner is no trouble at all—he’s my hero.