Page 43 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)
“Where’ s Trace? He hasn’t missed a home game this season.
” Deja asks as we file back into the clubhouse after a win against the Renegades on Monday night.
It’s been good to be back on the field—back where I belong.
“Well, he hasn’t missed a home game you’ve played in,” she corrects, shooting me a bright white smile.
“He had to head back to Dallas this week.” I don’t tell her it’s because Trace had to meet with a lawyer about a restraining order.
Erica is the only one I’ve brought in the loop on the Millie situation, and the fewer people who know how poorly my weekend away from the diamond ended, the better.
“He reports for training camp on Wednesday.”
My heart falls at the same time Deja’s face does.
It’s been so amazing having Trace at so many of my games this year.
In years past, he’s always managed to make it to two or three throughout the season, but the last time I had this much support in the stands was…
in college. When Trace and Emmett and Marilyn would come to all my home games and at least the closest away games .
But with the beginning of his own season only a few months away, he’ll be reporting to a mandatory training camp in California for the Wranglers that lasts until the beginning of September.
He hasn’t left yet—he won’t be leaving for a few more days.
I could call him. But despite telling myself I’m done with my mom, her words sneak through to my psyche.
To be with a man who will drop you like yesterday’s trash the moment you no longer suit him?
Because we all saw what will become of you when he leaves you.
I don’t need to be clingy. That’s the first step down the road that Millie took, and I refuse to be like her.
Besides, as friends, Trace and I wouldn’t call all the time. We’d talk once or twice a week, and things would be fine. Things don’t have to change just because we’ve introduced kissing into our relationship repertoire.
After Coach Golding and our assistant coaches finish with their critiques and leave us to get changed out of our uniforms, I slump onto the seat in front of my locker and pull out my phone.
I set it next to me as it boots up, but I don’t even have time to gather all of my shower things before it rings.
“Unknown Caller” flashes on the screen, an unfamiliar phone number with a Texas area code beneath it.
My finger hovers above the answer button as I debate answering.
Just before the call can go to my voicemail, I hit the green button.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sugar. I missed your voice.” Trace’s smooth accent sends a shiver up my spine.
My shoulders relax, and I smile as I tuck my phone between my ear and my shoulder. “It’s barely been a day.”
“A day too long, if you ask me.” Trace’s words caress me as surely as his hands could. “Do you have a minute to talk? ”
I glance around the clubhouse. All my teammates are occupied by putting away their gear and getting ready to shower and change. I could step out into the hallway, but it looks like everyone is absorbed in their own worlds, so I opt to stay in the clubhouse. “Of course. Our game just finished.”
“Right! Your game! How did your game go?” The relief in his voice seems to come from the change in subject, but I won’t let him off the hook so easily.
“We won, but that’s no surprise. Haven started today instead of Erica and earned the win.
I hit a home run and a double.” My short stats rundown seems so sterile, and not for the first time this afternoon, I wish Trace had been there to see the six innings Haven went without giving up a hit and my three-run homer off the first pitch I saw in my second at-bat.
Trace’s laugh fills me with pride. “Atta girl!” Heat fills my face, and I shift my phone to the other side to try and hide my blush from my teammates.
“But what did you need to talk about?”
Suddenly, my phone is yanked out from where I have it pinned, and the culprits giggle behind me as I whip around, smacking myself in the face with one of my braids. Deja holds my phone suspended between her, Lennox and Monica, the other two starting outfielders.
“Trace!” Deja croons into my phone. “We miss you! When are you coming back?” Lennox and Monica echo Deja’s question before Trace’s deep chuckle comes through the speaker of my phone.
“I’m sorry, ladies, but I won’t be able to come to any more of your games this year.”
“Not even the championship tournament?” Lennox pouts.
“Unfortunately not, unless I want a fifty thousand dollar fine for missing a day of my mandatory training camp. ”
The girls in the circle wince, and I hear whispers of similar sentiments ripple through the rest of the room from the teammates who aren’t gathered around my phone. Even though it’s a drop in the bucket for Trace, that fine is more than any of us make in an entire season.
“As much as I love talking to you ladies”—that elicits a giggle from the three circled around the phone—“can you put my girlfriend back on the phone?”
Warmth washes over me hearing Trace use that label for the first time since our relationship became more than a social media ploy.
Deja pouts but extends my phone back to me. “Sure thing. But if you’re not going to come to any more of our games, will you at least get me tickets for one of your home games? Maybe introduce me to a few of your teammates?”
I snatch my phone away from her with a laugh as the other two outfielders tease and jostle her for being such a flirt. Turning the call off speaker, I push it back to my ear and make my way toward the door that leads into the hallway, where I’ll be able to converse with Trace in peace.
“What did you need to talk to me about?” I repeat the question when the door to the clubhouse clicks shut, cutting me off from the sounds of my team.
“First things first.” Trace sighs, and I feel his arms wrap around me all the way from Dallas. “I missed you.”
“I think we already covered that,” I laugh as I lean against the cement wall of the hallway. “But I missed you, too.”
“Okay, now for the important things. I got a new phone.”
“That much is obvious—I almost didn’t answer your call.”
Trace laughs again, and the sound makes me smile.
“I was wondering why it took you so long to pick up! Yesterday, my lawyer told me Millie confessed to tracking me through the location data on my phone that she had shared with herself before we broke up. So I thought it was best to start over with a clean slate. And”—Trace pauses for effect—“my lawyer said we have enough evidence now to file for a restraining order.”
“That’s great news!” My smile stretches my face to the point of pain, but I don’t care. Sure, Millie might not spend time behind bars for what happened in Colorado, but at least now Trace is taking legal action and hopefully reclaiming a little bit of his life.
“Agreed. My people are working on it now, and it should be in place before any more Millie incidents.”
“And before you leave for training camp on Wednesday,” I remind him, my voice suddenly falling to a near whisper.
“I know,” Trace says, his voice equally as quiet. We’ve spent training camp apart before, of course, but that was before Trace became more than a friend to me. “But I should get a little bit of time to call you in the evenings.” Trace pauses. “On some days.”
“I’ll be fine. Really.” I pull my shoulders back and force a smile Trace can’t see. “It will be amazing. Only a few more series before the end of the season.”
“You’ll do great, even if I’m not there.” His voice doesn’t sound quite so melancholy anymore. “And I’ll try to call you after your games.”
“It’s a deal.”
That’s the last time I hear from Trace before he leaves for California on Wednesday.
Even though he’s still in Texas, he doesn’t manage to call after Tuesday’s loss to the Renegades—the team we’ve been dominating all season—and I have to tuck my disappointment away as I follow Erica back to her apartment and I spend the night in her spare room, trying to fill the void that Trace has left with Erica’s overabundance of energy.
We manage to clinch a series win the next night. Heading into our final games against the Firebirds, we’re holding a one-game lead to keep us in the number one seed for the season. And the Firebirds are right behind us. Our next three games are some of our most important games of the season.
I have to put Trace out of my head as we head into the season’s final stretch.
I can’t let his absence be a distraction when my team needs me the most. And as much as it pains me, I force my feelings back into the box I finally let them out of, and I tuck it away.
I can pull them back out after our season is over—after we win. And after Trace comes home from camp.