The Taking
Page 43I jerked back, away from his thumb on my lip, and my head collided with the fence behind me, which I hadn’t even realized I’d backed myself up against. “I’m not being stubborn,” I stated firmly, while he smirked as if I’d just made his point for him. I wilted against the chain-link, my fingers weaving through it for support. “I never said there was nothing between us.” It was hard for me to admit the truth, and it came out all shaky and timid sounding. I wasn’t timid, though, at least I never had been before.
“I wouldn’t believe you if you had,” he told me, and this time there was nothing playful or taunting in his voice. Nothing to make me weak-kneed and girlie. But that didn’t stop my lip from tingling where he’d touched it.
I turned away while he picked up the ball, and I started walking back to his car, following the chalk path that led to first base.
“You ever start that book I lent you?” The sudden change in subject was as jarring as it was welcome.
I shrugged, spinning to face him and catching the ball when he tossed it to me. “I finished it, actually.”
“What?” he drawled, flashing me a dubious look. “You’re lying! And here I thought you were all dumb jock and zero substance.”
Even though I knew he was teasing, I glowered at him and chucked the ball back in his direction.
Except that what I’d meant as a playful gesture ended up virtually lethal in execution. The ball didn’t just lob from my hand in a good-natured, we’re-just-messing-around kind of throw. It flew toward him at Mach speed, as if I’d just launched a missile at his head. He was quick enough, or lucky enough, to get out of the way in time.
When it hit the backstop, splinters sprayed outward in an explosion that made even me flinch from where I was standing.
I covered my mouth. “Oh my god,” I breathed incredulously.
He stared at me and then whipped around to inspect the damage—the crater I’d left in the wooden backstop behind him.
“I—oh my god,” I repeated. “I’m so sorry.” And I so was. I had no idea what had gotten into me or where the hell that throw had even come from. He had every right to be pissed at me; I’d nearly decapitated him with my runaway pitch.
“Jesus Christ, Kyra,” he breathed as his fingertips traced around the fragmented wooden edges. “Have you ever done that before?”
I’d seen plenty of scuffs and dents in the backstop, mostly from foul balls or from the bats themselves, but never anything like what he was looking at.
I shook my head even though he wasn’t looking my way.
“That’s like . . .” He turned to face me, and I could barely meet his eyes. “. . . Damn.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. And then my throat closed when my eyes shifted, focusing on the street beyond him and the backstop and fencing.
Parked at the far end of the street, almost, but not quite, too far to see from where we were, was Agent Truman, watching us. Watching me.
He leaned against a polished black sedan, his ankles crossed in front of him. The only thing missing were his government-issued shades.
He didn’t give any indication that he’d noticed us and looked completely out of place loitering on the fringes of a baseball diamond.
But I knew what he was doing there, and I could feel his eyes on me. Everything about him made me intensely, insanely, inscrutably uncomfortable. He’d seen what I’d just done, and for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on, it mattered.
I had no idea what was happening to me. According to my dad, and Dr. Dunn, and the mother I could barely stand to be around, I’d lost five years of my life but I was still sixteen. And now I find out my fastball is lethal?
All I knew for certain was that I didn’t want Agent Truman knowing any of it. This was my life. I’d just gotten it back and I was just figuring it out. I didn’t want him—or anyone else—knowing about it, or me.
“Let’s get outta here,” I told Tyler, waiting for him to catch up to me.
He didn’t argue, and he didn’t notice Agent Truman, who I couldn’t take my eyes off of and who never, for a single second, stopped staring at me.
He caught me looking at him, and my face flushed when he grinned back at me. And then his fingers captured mine, this time for real, not an accidental brush of skin against skin.
We were holding hands, and my heart was pounding so hard I thought it might splinter the way the backstop had, and suddenly we were all alone then, just the two of us.
Just like when I’d picked up the ball, the feel of his skin was so achingly, beautifully, disarmingly right. Righter than I could remember it ever being with Austin, which felt like a betrayal just to think.
It was almost painful that the moment only lasted a few short seconds, which was how long it took us to skirt the edge of the fencing and reach his car. When we stopped, I untangled my hand from his, not wanting him to be the one to end it first.
“There you go again, being all stubborn.”
I ignored the jab as I slid inside the car while Tyler held my door for me. I ignored the slamming inside my chest, and the fact that I could barely contain my smile no matter how hard I tried to bite it back.