Left Field Love
: Chapter 26

The first person I see when I step inside the church is Colt. He’s standing to the right of the curved wooden doors that mark the entrance to the nave, tapping the pamphlet that lays out how the next hour will proceed against his thigh.

“Hey,” I greet.

“Hey,” he repeats, giving me a grim smile. “You doing all right, Winters?”

“Hanging in there,” I reply, grabbing a paper program from the basket.

It’s nice to have something to fiddle with when you’re nervous. Makes me glad I play baseball, not soccer.

“Is Lennon?”

“I think so.”

I actually don’t.

Lennon is far from fine. She shouldn’t be. No matter when it happened, losing her grandfather would be awful. He was the one who raised her. The only blood relative she had left.

I have no idea how she acted in the immediate aftermath of her parents’ deaths. It was before we met. But right now, there’s no sign of the girl I know intimately. Who I’ve shared memories and swapped love declarations with. Lennon has shut me out—almost completely—and it’s far more heartbreaking than holding her for four hours while she cried was.

It’s also terrifying.

I thought the days of worrying how she felt about me were gone. But that’s exactly how I feel right now.

Lennon didn’t tell me she got into Clarkson. That stings. Because I thought we were totally honest with each other, and the fact that she lied has me second-guessing. And I found out right before her grandfather’s funeral, which I have to head back to Clarkson from.

“It’s got to be really tough for her,” Colt comments, watching the stream of people entering the church.

Understatement. I had to fish the suit I’m wearing out of a cardboard box because Lennon sorted the clothes I brought over from my parents’ right along with her grandfather’s things. She hasn’t stopped moving in days. Stacking, sorting, cleaning, piling. The bags beneath her eyes suggest she isn’t sleeping. And I know she’s hardly eating.

“Yeah,” I agree.

“You’re headed back today?”

I nod.

I don’t know what else to do. Staying this long was risky. If I wait much longer, I’ll be jeopardizing my spot on the team. You don’t miss training camp. Not as an inexperienced freshman, and most definitely not as the starting pitcher and team captain.

The days I’ve already missed required me to stare down a couple of ultimatums from the coaching staff. I’d stay—for her. Lennon is more important to me. But she doesn’t want me here. She’s made that clear. So I’ll give her space, if that’s what she needs to grieve.

Colt is silent as I watch more people walk by. Most of the pews are already full. I hope Lennon notices the large turnout. Landry may have its share of snobs, but Earl Matthews was a good man. He spent his whole life in this town, racing horses and raising his daughter and granddaughter.

“I should head in,” I tell Colt. Reluctantly. I’m dreading the service. And how I’ll have to leave, right after it ends.

“Yeah, okay,” he replies. “Luke and Jake are almost here. We’ll see you after.”

I nod, then start down the central aisle. Lennon is up ahead, standing just to the right of the altar. Her face is blank as she listens to something Eliza Gray is saying. Cassie Belmont is next to her.

Cassie spots me first. Her eyes widen, prompting Eliza to look over as well. Neither says anything as I reach them. Lennon’s friends clamming up around me used to be amusing and somewhat flattering, but right now it’s the last thing I’m thinking about.

“We’ll see you later, Lennon,” Cassie says, then pulls Eliza away.

I’m guessing they think this is a reunion of sorts, not that we’ve only been separated for the last half hour. While her grandfather’s friends have come by to help with the horses, Lennon hasn’t had anyone over since Earl died. She’s shutting everyone out, not just me.

We stare at each other for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry.” Lennon surprises me by speaking first. “For leaving without you. For lots of things.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I reply. Now isn’t the time or place for a deeper conversation.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Caleb,” she tells me, right before she steps forward into my chest.

I freeze at the unexpected contact, the first she’s initiated between us in days. I bend my head to kiss the top of hers, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo.

Rich organ music suddenly bellows through the church, putting a stop to any of the soft chatter that’s been taking place.

Lennon pulls back but grabs my hand. I follow her to the front pew and take the seat next to her. There’s no other family to sit alongside, but a few older men I recognize from stopping by Matthews Farm fill in the rest of the row.

One of them is Tom Stradwell, the owner of the local paper where Lennon has worked for the past few years. He gives me a nod of acknowledgement, which I return.

Lennon’s staring straight ahead at the minister climbing the few stairs to the altar. She’s still holding my hand, and grips it tighter once he starts speaking.

I listen to the sermon, but I’m not absorbing any of the words being spoken. My knowledge of what is planned during this service is limited to the little I overheard on Lennon’s end of phone calls over the past few days.

I have yet to open the pamphlet I’m clutching in the hand Lennon isn’t holding. Instead, I’m thinking about the conversation I had with Lennon at my grandfather’s service. When she told me what she had or hadn’t contributed at her parents’ funerals, I never imagined I would be the one sitting beside her at her grandfather’s.

As a teenager lusting after Lennon Matthews, I pictured the easy moments. Taking her to prom and getting to second base at one of Marcus’s field parties. Not the hard ones, like watching her say a final farewell to the man who raised her.

Lennon’s fingers slip free from mine, and she slides out of the end of the pew. Her spine is straight and her steps sure as she heads straight for the pulpit.

I’m not sure what she’s doing.

I get my answer as soon as she reaches the microphone.

The familiar strains of Kentucky’s most famous melody pour out of the organ, soaring through the air to collide with the sloped ceiling and stained glass. Nostalgic notes vibrate the wooden pews and floor as Lennon starts to sing, her clear voice blending and weaving with the instrument’s accompaniment.

I’ve heard this song dozens of times. Most of them, I was slouched in a seat in my family’s private box at the track, counting down the minutes until we could leave and I could take off a stiff suit.

This time, I’m listening the girl I love pour her heart and soul into the sound. The lyrics hit differently as I picture Earl in his rocking chair on the front porch of the farmhouse each time Lennon sings my old Kentucky home.

I don’t see a dry eye in the church.

Mine aren’t.

The last note dies. Lennon descends the steps to return to my side. As soon as she’s back in her seat, she grabs my hand again. The action loosens the fist that’s been squeezing my chest ever since I saw that ambulance. Assuages some of the fear that things between Lennon and me might never be the same.

A few words from the minister concludes the service. Our pew is the first to empty. I follow Lennon to the back of the church and outside into the heat.

Free from the echoey interior of the church, conversations pick up as attendees exit the building. Earl’s friends are the first group to reach Lennon. I step away, giving them space to talk to her alone. A middle-aged couple I don’t know are the next to exit, followed by one I do.

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask my parents when they reach me.

I told my mom about Earl’s passing when she called me a couple of days ago, but it never occurred to me she’d come to his service. Never mind my father. I think it’s been a full year since he’s set a foot in Landry.

“We wanted to pay our respects,” my mother replies, sweeping a hand across her brow to catch any stray blonde hairs. People are staring as they leave the church, and my mother’s worst nightmare is being seen looking anything but her best.

“Why?” I know my parents too well to think this is a selfless gesture. With them, there’s always an ulterior motive.

“We were visiting Landry for the Cup next week anyhow,” my father says. “Your mother suggested we move our arrival up. Louis tells me the filly has a real chance.”

I scoff. My father is a lot more interested in the money Winters Stables rakes in than the horses that garner it. He lets Louis, the trainer my grandfather held in higher regard than any of his blood relatives, handle everything related to the thoroughbreds.

“Lennon has a nice voice,” my mother states. I know what she’s doing, trying to shift the attention off the tension that’s swirled in almost every conversation my father and I have had for the past decade. “I had no idea she could sing so well.”

“Maybe if you’d ever put any effort into getting to know her, you would,” I reply.

“Caleb. Don’t speak to your mother like that.”

My jaw clenches to the point it’s painful.

“When are you leaving for Clarkson?” my mother asks, breaking the stiff silence.

“Soon. I have a weight session at four.”

“I can’t believe your coaches were all right with you staying in Landry after camp started,” my father comments. “It could look very irresponsible, Caleb.”

My mother jumps in. Probably sensing how close I am to losing my temper. “It was very thoughtful. Your father and I are just worried about how rash decisions might affect your future.”

My father doesn’t dispute her words, although we all know his definition of future is different from the one my mother’s referring to.

There are two clear paths waiting for me after graduation next spring: baseball or business. My mother wants me to play. My father wants me to join his company.

“Her grandfather died, Mom.”

“I know,” she replies, patting her hair again. “And I understand you felt obligated—”

“It didn’t have anything to do with obligation. I love her.”

She sighs. Neither of my parents are well-acquainted with the concept of love. “You’re both so young, Caleb.”

“That’s what you said when I told you we were dating. It’s been almost three years. We’re only a year younger than you and Dad were when you got married.”

My mother swallows, then looks away. “It was a different time,” she states.

It’s a more passive response than what she’d really like to say. But she’s wary of pushing me on this topic. If it comes down to Lennon or my parents, my mom knows which side I’ll choose.

My father has no such qualms. We’re already at odds. He doesn’t have any desire to protect the happy family image my mother is so intent to curate.

“Don’t be an idiot and tie yourself down, Caleb,” he tells me. “There are plenty of women out there. Not to mention, that girl is a sinking ship. We passed Matthews Farm on our way here. She must be swimming in debt by the look of that property. Elaine always said—”

“Who’s Elaine?”

My father looks annoyed. With me, with being here, who knows. “Earl’s daughter. We were in the same year at school.”

“Lennon’s mother?”

My mother interrupts before my father responds. “We came to show our support, Caleb.”

There was a brief moment, when I saw my parents here, where I thought their presence was an olive branch. That they were finally acknowledging how much Lennon means to me. Now, I see it for what it really is: calculated optics. There’s not a single person in Landry who won’t hear about how Austin and Abigail Winters attended Earl Matthews’s memorial service.

It’s their way of cloaking true intentions.

Public support covering private meddling.

“You should go, Mom.”

That’s all I say. They’re not going to change their views, and neither am I. I know we’ll have more arguments that come to the same conclusion, but I’m too drained to engage in one now.

My mother nods. “Tell Lennon we’re sorry for her loss.” She steps forward to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Expensive, flowery perfume surrounds me in an invisible cloud.

They’re not even going to acknowledge Lennon directly. It doesn’t surprise me; it does piss me off.

All I manage in response is a stiff nod.

My father holds out his right hand in farewell. I stare at it for a long moment before I give it a firm shake. Before I’ve fully turned around, they’re swept up in a conversation with Luke’s parents, making plans to have dinner tomorrow evening.

Lennon’s still surrounded by well-wishers, so I don’t approach her. I head over to where Colt, Luke, and Jake are standing, next to the rose bushes that line the front path of the church.

“Your parents are here,” I tell Luke.

“Yeah, I know. They asked why I was coming, and I mentioned you, and then it turned into this whole thing about how if your parents might be here, they needed to be too.”

I shake my head. I can’t stand social posturing, and Landry is overflowing with it.

“Did you know your folks were coming?” Jake asks me, nodding to where my parents are still conversing with the Evanses.

“No,” I reply. “Their attempt to soften the blow of warning me off Lennon again.”

“Oh,” Jake replies. He doesn’t need to ask how I feel about that. Or if I want to talk about it.

I glance at my watch. “I have to head to campus. I’ve got a weight session at four.” It’s just past noon now and I’ve got a three-hour drive to Clarkson.

I say goodbye to my friends, then head toward the lone figure standing at the edge of the parking lot.

Lennon speaks first, which is good. I have no clue what to say to her.

“How soon do you have to leave?”

I search her face, trying to figure out if this is just a simple inquiry or something more.

“Soon-ish,” I reply vaguely.

If she asks me to stay, I will.

Lennon nods, staring away at nothing. “I need to pick up his ashes. They’ve been ready for a couple of days, but I haven’t…”

My eyes close for a second, trying to block out the lost expression on her face.

“Lennon…” I’m at a complete loss for words. My heart bangs painfully against my ribs as I’m confronted with the impossible situation of watching someone I love struggle and being powerless to help.

“I don’t know what to do with them,” she admits, still looking at the line of cars departing from the church’s parking lot.

I swallow. “You could spread them on the farm.”

She nods once. “That’s all I could think of. But… I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like enough.”

“I think it’s what he would have wanted,” I tell her, praying I’m not overstepping.

She nods again. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I can come…”

Lennon shakes her head. “I need to do this myself. And I know you have to get back.”

“Okay.”

“I wish I’d been there, but I’m also glad I wasn’t.”

I nod. “I know.”

There’s a stretch of silence, long enough I think this might be how we say goodbye: five feet apart. But then Lennon turns toward me and closes all the distance between us. I can taste the salt of her tears on her lips before she buries her face in my neck.

“I love you, Matthews,” I whisper. There’s a lot more I want to say. About Earl and about Clarkson and about the future. But I’m not sure if she’s ready to hear any of it. If she needs time and space to adjust to everything that has suddenly changed in her life, I’ll give it to her.

“I love you too, Winters,” she replies. “Drive safe.”

Lennon walks away first, leaving me standing here.

I head for my truck and hoist myself into the driver’s seat. The moments right after leaving her are always the worst. When I can still see her, but know I need to add to the distance between us.

This time is especially tough, for obvious reasons.

I know she’s grieving.

I know the rug just got pulled out from under her feet.

I know more change probably seems like the most unappealing thing in the world right now.

But I also know Earl wanted Lennon to go to a good college. If he were still here, nothing would have made him happier than seeing her thrive at a school that challenged her.

The harsh reality of his death—one I know Lennon doesn’t want to face yet—is that she has more options. Horses and land don’t have a fraction of the hold on her that Earl did. She spent every moment with him she could, and now there aren’t any left to share.

If she still stays in Landry, it will feel less like familial obligation and more like lack of love. That’s probably not fair, especially in the wake of the three words she just told me. And since I haven’t given up anything for her.

The night we got together, she told me she was scared to compete against other parts of my life.

Now, I’m experiencing the same fear.

Because I feel like I’m losing.

The brick house I’ve lived in since sophomore year is in total chaos when I open the front door.

“Hey! Winters!”

I turn to see Drew Maxwell, one of my teammates and housemates, strolling up the walk behind me.

“Hey, Maxwell.” I bump his fist when he reaches my side.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

“Could say the same to you,” I reply.

Drew grins. “Blame Jessica Oxford.” I roll my eyes. Drew’s smirk fades, as he studies me. “Everything good with you? We were all worried.”

I was vague with the guys about the reason for my delayed return to Clarkson. They all know I have a serious girlfriend, but I’ve kept Lennon and my life in Landry almost entirely separate from who I am at Clarkson. And it didn’t feel right to mention Earl. Doing so would seem like passing Lennon’s loss off as my own.

“I’m good.”

Drew nods. “Glad to hear it. Anderson’s arm sucks.”

“He’s better than you could throw,” I retort.

“Yeah, but I’m not the back-up pitcher,” he replies, heading for the stairs. “Nice monkey suit, by the way,” he calls over one shoulder.

As he disappears upstairs, there’s a pounding sound that suggests Elliot’s descending them. Sure enough, he appears seconds later, dragging a hand through his shaggy brown hair.

“Thank fuck,” he breathes when he sees me. “Dude, I thought you had some sort of injury and couldn’t figure out how to break it to us.”

“Nope. I’m healthy as a horse,” I reply, heading for the stairs myself. “Going to get changed.”

Out of all the guys I live with, Elliot is most likely to ask questions. Part of me would love to get the perspective of an unbiased observer, but I also know it would never do what Lennon and I have justice. Most of our history is woven in moments and memories impossible to explain. Telling someone my girlfriend’s grandfather died and she’s been mostly distant since doesn’t describe the situation accurately.

“All right,” Elliot replies as I pass him. He eyes the suit I’m wearing, but doesn’t comment or ask why I’m dressed up.

My room is the last one on the second floor. It overlooks the big oak behind the house. It’s also the largest, which I learned when Drew took it upon himself to measure each bedroom. Unfortunately for him, I’d already chosen this one.

I change quickly, then check my phone. I skip past all the messages except two. The first is from my mom. It’s a paragraph explaining she didn’t mean to upset me earlier. At least, that’s what the first two lines are about. I skim them, then skip to the end. It’s a request to let her know when I’ve arrived on campus. I’m certain she’s got my phone on a tracking app but I respond anyway, letting her know I have.

The other text is from Lennon.

Lennon:You back?

I reply to let her know I have, then gnaw on my bottom lip as I consider what else to say. Asking how she is won’t go over well. Neither will inquiring if she’s eaten.

Caleb:I miss you.

There’s no immediate response, so I shove my phone back into my shorts, pull on my sneakers, and head downstairs. My other two housemates, Garrett and Jamie, are already downstairs. They pause to welcome me back, then continue rushing around, grabbing everything they need for our weight session.

We all pile into Garrett’s Explorer to head to campus. The guys fill the short trip by complaining about the hundred-yard shuttles and sled pulls during practice this morning.

I “uh-huh” and “hmmm” along to their complaints, more focused on the weight of the phone in my pocket. Waiting—hoping—for it to buzz.

It doesn’t.

There’s an audible stir when the five of us enter Clarkson’s athletic complex. A few guys from other sports teams stop to slap hands. Girls wearing tight spandex slow as they pass us. Drew and Jamie engage most of them, rolling their eyes at me when I don’t pause.

Aside from baseball, it’s the main thing I’m known for on campus. Even at the start of freshman year, when I was technically single, I didn’t hook up with anyone. It’s well known that I have a girlfriend, but since Lennon has never so much as visited campus, plenty of people pretend not to.

My phone buzzes in my pocket right as we enter the weight room. I whip it out so quickly it’s a miracle I don’t tear the mesh material. And it’s not a random news alert or social media notification. It’s from her.

Lennon:I miss you too.

Air leaves my lungs in a much-needed exhale. It’s not that I doubted she did or would. It’s that I needed her to say it.

“Winters!”

I turn to see Coach Thompson approaching. Hastily, I tuck my phone back into my shorts. He hates technology and I’m already on thin ice.

“Hi, Coach,” I greet.

His shrewd gaze looks me up and down. I know evidence of Lennon’s recent sleepless nights are clear on my face.

“You good, son?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply.

I was just as vague with him about my whereabouts as I was with the guys, which I know is a large part of the pushback I received. I told Coach Thompson there was a personal matter I had to take care of, and my reliability in the past and importance to the team is the only reason I’m not being asked to pack up my locker right now.

“I trust you had a damn good reason for your absence?”

I swallow. “I lost someone I cared about, Coach. The funeral was this morning.”

His expression softens into a sympathetic one I’ve never seen before. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He keeps studying my face. I’m guessing the lines of exhaustion and lingering sorrow are saying a whole lot more than our conversation over the phone did. “If you need to take more time, let me know.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

He nods. “Nice to have you back, Winters.”

“Thanks,” I respond. Coming from Coach Thompson, that’s basically the equivalent of a bear hug.

We set up our usual circuit around the weight room. All the teammates I hadn’t seen yet give me warm greetings and relieved smiles. I wonder how many of them thought I was absent due to a serious injury, like Elliot.

Once our weight session ends, the whole team heads to Maloney’s. The local pizza and wings joint is already buzzing with activity that significantly increases in volume when the team appears.

Baseball is Clarkson’s most popular sports team. Mainly because we win. The last time Clarkson’s football team had more wins than losses was before I was born. In the three years I’ve played on the baseball team, we’ve made it to playoffs every season.

We fill up three booths along the side of the restaurant that faces the street. The town Clarkson is located in doesn’t hold much of a draw to anyone but college students attending school here, but there are a few younger families walking along the sidewalk outside. Probably here to camp in the surrounding mountains.

I end up smushed in a booth between Drew and Elliot, impatiently tapping the table. I’m starving. Aside from the eggs I burned this morning before choking them down, I haven’t eaten anything. Lennon didn’t eat anything at all. My table drumming quickens as I battle the urge to text her again.

Before I can fully talk myself in or out of a decision, our waitress appears.

“Hey, boys,” Jessica greets.

Her attention bounces between Drew and Jamie, who’s seated across from me. Unlike most of the girls who hang around the team, Jessica has divided her attention between my two housemates since freshman year.

Predictably, the love triangle—lust triangle would be more accurate—has generated lots of drama. When guys tell me I’m wasting my college years in a serious relationship, I wonder what they make of this mess. The other side of casual hook-ups is not all that sexy.

“Five large cheese pizzas,” Elliot orders. “Actually, make it six. And two pitchers of beer. No, three. We’re celebrating having our pitcher back!” He claps my shoulder. “Get it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” I assure Elliot.

“Coming right up,” Jessica replies.

A few of the guys here aren’t twenty-one yet, but Maloney’s popularity has more to do with its generous carding policy than its greasy pizza. “I might need one of you guys to help me carry it all over.”

“I will,” Jamie immediately offers.

“All right.” Jessica departs with a coy smile, while Drew stares daggers at Jamie.

Elliot sighs next to me.

I’m not the only one fed up with their drama.

“Why don’t you guys replace someone else? Each replace someone else,” Elliot stresses.

“Like who?” Jamie scoffs. “A freshman?”

“Make a move on Sophie,” Elliot replies.

“She’s still holding out for Winters,” Jamie replies, glancing at me.

I take a sip of water, pretending I didn’t hear that comment. Maybe after our last conversation at Mayfair, the dynamic will be different.

“Surprised Sophie isn’t here, asking where you’ve been the past few days,” Drew comments.

I don’t reply. Truth is, she texted me asking just that. It’s one of many messages sitting unread in my phone right now.

“Here’s the beer.” Jessica sets two pitchers down on the table in front of us. Foam fizzles atop the amber-colored liquid. “I’ll be right back with the third one and some cups.”

She’s back within thirty seconds, then Jamie jumps up to help her fetch the pizzas. We’ve all devouring hot slices and cold beer within minutes. But the food and familiar company isn’t enough to distract me.

I’m worrying about her.