Page 33 of The Curveball
I knew it was only a matter of time before one of them asked. “And you’re worried I’m gonna hit you for asking me that?”
He shrugs. “Not really, but you never know.”
“Well, I’m not. It’s not like it’s some dirty secret.” I take another drink of my beer. After so many years of not talking about it, somehow, I’m now having to tell the story for the third time—ever—within the space of a few weeks.
Funny enough, it feels easier to get the words out this time.
“My parents died in a car accident when I was eighteen, and I had to step in as guardian for my younger siblings.” I run my fingers down the side of my beer bottle, wiping away the condensation. “Couldn’t go pro with two eleven-year-olds to look after.”
Of course, right as I finish talking, Griff and Foxxy slide into their seats across from us. I glance up to see them looking at Cal, who I’m guessing has a not-so-good look on his face.
“Was our singing really that bad?” Foxxy jokes.
“Nah, I was just filling Pretty Boy in on my shitty family history,” I quip back. “Don’t think he was prepared for the truth.”
“Fuck off, Dix. Don’t make jokes,” Cal half growls, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, bro. That’s a shit thing to have to go through. I get why you don’t like talking about it.”
“Okay but is someone gonna fill us in?” Griff says, and Cal shoots him a look.
“Shut up about it.”
I exhale and shake my head. “Nah, it’s fine. Might as well let you three know now, then you can spread the word to everyone else who's wondering.” I repeat the story, and watch Griff and Foxxy’s faces fall just as Cal’s had.
I look between the three of them and feel my jaw tighten. Fuck. The last thing I want is anyone treating me differently because of it.
Griff is the one who speaks first. “That’s heavy shit, bro. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Thanks. But hey, it’s in the past. We don’t have to talk about it.”
Cal slaps my back. “I’m glad you told us, Dixie. But I’m still sorry we pushed.”
“It’s fine. Really. Let’s move on, okay?” I say, really fucking hoping the guys drop it.
With a nod, Foxxy leans back in his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Yeah, let's get the vibe back up. I’m thinkin’ shots.” He turns to the other table and shouts at them, asking who’s in. A round of shouts goes up, and Foxxy stands up.
“Fuck, yeah. Tequila for everyone.”
Beside me, Cal groans. “I’m almost thirty, I can’t do shots.”
“I’m thirty-two, so get lost with that nonsense. There’s no game tomorrow, so we’re doing tequila shots. Besides, Dixie’s still young, let the man live a little.” Foxxy points a fingerat me. “You in?”
I’m gonna regret this; I hate tequila. But I nod. “Sure, let’s do a shot.”
As expected, I regret going along with Foxxy’s plan as soon as the liquor is burning down my throat. But I hide my grimace and slam the shot glass down.
Foxxy’s holding his hand up for a high five, and I slap it before picking up my beer and draining the bottle.
“That was some low-quality tequila, Foxxy.” I give my head a shake.
“Listen Dix, you want better booze, you buy the next round.”
I put my hands up with a grin. “Hell no.”
Griff pushes back his chair and stands up, clapping his hands together. “All fuckin’ right boys. Who’s going on stage next?”
This is what I didn’t realize I was missing. The friendship, connection, and camaraderie of being a part of a team.
A family.
