Rounding Third

By Michelle Lynn

She didn't break my heart and I didn't break hers. Our hearts shattered at the exact same moment in time.

I've loved Ella for as long as I've loved baseball.
As much as I was born to play ball, I was born to love her.
Our small town fairytale was written and sealed with our happily ever after.

It only took one night to erase our meant to be status.

A mutual decision was made. Our families agreed, two separate paths was the best decision for us to heal. Stupidly, I agreed and I left her behind.

Now, two years later, I'm back for her, but I came unprepared. She's no longer the naive girl who fell in love with the town's baseball stud. She's moved on. Well, good thing I love a challenge because making Ella Keaton fall in love with me all over again will be my biggest test yet.

Let's play ball.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781094443072

Book preview

Chapter One

Crosby

I’m back.

A thrilling and exhilarating rupture of pure pleasure ignites through me as the ball sails over the fence line. I circle the bases while my teammates crowd home plate to congratulate me on my twentieth home run for the year.

My eyes seek out Gus in the stands, a scout who’s been following me for two years. Gus is my angel. He’s kept tabs on me since I pushed aside my scholarship to Vanderbilt to play ball at Millcreek Junior College. Our smiles could compete for whose is wider because we both know what my killer game tonight means—I’m in.

The person who holds my future is seated right next to Gus. The short-statured Bud Lipton is the head coach for the Ridgemont Tigers Division One baseball team. He might not be smiling like Gus, but his signature curt nod in my direction speaks more than a cheesy smile. It says the third baseman spot is mine.

My throat locks up as I think of seeing two familiar faces on the Ridgemont campus, but I need to face my past in order to soar toward my future. Words of my preacher father, not me.

On my way back to the dugout, my eyes cast down to the dirt to stop the haunted memories of her jumping up and down with every one of my home runs in high school. Her long brown hair, pulled tight in a ponytail, would swing back and forth as her breasts jiggled under her I Love My Ballplayer T-shirt. Her blue eyes would reveal everything she felt, including heartbreak. The choking sensation grows tighter with the assurance that I’ll be close to her again, but my father’s advice rings in my ears once more. I’ve let the past dictate enough of my future. The time has come for me to face my mistakes and claim my girl.

We win the game, eight to two, mostly due to me. I’m not bragging, only stating a fact.

I’m out of the shower, wrapping my towel around my waist, when Coach Fritz calls me into his office. Tossing on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, I pad into his office, noticing Coach Lipton and Gus seated in the small space. I inhale my last breath as a starved man. This is my moment to feast on my future. The moment that I should have claimed as mine my freshman year of college, has arrived.

Crosby, Coach Fritz starts talking.

My mind is running in overdrive.

You know Gus, and this is Coach Lipton from Ridgemont. He points to the two men in front of him, as though I don’t know who the all-star player turned coach of division one champs, two years running, is.

Coach Lipton stands, holding his hand out. Lynch, we’re impressed. His face is stone-cold, showing no signs of being impressed.

Was it my hitting, my fielding, or my ability to erupt from a mound of ashes with a few stubborn embers that continue to glow?

Needless to say, my past follows me, and everyone’s familiar with the story of the kid who held his dreams in the palms of his hands, only to demolish his future before he had the chance to claim it.

I shake his hand. Thank you, sir.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, his lips not wavering from their firm line.

When Gus suggested I come down here—his eyes search the room for some recognition to which small town he’s in, and he quickly finds the name of our junior college printed behind Coach Fritz’s desk—to Millcreek, I thought he was crazy. But, when he told me it was to see Crosby Lynch, how could I pass that up? You’ve been a mystery to me, boy.

I take a deep breath, pushing back the emotions wanting to flood out. Thank you for making the trip, I comment to veer this conversation in any direction other than my past.

Pleasure is mine. Let’s cut the bullshit. You know you have a spot. I know you have a spot. Our third baseman, Mike Ripley, signed a contract with the Cardinals, so you need to report to campus by the third week in August. The team captain, Braxton Brentwood, will contact you about lodging. See you on the field September fourth. He curtly nods his head and strolls out of the room.

Thank you, Coach, I call out before inhaling oxygen, finally able to fill my lungs.

Then, the name of the captain echoes in my head. Brax is the team captain? I knew I’d be facing him if Ridgemont took me. But as captain? No fucking way. My gut twists, as I know we’ll be a surprise to one another. He tried to keep our friendship intact, tried to release my pain with alcohol and girls, but he gave up. I haven’t talked to him in a year and a half.

Gus eagerly jumps to his feet, shakes Coach Fritz’s hand, and comes over to me. This is everything you’ve been striving for. Don’t fuck it up. Then, he follows Lipton out the door.

I release a long, steady stream of air.

The opportunity to play for the Tigers is everything I’ve been working for. The problem is, once you get a taste of one thing, you can’t help but want more. And Ella is my more.

I’m proud of you, Lynch. Good luck up in Ridgemont.

I stand on the opposite side of Coach Fritz’s desk. He’s the man who gave me my first opportunity. During my entire freshman year, the man dealt with my incompetence, my lateness, and my don’t-give-a-shit attitude. He hammered me into place and made me the ballplayer I am today.

I cannot thank you enough for the opportunity to play for you, Coach.

He waves me off, never one to accept a thank-you.

The chairs behind me could belong to a psychologist, considering all the players who fill them on a weekly basis. His open-door policy, his willingness to hear all our problems, is the reason he’s not a Division One coach and instead stuck in this small junior college, but I’m not sure he’d prefer it any other way.

We were lucky to have you for the short time. You were never meant to be in the junior leagues. His fingertips press to the desk, and his body stiffens. Listen to me, Crosby. Your eyes need to be on the future. No distractions. Braxton was your high school friend, and your girl attends Ridgemont as well, but your focus needs to be on your career after college. I’ve never coached someone as teachable as you. You have a naturalness that not many are born with.

I shake his hand. I promise. Eyes ahead.

I walk out of my coach’s office for the last time as a Millcreek Spartan and on my way to becoming a Ridgemont Tiger. I wish I were more excited, but that knot in my stomach and the vision of her eyes almost scare me enough to make me pass up the best opportunity I’ve had in two years. Almost.

My beat-up Chevy pickup pulls up to the baseball house after a long two-day drive.

Brax decided to text me the address instead of opting to call. Not that I minded because I’m sure both of us feel the awkwardness of our situation.

Currently, I’m parked in front of the house that resembles a shack hit by a wicked thunderstorm. Windows are open with curtains flying out of the top ones. Littered across the front porch are beer cans, red Solo cups, and cigarette butts.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Just go in, my little brother, Spencer, says next to me.

For a moment, I forgot he was here.

I literally feel my stomach twisting. My teeth scrape along my bottom lip, and suddenly, facing my past seems like the most moronic thought I’ve had. I haven’t talked to Brax in a long time, I admit.

But my brother already knows that. He’s been my constant through the years. The one who’s been there for me. My best friend, if I ever accepted another one.

Hey, remember Dad. Eyes ahead. He opens the door, leaving me no choice but to man up and deal with my shit.

I climb out of the truck, and I swing my duffel bag over my shoulder, kicking beer cans off the littered pathway the entire way to the porch. The door flies open before I can press the doorbell, and a cute redhead stops. She’s curvy and sexy, in a pin-up model type of way. Her eyes light up, like she’s been starving for weeks and I’m her next meal, and her tongue licks her bottom lip.

Fresh meat. Her eyes give me another once-over. Go Tigers. She raises her fist in the air, making her shirt rise, allowing Spencer and me to catch a glimpse of her underlying tit. She circles around us, smacking Spencer on the ass and saunters down the stairs.

Fuck, I wish I had followed in your footsteps with baseball. He pretends to fall against the side of the house with his hand clasped over his heart. You have the opportunity to nail a ton of pussy.

There’s only one I’m concerned with.

Eyes ahead, he murmurs and steps into the house.

Again, my brother is my biggest confidant, and he’s probably equally as terrified as I am about me coming into contact with Ella again.

Well, well, you must be our new third base. A guy with a long dark beard and track pants hanging off his hips enters the living room.

If I had to guess, the redhead is his.

Don’t mind the beard. It’ll be gone starting hell week. He holds his hand out to me. Oliver, first base.

Crosby. Nice to meet you.

My brother clears his throat next to me, and Oliver’s eyes glance over.

This is my brother, Spencer. He’s an incoming freshman.

Oliver’s outstretched arm moves from me to him. Hey. You hang around here, and you’ll have a killer freshman year. He winks. The rest of the guys are out. You’re at the top of the stairs, second on the right. You share a bathroom with Brax.

Thanks, man. I walk toward the staircase.

Hey, if you need anything, ask. His genuine smile peeks through his chaotic facial hair.

Thanks. The old wooden steps creak under my feet.

Shit, when was this house built? Spencer asks the same question I was thinking as he walks behind me.

It’s either old, or it’s been beaten to shit between the wild parties. Parties equal fun. I could use some fun.

Let’s get my stuff in my room, and then I’ll drop you off at the dorm.

I’m going to walk, he says.

I whip around at the top of the stairs. He knows no one here, much less the way to his dorm.

Why would you walk?

He’s been acting odd ever since he found out I was accompanying him to Ridgemont. But, no matter how much prying I do, he keeps his mouth shut. I guess maybe I should have considered that he wanted a life away from me, one where he wasn’t the brother of Crosby Lynch. So, I’ve let the needed conversation fall to the sideline.

He shrugs. I didn’t want to disturb you. This is a big step. I thought Brax would be here, and I wanted to be by your side when you faced him.

Is this the first day of kindergarten, and you’re my mom? I throw my duffel on the queen-size mattress in the corner. Fuck, Spence. I shake my head because him taking on the big-brother role is my fault. Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine. A new knot forms in my stomach with the thought that I’m ruining what should be the time of his life. Go. You don’t even have to tell people we’re related.

The desk chair squeaks along the floor when he pulls it out to sit down. Are you kidding me? I’ll get pussy by mentioning that you’re my older brother. He smiles, but there’s something off and not genuine about it. I know it’s hard.

I sit down on the bed, praying the previous occupant was celibate and I’m not sitting on any dried up stains. I know I’m grasping for straws because he was a ballplayer after all. It would have been easier if another college had taken me, but I had no choice. If baseball is where I want to go, along with getting a degree, I need to put the issues here behind me. I’m sorry my past is always messing with your life.

I’m where I want to be. There’s disbelief in his eyes. He’s not buying my I’m-healed speech, but it’s the first day of college for him, and we’re not going to dwell on my shit. Again.

Come on. Let’s get you to your dorm. I leave my bag on the bed. I’ll unpack after Spencer is settled.

Okay. He stands and inspects the room I’ll be calling home for at least the next year—two, if I’m lucky. It’s not that bad.

The patched up spackled walls tell me Mike or his predecessors had a temper, but it’s four walls and a bed. Enough for now.

I’ll barely be here anyway. Hold up, I’m going to use the bathroom real quick, I say.

Spencer heads down the hall, and I duck into the bathroom where I find another door is open into what I suspect is Brax’s room. I know I’m right when I spot a 2005 World Series poster with the Chicago White Sox. I laugh, remembering how much he liked them. Brax thought he would be the next A.J. Pierzynski.

Brax is definitely still messy. His contact lens case is open on the counter, next to his tipped over bottle of solution. Shaving cream and a razor sit hanging over the edge of the sink, along with rows of unopened condom packages, as though he were urgent to find one and dumped the whole box.

This should be fucking great.

After I wipe my washed hands down my jeans because there’s no hand towel, I exit the bathroom and find Spencer in a headlock.

Damn, you’ve gotten strong, Brax says, moving the two of them around in a circle.

His blond hair is shaved close to his scalp, and I smile, because of the familiarity of the scene. Since Little League, he’s always shaved his hair before the start of school.

Get off me. Spencer punches him in the gut.

Brax releases his hold, gripping his stomach in laughter. Shit, you grew up, little Lynch. He appears impressed at Spencer’s skills.

That’s what happens in two years. Spencer cocks his neck from side to side and then finds me in the doorway, making Brax’s eyes peer over.

Brax’s smile fades as his shoulders fall. Hey, Cros.

Hi, Brax.

Even with the use of our shortened names, an uncomfortable silence occupies the small hallway. Spencer’s eyes volley between him and me, judging the way this tense scenario might play out.

You see your room? He nods toward the door.

Yeah, I’m going to take Spencer to his dorm, and I’ll be back.

Cool. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Listen, um, no one knows. I mean, they know we went to high school together, but they don’t know, know.

I nod.

I just…I didn’t want you to worry about that.

I nod a few more times. I’ve never seen Brax be unsure of himself. Not even at the funeral when he gave the eulogy because I wasn’t man enough to do it.

Thanks.

Yeah, well, you’re welcome. His blue eyes cast down to the floor, and his Adam’s apple bobs. You’d better get going. The parking is already crazy over there. He focuses his attention on Spencer. Come by anytime, and bring your buddies. There are enough diamond chicks for everyone.

I chuckle inwardly at his affectionate moniker for the girls who seem to be chasing their meal ticket on the baseball diamond.

Thanks, Spencer says.

Two invitations, and he’s not chomping at the chance?

I’ll be in the truck. Spencer walks down the stairs, leaving me alone with someone who was once my best friend.

Brax starts to walk toward his room.

Hey, Brax.

He turns around.

Thanks a lot for not making a big deal about me coming here.

No problem. With that, he walks in his room and shuts his door.

I blow out a stream of air, slowing my thumping heart. If seeing Brax felt like being sliced open, I expect seeing Ella will be like having open-heart surgery—while awake.

I jog down the steps and out of the front door right after grabbing a key that was taped to the door, labeled third base.

Spencer’s in the truck by the time I climb into the driver’s side.

That was awkward, he says when I turn the key in the ignition.

Yeah, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him solemn.

Yeah.

We drive over to his dorm, and Brax was right. Parking is insane. There are cars on the lawn with parents hauling suitcases and bins into the small dormitory. I’m positive that Spencer wishes our mom and dad were here instead of me.

Let’s get this over with. He opens the door and slams it shut.

Guess I’m right.

Chapter Two

Ella

What a fucktard, Jen, my roommate, says after we walk out of Pi Kappa, my boyfriend’s fraternity.

He’s busy. I stick up for Liam, like usual.

She only rolls her eyes, trying to be discreet.

He wants to make the grades, ace the test, and get into medical school.

May I remind you that you’re a pre-med major, too?

I nod. It’s the same discussion we have each time Liam ditches me and goes upstairs during one of Pi’s big parties. Keeping my mouth shut, so as not to give Jen more ammunition against Liam, I don’t divulge that tonight bugged me more than usual. We haven’t been in school a day yet, and he’s holed himself upstairs, claiming to be ahead of the game on the MCATs. One night wouldn’t have killed him.

Come on. Jen hip-bumps me, and her pissed off look has transformed to a fun-loving, ready-for-anything one. Didn’t you say that Brax called?

Now, I roll my eyes.

Brax, my one high school friend who attends Ridgemont, has called me no less than ten times in the past two days, requesting my presence at a party. Not that the reigning division champs’ baseball team doesn’t usually host a great party, but Pi had theirs. I guess Liam made my choice by leaving me stranded with his handsy frat brothers.

I’m not in the mood for the baseball players, I tell her, hoping she’ll turn us right toward our apartment. I’ll let you pick the movie, and ice cream is on me.

I smile wide, but she shakes her head.

Nope. She links her arm through mine and swings us left, toward The Ballpark, as the boys refer to their house.

Come on, I whine, dragging my feet.

Ella Keaton, that lame-ass boyfriend of yours needs to be jealous. The baseball boys and their Instagram accounts will accomplish just that.

I groan at her childish tactics while thinking the idea sounds plausible. Jealousy might make Liam show some sort of affection, other than an occasional quick screw between organic chemistry and genetics.

I swear, The Ballpark resembles the movie Animal House. Frat houses can’t come close to comparing to their parties. The city police turn their heads because God forbid a player is suspended. Might as well let them poison themselves with alcohol or fuck until their dicks fall off. The latter could possibly happen to Brax. The man has no respect for the female population. I can’t hold it against him though. Each one of us has dealt with our past in different ways. His way was to forget, mine was therapy, and Crosby…well, Crosby’s solution was to disappear.

Loud music pumps out of the open windows, and groups hang around the deck, sipping from their Solo cups.

Jen practically drags me up the stairs as I stop on every step as we inch closer. Jen doesn’t willingly leave parties, and I can’t leave her, so I suspect I’m in for a long night on the raggedy couch until she finishes with her guy of the night.

Jen’s hand is on the doorknob when one of Brax’s friends screams through the window, Brax, Ella’s here!

He turns to me, shoving the long strands of hair away from his eyes, and winks.

Confused, I look over to Jen because I had no idea the kid knew me. I’m barely here, and God knows I haven’t attended a baseball game since my senior year in high school. Unfortunately, that will change this year due to my new internship with the sports physicians.

The door swings open, and a panting shirtless Brax blocks our way.

Ew, spare us, Jen remarks on his clearly just-fucked appearance. Zip it up, dude. She points to his open fly.

Brax is hot. His sandy-blond hair, shaved close to his head, only brings out his icy-blue eyes. After a summer of working landscaping, his skin is tan, and now, it’s glistening.

Like you don’t want what she had. He concentrates on Jen, flinging his head in the direction of the staircase to the disheveled blonde chomping at the bit for more.

Tell her to button her shirt, I whisper, sliding by him through the doorway.

He sidesteps and blocks me. Whoa, El. He holds his hands up in the air.

What is this? Jen automatically grows defensive. No isn’t a word in her dictionary.

He eyes her and then looks back at me. There’s something working in those blue hues, but I don’t know what.

You don’t want to hang around a bunch of horny baseball players tonight, he says.

I draw back in surprise. If you didn’t want us to come, why’d you call me so many times and then list the reasons I should come tonight? I hold my hand up to count off the reasons he’s told me. You tell me my boyfriend’s a douche, that I never get out, that I need a good fuck by one of your friends.

He laughs. Well, true, true, and damn true because no one fucks like my boys.

How do you know? Jen interrupts again.

I snicker.

From the girls who come in droves. You should try us sometime. Your long list would pale in comparison.

Hehe. Funny, asshole. Now, I need a beer to continue my buzz, so let us in.

This is one time I agree with Jen.

What’s the holdup? I ask.

He turns to search the party and then swings his head back my way. Isn’t Pi Kappa having a party?

My patience is at max level when I cross my arms over my breasts. Brax, what gives? Why are you shunning us? My guess is—I glance to the blonde on the steps, who is in no hurry to button up her shirt—you were in the middle of something before you were interrupted by someone telling you I was here. I don’t need you to chaperone me. I’m a big girl.

He inhales a long, deep breath and looks down at me, as though we were telepathic and I should understand what his eyes are conveying.

What, Brax? I scream over the loud music.

Sorry, he mumbles. He steps aside, allowing us into the party. Hey, man, she’s here! he yells into the house.

Finally, Jen drones.

As a sea of women

Reviews for Rounding Third

[Kate · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed this Second Chance book but I'm not the target audience for a college romance.

Crosby is a cocky ballplayer who is head over heels for Ella, his small town, high school sweetheart - he is a one woman man. He picks all the chocolate sweets out of the mix pack for Ella (swoon!) But he's also plagued by grief, guilt and regret and has been unfairly ostracized by the small town he grew up in.

There are so many barriers for this couple to overcome - the initial separation & heartbreak, the grief, the parents, the community, the fan girls, the new boyfriend, the siblings' happiness.

I personally am not into the college scene - the portrayal of the 'slutty'/'catty' girls, fights, dares etc. If you survived that world, hat's off to you - it sounds brutal.

But if you want to see love triumph over all in that scenario, check this out.