This is a direct continuation of the chapter from the previous part.

I looked at my mother, who had followed my gaze and also recognized the towering, beer-bellied outline of her estranged husband. My eyebrows pressed together, but a slight smile grew on my mom's lips. I knew that look too well. It meant that my dad had been gone just long enough for her to miss him, to forget that he ruined our lives every time he came back.

"Oh, great," Grandpa groaned in a way that made him sound like both a whining child and an old, grouchy man without inhibitions.

"Mom," I said, pleading with my eyes for her to send him away, to let me keep her grounded. "Don't."

"Listen to your boy," Grandpa said, but Mom didn't notice. She was already blinded by the hope that this time would be different. I knew the thoughts racing through her head as my dad came closer. She was thinking that he showed up this time, so he must really want to be back. That he didn't mean to cause us so much trouble, and that he learned his lesson since the last time she kicked him out.

He didn't. He never did.

"I heard you won!" Corbin Shaw shouted. As he walked on uneven grass, the sway in his step became more pronounced.

I could only watch the train wreck happen in real-time as Cassie greeted our father with so much excitement that one might think she was welcoming him back from war. The only war Corbin had ever seen was the never-ending fight between him and Mom. Both sides lost every time, with other people as casualties along the way. Namely, Cassie and I.

"I'm glad you came," Mom said quietly, despite the glares from me and Grandpa.

I knew this play. My mom would welcome my dad back to our home, allow him to wreck it and wallow on the couch in a drunken stupor, only to gather the courage to kick him out after a few months of freeloading. He always left our family in worse shape than when he arrived. Mom would be fuming by the end, and Cassie would be left feeling abandoned and heartbroken. I learned long ago to guard myself from the hurt he caused, but Cassie was too young. Too vulnerable.

Despite my resentment towards my mom's addiction to Corbin, I stayed silent and permissive. I hated myself for it, but I had resigned myself to the fact that there was nothing I could do. My family was stuck in the same devastating cycle: Corbin came, made plans he couldn't keep to be "the best dad ever," and left in a whirlwind of shouting and broken promises with a path of destruction in his wake for me to clean up. Then, once the wounds had healed and the pieces glued back together, when we finally thought we were safe from him, he returned to do it all over again.

"I can't believe you actually did it, Sport," Corbin said. "Pizza on me back at the house to celebrate!"

Cassie cheered, and Mom pressed her side against Corbin's. I could see the hesitation in her actions, that she knew I didn't approve. Or maybe because she wasn't sure about it, either. But she believed in miracles, that things could change, despite everything working against us. Despite facts and truth.

"That sounds like a great plan," Mom said, looking at Corbin with hopeful eyes that scratched every one of his surfaces for an ounce of good that she could cling to. "Let's go, Cam."

"I'm staying here," I said. When Mom scrunched her eyebrows in a manner that told me I didn't have much of a choice, I quickly added, "Coach still needs us here. I'll get a ride home from Peter."

Corbin began to object, but Mom assured him that I would be there later. No matter what, I always came home. I only wished she knew that I came home for her, rather than for myself.

As I parted ways with my sister and grandfather, my heart sank, knowing that Cassie was oblivious to her future heartache.

I rejoined my teammates on the field, but the pure joy I'd felt after our win was gone. It wasn't until I met up with Peter and Taylor that I could once again bask in our win, and a genuine smile returned to my face.

The buzz and chatter on the field continued through the afternoon. Pictures were taken, hugs and slaps on the back exchanged, interviews given. If any boy on the team said he wasn't pretending like we'd just won the World Series, he would be lying.

Slowly but surely, the players trickled out with their families. Everyone returned home to continue their celebrations in private until Peter, Taylor, and I were the only ones left.

Sprawled on the outfield grass, the three of us stared at the vibrant blue sky, reliving the last few hours over and over again, the good and the ugly.

"Stay at my place for a few weeks like you did last time," Peter said. "My parents won't care. They love you."

I watched the early evening sky as a breeze carried a cloud wisp into my field of vision.

"Someone has to be there for Cassie," I said. "And my mom, I guess, even though she's the one who keeps inviting him back."

"Maybe this time really will be different," Taylor said. "Maybe he'll just... die?"

"And maybe you'll get a haircut this summer," I teased, desperately searching for a change in topic. Taylor and Peter both knew without having to be asked, because that was how we worked. We knew everything about each other. We grew up together, lived the same three lives.

"You are starting to look less 'shaggy' and a little more 'my barber hates me,'" Peter said.

"Just you wait," Taylor said. I couldn't see him, but I heard him rustle against the grass, and I knew he was adjusting his cap over the thick, growing hair that he was far too obsessed with. "This flowing mane is going to get me a date to Homecoming before the end of the first week."

"It'll get you a ten-step morning routine like your sister," Peter said with a laugh, but it faded into the breeze. "Nothing is going to be the same next year."

I craned my neck towards Peter. He was still staring at the sky, his face expressionless as it usually was when he was at risk of letting emotion slip through his hard exterior. A strong arm was folded behind his head, his elbow pointed at me. His sharp jaw was tight, and I knew he was clenching his teeth, holding something back. What bothered me was that I didn't know what it was.

"You'll just be an hour away," I said. "St. Helena isn't that far. And did you hear about that SHU player who just started his rookie year with the Mariners? He thanked Andrew Reinert in a press conference for getting him there. That could be us one day."

"Actually," Peter said in a tone that made my heart sink into my stomach. "There was a Mizzou scout here today. He wanted to talk about my plans for the Fall."

I pressed my eyebrows together while I stared up at the sky. All I mustered was a simple "Oh."

Mizzou was in Columbia, on the other side of the state. At least a four-hour drive. Peter couldn't possibly be thinking about leaving. Not when we made plans to all go to the same school the next year and play on the same team again. Peter knew how much that meant to us. He wouldn't abandon us without talking to us first.

I wondered if I had heard wrong. A spot on the Mizzou team would have been a coveted position, but no more so than SHU. They were both Division I schools, but SHU was closer with a better record. Starting next year, it would also have me and Taylor. With every excuse I tried to come up with in my head for why Peter would make such a stupid move, I kept coming back to the same conclusion: that it simply did not make sense. That Peter leaving felt more like a betrayal than something to be celebrated.

"We're going to miss you," Taylor said, his voice wavering.

Peter smacked him in the side, but Taylor only laughed, which made me laugh, too.

"Man, you're lucky," Taylor said after we came down from our laughter. "I can't wait to get out of here, too. I can't spend the rest of my life in this town."

"Hometown isn't that bad," I said.

"Then you stay here forever," Peter said. "We're both getting the hell out of here. This place is too small for us. Have fun being stuck on a road to nowhere."

In an inexplicable burst of anger—or fear, I wasn't quite sure—I rolled over and punched Peter's arm. Just because I could. A single hit was enough to curb the unidentifiable emotions that simmered deep in my gut, but I couldn't get away fast enough before Peter hit me back ten times harder than what I'd given him. My arm instantly ached, but I let it slide. Because if Peter cared enough to retaliate, then that meant he at least still cared. Peter was a fighter. The moment he stopped fighting would be the day I began to worry.

"Just don't forget to come back for Homecoming and breaks," I said, feeling the thumping pulse in my arm where Peter hit me. "We'll visit you in between. Assuming Taylor doesn't stow away in your suitcase."

"Was that a short joke?"

Peter ignored Taylor's offence. With an accusatory lilt to his voice, he said, "With what car?"

A grin stretched across my face. "The one I'm saving up for this summer."

"You mean that bucket of bolts that's been sitting on the used lot forever?"

I nodded. Peter knew that I'd had my eye on that old truck for over a year, just like he knew everything about me, spoken and unspoken. It looked like a hunk of rusted metal, but it was the only thing I could afford on a summer lifeguard's wage.

Talk about leaving our home died down, and I was grateful for that. The less we talked about it, the more it felt like a distant memory. Like it wouldn't actually happen, and we would all still be together. Peter could still go to SHU in the fall, and Taylor and I could still join him the next year. Just like we'd planned. Nothing could get in the way of us fighting for the lives we'd worked so hard for, and proven earlier in the day that we deserved.

We kept cloud gazing until the sun lowered in the light blue sky. The cornfield around the baseball diamond cast harsh shadows over us, as if preparing to memorialize our win by swallowing us whole.

"Let's climb the water tower tonight," I said. Taylor grinned—wild like my smile, but gentler, a little more innocent—in agreement. Because after today, we could do anything. We were invincible, so the only logical next step would be to climb to the highest point we could think of and claim our thrones.

Peter frowned and objected, his default response whenever Taylor and I wanted to do something fun, but those were the only battles he ever lost.

When we finally walked away from the field, we did so together. Three best friends on top of the world with no intention of coming down any time soon, and we truly believed we would stay there forever.

— — —

Later that night, in the heart of town and under the cloak of darkness, I climbed the support beams on the Hometown water tower. The ladder had been removed several years ago for the exact reason we were there, but it didn't matter because we were unstoppable.

I went first. Taylor followed close behind for the pure joy and thrill of doing another reckless thing with us. Peter stayed on the ground, watching the whole ordeal with crossed arms and head shakes, repeating something about our sheer stupidity.

At the top, Taylor and I hung off the edge, provoking gravity to do its worst, but we knew we were safe. Not even gravity would dare to pull us down now. As long as I was up there, a hundred feet off the ground, I didn't have to go home. If time stopped now, I could stay here with my friends forever.

We were Cameron, Taylor, and Peter. We were invincible. We would never fall.