Desolate - h.s. ✓

° forty-four °

     It was a couple of days before Harry's birthday. Apparently, people from UCLA were coming to his game today, and he was overly nervous. They weren't supposed to tell him, but Harry's coach was aware of the situation and told Harry. I had been texting him that he was going to play super well, my boyfriend still worried that he would somehow fuck it up entirely. Sighing, I found myself shaking off the thoughts, sitting in the bleachers. Ethan was in his usual spot on the field while the other team batted. Per usual, it was a quick first set of strikes due to Harry's skills, but our team didn't score any runs during the inning either.

"Do you think he looks nervous?" Anne asked both my mother and I quietly. "I think he looks nervous."

"He's doing great," I shrugged. "Even if he is nervous, I think he's fine."

We were silent again, watching Harry pitch and strike out three people rather quickly. Anne said that Emily and Noah didn't come with Gemma because they would be a distraction to the boy. I thought it was kind, but also wondered if Harry would have wanted his niece and nephew to be here. Continuing to watch the game, it was a few innings before someone from the other team came up to bat. They looked cocky, and I wondered if they thought they could be one of the ones to earn a run for the team. Currently it was five-two, our team winning.

Harry wound up for the pitch and threw, getting a strike on the person. It was followed by another, however, he seemed to pause on the mound. I didn't know what was going to happen, but he seemed to take a minute, the boy clearly thinking before throwing. Although the minute the ball hit the bat, it was basically seconds before it was slamming into his left shoulder, Harry dropping to the ground. He was in a fetal position, my heart aching "My baby," Anne was already nearly crying, running down the steps of the bleachers.

Without really thinking, I followed her, the entire crowd silent while Harry was cursing and shouting against the clay. I could see the people from UCLA we're walking over, and I was so worried that they would say he wasn't good enough even though this wasn't his fault.

The coaches got him off the field, claiming that an ambulance was coming because they had no idea how badly his shoulder was messed up. It was a good thing that it was his left one, but I still felt horrible for him. After a minute of him sitting, he was still wincing, but he wasn't screaming anymore. Anne pushed her way through, along with me. His mother touched his face, playing with his hair as he leaned against her.

"I knew it. I knew it would get fucked up. They won't want me to play for them," Harry cried against her. "Mum, it's all I fucking wanted, and now I ruined my chance."

His mother went to say something when a man in a suit was walking over, addressing Harry by his full name. Harry wiped his eyes with his good hand, the man sitting down beside him in the dugout.

"Mr. Savage," Harry said. "Hi."

"You played well, Mr. Styles. It sucks that I couldn't see your team win, but your pitching is phenomenal. Only a couple were able to hit the ball from you. I look forward to seeing you at summer work outs in July, as long as your arm is doing better by then. We'll do an actual contract signing in about a month. Keep up the good work, kid."

I could hear the sounds of the ambulance, but Harry was in disbelief. His mother and I were both the same exact way. Even with getting hit in the shoulder, this man had offered Harry a contract to play for them in college at his dream school. The boy in front of me hugged the man some, thanking him for the opportunity, but the coach claimed it was nothing, and that he knew talent when he saw it. They shook hands before leaving, Harry standing up. Medics were standing in the dugout now, pulling his jersey off to look at the spot the ball had hit. It was already deeply bruised, both medics asking if someone was riding with him.