CHAPTER ONE — BEFORE THE STORM BREAKS

Senior year. Almost eighteen. Tension simmering like a storm that hasn’t broken yet. I stand under the stadium lights, rolling in all the weight of the bat between my palms like it might answer something I can’t name for one. The field stretches out in front of me, with perfect lines, clean dirt, bases bright against the darkening grass. Everything exactly where it should be. Predictable. Measurable, And safe. I exhale slowly and adjust my batting gloves. Leather creaks. And familiarity… “Daniels, you’re up next!” Coach calls. I lift the bat to my shoulder without looking back. “Got it.” My voice is steady. You know of course it always is. That’s my thing. Control. Discipline. No wasted motion, no wasted thought. On the field, everything makes sense. You react, you adjust, you execute. Simple. Off the field… I push that thought away.

I step into the on-deck circle, eyes locking onto the pitcher automatically. Release point. Speed. Spin. My brain breaks it all down without effort, like breathing.

Focus. That’s all that matters.

.. Except…. I feel it again. That same awareness crawling up the back of my neck. Not the crowd. Not any of my teammates. Something more specific. I don’t turn right away. I already know. Still, after a second too long, I glance toward the fence. Kade Mercer is there. Like always, lately. Arms folded. Shoulders relaxed. Expression unreadable. Watching. Not the game. Me. My grip tightens slightly on the bat.

It’s not new. That’s the problem.

It started a few weeks ago, it was subtle enough that I could’ve ignored it if I wanted to. But I don’t ignore patterns. I study them. And Kade Mercer showing up to my games? That’s a pattern. A strange one. Because Kade doesn’t do this. He doesn’t show up to school events. He doesn't hang around for no reason. Doesn’t stand still long enough for anyone to figure him out. Except lately… He has been. And always when I’m playing. I force my gaze back to the field. Not important. Not relevant. Just another variable I don’t need to calculate right now. “Hope!” I turn. Lila jogs up beside me, her ponytail bouncing, energy practically radiating off her. “You’re doing that thing again.” I blink. “What thing?”

“The zoning out, staring into the distance like you’re about to solve a life crisis mid-game thing.” I huff softly. “I’m focusing.” “Mm-hmm,” she says, unconvinced. Then her eyes flick toward the fence. Toward her brother. Her expression shifts instantly. Subtle.

But I caught it. Because I always catch things like that. “Why is he here again?” she mutters. I shrug, keeping my tone neutral. “You tell me. He’s your brother.”

“Yeah, and he doesn’t do this.” She crosses her arms. “It’s weird.” I don’t answer. Because I agree. Lila leans closer. “Have you talked to him?” I gave her a look. “About what? ‘Hey, why do you keep showing up and staring at me like I’m a science experiment?’” She snorts. “Okay, when you say it like that…” “Daniels!” Coach calls again. “Let’s go!” I tap the bat against the ground once. “We’ll discuss your family’s questionable behavior later.” Lila grins. “Oh, we absolutely will.” I step away before she can say anything else.

Before I can look toward the fence again. Before I can think about it too much. The batter ahead of me strikes out.

I step into the box. The world narrows instantly. No crowd. No Lila. No Kade. Just the pitcher. Just the ball. And just the moment. I set my stance, with my feet planted, shoulders aligned, weight balanced. My breath slows automatically.

Inhale. Exhale. The pitcher winds up. I track the motion. Release. The ball comes fast. I don’t swing. Strike one.

I roll my shoulders once, resetting. The hum of the stadium lights seems louder tonight. Or maybe everything else is quieter. Second pitch. A curve. I track it all the way in. Strike two. A murmur moves through the crowd. I don’t hear it.

I don’t care. I adjust my grip slightly. Focus.… Except… That feeling comes back. Stronger this time. Not just awareness. Or Pressure. Like being watched isn’t passive anymore. Like it has weight. My eyes flick toward the fence before I can stop myself. Kade hasn’t moved. Not even a little. Still watching. And I'm still focused. Still… Something about it feels different now. Not casual. Not curiosity. Intent.

My pulse skips once. The pitcher moves again. Third pitch. Faster. I swing. Crack. The sound cuts clean through the night. The ball shoots into center field. I run. First base. My cleats hit the dirt hard, controlled. Second base. I push harder. Third…. For a split second, the world tilts. Not physically. Something else. Like the field shifts just slightly out of alignment. I stumble. Barely. But enough. I correct instantly, forcing my body back into rhythm. Home. The dugout explodes. Cheers. Voices. Hands reaching for me. I slow as I cross the plate, breath steady, expression controlled. But my chest feels tight. Not from the run. From that moment. That split second where everything felt…. Wrong. “Nice hit!” someone shouts.

I nod automatically. “Hope!” Lila grabs my arm, grinning. “That was insane, did you see the outfielder’s face?” I try to smile. “Yeah.” But my attention drifts. Back to the fence. Kade is still there. Still watching. But now… He looks… different.

Not impressed. Not surprised. Like he expected that. Like he was watching for something specific. And I just confirmed it. My stomach tightens. That doesn’t make sense. None of this does. “Okay,” Lila says, narrowing her eyes slightly. “You are definitely not just thinking about softball right now.”

I force my focus back. “I’m fine.” “You’re not fine,” she says immediately. “You’re doing the quiet thing.” “I always do the quiet thing.” “Exactly.” I exhale slowly. “I just…” I hesitate.

Lila leans in. “What?” I glance toward the fence one more time.

Kade’s gaze meets mine instantly.

Like he’s been waiting for it. My breath catches for half a second. Then I look away. “I feel like something’s off,” I say finally. Lila blinks. “Off how?” I shake my head slightly. “I don’t know.” That’s the problem. I always know. I always have a read on things. A sense of control. A way to break everything down into something manageable. But this…. This feels like a game where I don’t know the rules. And someone else does. Across the field, Kade finally moves. Just a step. Just enough to shift his stance. But it feels deliberate. Like a signal. My pulse picks up again. “Hope?” Lila says. I barely hear her. Because for the first time, the thought settles in fully…. This isn’t just him watching me. It feels like something else has started watching too. And whatever it is… It isn’t waiting for me to figure it out.

It’s waiting for me to step into it.