Author's Note: Chapter Six is here! Not much can be said, other than I think - or I hope - some questions are beginning to be answered with this chapter. I'm not going to lie, it's been one of my favorites to write. So I hope you all enjoy! Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for the amazing response I've been getting for this story! You are all truly the best. It does help with inspiration to know that you are all enjoying the story so much. I hope you continue to!
Warning: due to my crazy schedule, along with Ivory's crazy schedule, this chapter is beta-ed solely by me. Which means there will probably be plenty of mistakes. They are all mine, I take credit for them & I did my best to fix all the grammar mistakes I could find. But I am no where near as talented as Ms. Ivory. So be warned & blame me.
Enjoy!
Summary: There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.
Lone Star State of Mine
Chapter Six: These Are My People
"Holler 'bout a bad call; preacher breaking up the fight."
Church League Softball.
Every sport has its perks: football has cool fall weather, baseball is the honored sport to have the beautiful weather of summer, basketball is an inside sport – weather isn't even thought of. And Church League Softball usually has "Church Lady" food to follow, which beats even the nicest and most perfect of weather. "Church Lady" food usually beats most things. And in Dawson, the women were abducted by Paula Dean and put through rigorous testing before being returned to their families. They all pasted with flying colors and mountains of butter.
And Thursday nights during the summer in Dawson are truly a work of southern cuisine art. The tradition starts around six at the local park. It's really not much of a park; a swing set and a slide, one rundown softball diamond with enough bleacher seating to fit the Brady Bunch – so most bring their own chairs or blankets - and then there is a pavilion. And the pavilion is where the magic happens; the ladies and their given dishes usually start showing up while the first game is going on, and are all set up by the time the preacher calls for a twenty minute break in between games.
That's when the night really begin; everyone knows what they want and it's a race to get to the front of the line first. Southern hospitality goes out the window when Mrs. Undersee's pecan pie is involved. And the "Ladies' First" rule? Oh no. You obviously haven't had Mags' fried chicken. Of course, there is plenty to go around and most of us can usually afford to skip a meal, but when this kind of food is involved it's like we've all been on a liquids only diet for the last thirty days.
The games themselves provide the entertainment, but the food is what draws the crowd in this small town. We all know good food and we all know how to appreciate it.
Fortunately, the games are all for fun. The teams don't change much from one summer to another. But then again, there really aren't any rules about adding to the roster. So a team gaining one player or another from week to week isn't new. Majority of the players are men and as much as they'll laugh that it's all for fun, I've seen instances that turns Pastor's face red with shock from the language that comes out of these boys' mouths when a call doesn't go their way. But no matter what arguments take place they can usually be all forgotten by the time Greasy Sae pulls out her homemade ice cream.
And tonight is a good night for a cool treat. The Texas heat is on high and even flying down a dirt road with the windows down doesn't do much to subdue it. But when your old pick up truck lost its air conditioning abilities before you were even born there isn't many other options. Prim has already drank half the water bottle I bought for her and she's leaning her head out the window like an old hound. Her smile is tired, but she's still humming along with the music coming across the tattered radio.
"I think I should go into the bumper sticker business." She muses, her eyes closed as the wind whips the pieces falling from her ponytail around her relaxed face. I know she can't see my confused expression, but she must sense it because she goes on without a word from me. "My first one would be: 'Welcome to Texas: Winters are great, but don't be fooled you're screwed come summer time.'"
Our laughter fills the cab and I shake my head. Prim could do so many things if she put her mind to it and for that reason I don't ever doubt her when she changes her career every other day. Of course, bummer sticker maker is one of the stranger ones. Most days she wants to be a nurse or even a doctor, but she doesn't admit to that one too much. I think she fears she's dreaming too big. Everdeens don't come from much and we don't seem to make too much either. Sure, we live an honorable existence, I suppose, but it's a humble one and some days I think that it's going to be Prim's stumbling block.
Her potential screams for so much more than this small town of Dawson, but the Everdeen in her doesn't let her forget the rest of us. I understand that. I know I'm the same, but for me it doesn't feel like a burden because I know I'm not meant for much. I'm content in this place living from paycheck to paycheck. In fact, it's all I've ever wanted. She never says so, but Prim wants more.
And she deserves more.
The rest of the fifteen-minute drive is spent with Prim going on about her time spent volunteering at the local vet clinic or how she had a couple classmates over several nights ago. We don't mention Mother. We've become rather good at dancing around that issue. Whenever the conversation looks as though it could head in that direction one us quickly turns directions. Maybe it makes us terrible children, but most days we feel as though we're talking her issues in circles. And it's not like she ever cares about the toll she's taken on our family. She's been long gone for years now, I'm not sure she's even aware she has an affect on us.
We used to spend hours trying to think of ways to pull her out of this forever rut that she got herself into after Daddy's passing, but once plan after plan fails you begin to waste your energy elsewhere. And so that's what we do. Now that I've moved out I try not to bring her up and Prim will only mention something if she's having an especially bad day.
"I hope Mrs. Cresta brought her chicken salad." Prim says as we pull into the impromptu parking lot of the park. "I've practically had dreams about it since the Memorial Day picnic."
I am about to respond until I see the one person I've found myself overly drawn to these past few days climbing out of his truck nearby. My mind completely clears of whatever I was about to say to Prim as I watch Peeta reach into the bed of his truck and pull out an old sports bag.
I kill the engine and hear Prim clearing her throat extravagantly. My eyes dart back over at her and I can't help but blush when I see the obvious smile painted across her face.
"Don't say anything." I mumble, pushing my door open.
Prim mimics my movements and laughs, "What would I say? I mean besides Peeta and Katniss sittin' in a tree –"
"Primrose Everdeen." My tone is low through my teeth, hoping she might actually think I'm angry and hush. The last thing I need is Peeta – or anyone - hearing her singing that God-awful song.
She stops, but her melody-like laughter tells me she knows I'm not actually mad. Not that I've ever been good at being mad at my baby sister. The problem is: she knows it.
We start towards the field that already has several players warming up. The audience has started to gather around the diamond while some of the women are starting to set up their dishes nearby. I try to tell myself I'm walking a little slower than normal because we're early. But I know the way my eyes tend to want to pull in his direction every few seconds isn't due to the time.
"Katniss!" My heart rate is linked to that voice and my eyes finally cast a good look in the direction they've been threatening to turn toward. Peeta is jogging towards us and Prim doesn't hesitate to give me a knowing look.
"Hey Peeta," Prim says first with a bright grin and again I'm reminded why I am so thankful for her casual, carefree nature that eases most situations.
"Hey Prim," Peeta smiles back, adjusting the strap of his bag. "How's your summer?"
"Can't complain. Something has put Katniss in an unusually good mood this summer, so life is pretty good." Prim smirks, Peeta continues to smile, and I quietly pray for the ground to open up and swallow me. Her eyes look past Peeta and then back at us, "Hey, Sarah just got here. I'm going to say hi. Good luck tonight, Peeta!"
"Thanks," Peeta says, giving a casual wave as she runs pasted him.
I look to the direction she's taken off toward and inwardly groan; Sarah is nowhere in sight. My cheeks are still burning when Peeta looks back at me, but he doesn't look anything less than perfect. God, the world is truly against me.
"I'm glad you're in a good mood." Peeta says, looking over at me as we start to walk toward the field.
"Prim talks too much." I mumble, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. I've decided it's better to look straight ahead.
His laugh is infectious and I find myself breaking into a grin myself. We fall into one our comfortable silences as we close the short distance from the parking lot to the dugout of his team. People are continuing to fill in around the fence as both teams gain members on the actual diamond.
When I look over at Peeta he's unzipping his old sports bag and pulling out an old glove.
"Have you played before?" He asks, offering the glove to me.
I know my eyes grow wide as I look at him, "Does hiding in the outfield during P.E. count?"
"Outfield experience. Perfect." Peeta grins, "We're short a right fielder."
"Oh no," I start to shake my head; trying to push back the glove he's forced into my hands. "You know, sports don't come natural to all people, Peeta. This is not a good idea."
"Katniss, it's right field. I'm not asking you to throw a no-hitter." Peeta laughs, turning on his heels to head toward the rest of his team.
Our team.
Surprisingly, three innings into the game and I have yet to make a mistake. I have also yet to be up to bat or had the ball within ten feet of me, but I like to count the small victories in my life.
And more surprisingly, I've had a lot of fun being a part of this summer tradition and enjoy most of my team. This is quite the band of misfit players. Most have an athletic background, but none seem to take the game too seriously. Finnick spends more time running his mouth than covering first base. Beetee argues with "ref" Wiress over every call – including the ones that work in our favor. Gale is busy trying to coach Rory into becoming a better player while Rory is busy mocking Gale's coaching behavior. Reese and Peeta are continually talking trash while Clement silently, like always, shows up his two brothers.
And looking into the crowd shows the same carefree nature. Annie, sitting next to Madge, can't keep her eyes off her boisterous boyfriend. Prim has finally found Sarah and a group of other girls. Even Marvel and Glimmer look like their enjoying themselves, but I try to avoid looking in their direction. My stomach still turns sour when I remember that night. Haymitch is standing against the fence, coaching both teams as though this were football practice. The women in charge of dinner have finally finished their set up and are now occupying up several blankets behind home plate. Clement's wife is among them and it doesn't go unnoticed how loudly she cheers whenever he does anything.
And I suddenly realize I'm beginning to understand the look in her eyes.
That feeling hits me like a ton of bricks and I think it's enough to scare me back into my ever-present tendency for avoidance, but I'm not allowed to focus on it that long because soon our team is up to bat and I'm third in the line-up this time around. The thought makes my palms sweat and my stomach twist.
Peeta gives me a reassuring smile before he walks out of our dug out. He's up first and everyone on our team instantly starts cheering him on. I find my own nerves put at bay for a moment while I focus in on the way the tension in his arms showcases his practiced muscles.
I watch him for a moment longer while he takes a few practice swings before stepping into the box to bat. Gale's eyes are intense and try I ignore the obvious determination to strike Peeta out that's behind them. His toss is harder and Peeta lets the first one pass. Wiress calls it a strike and Beetee is soon to follow with his rebuttal.
Peeta doesn't seem phased, but Gale looks pleased with himself. Not something that most would notice, but I've spent most of my life reacting to those subtle expressions. Reese claps his hands loudly from his shortstop position cheering Gale on.
With the second toss, Peeta gets his stride and the "ting" sound of the ball meeting his bat fills the evening. The ball soars above the infield's heads and makes a perfect line toward right field. Peeta starts to run toward first base while Cato runs back toward the fence where the ball has landed.
Peeta's football training pays off as he rounds first and heads straight toward second. Reese is now covering second while the second basemen goes out to be the cutoff for Cato. Peeta is rounding second - making sure to tap Reese on the back has he passes - by the time the ball hits the second basemen's glove. And he comes to a slow stop at third. Jackie just gets out of his way when he comes jogging in.
Reese holds the ball, walking it back to Gale once he realizes Peeta isn't going anywhere. Our team cheers for Peeta while Clement walks up to the plate to bat next. And my nerves wake back up as I realize it's now my turn to stand inside the "on deck" position. I slowly grab a bat and walk out onto the field, wiping my free hand on my jeans. The sweat pools back into the creases instantly.
At least Clement is before me and Peeta is on third. He'll easily hit his younger brother home and our team will be up a point. My turn to bat won't be nearly as important once at least one of the Mellark boys has crossed home plate. I watch Clement get in his stance and I know that I should be practicing my own swing, but in order to practice that would mean I'd have to know what I was doing. And I don't.
Standing watching Clement bat is probably the best practice I could get at this point, but my session is short lived when Clement swings on Gale's first pitch and the ball pops high up into the air. Clement looks annoyed and Reese takes several steps back and catches the fly ball before his younger brother can even reach first base.
"Clement is out!" Wiress calls and Clement shakes his head before heading toward our dugout.
"Just relax, Katniss." Clement smiles, tapping my shoulder and giving me a reassuring nod.
I slowly make my walk of shame up to the plate and look towards Gale. He's smiling and normally that's enough to calm any nerves I may have, but tonight it does nothing. I am slightly relieved knowing he would never try to make me look like a fool, but the unfortunate part is that I don't need his help. I can do this task all by myself.
"Come on, Katniss!" Prim's voice cheers in the crowd.
"You got this, Katniss." I hear Peeta's voice behind me at third. "Gale's got nothing."
It's a common phrase. It's not a personal attack. I know Peeta doesn't mean it as a negative comment toward Gale, but as a way to give me some sort of comfort. But Gale doesn't see it that way and I can tell. He glances at Peeta for only a moment, but I know the anger is there. When he looks back at me his jaw is tense and my grip tightens on my bat. The ball lobs toward me and when I swing there is nothing but the whiff of air. Both teams begin to cheer again. My team is cheering for my to hit it next time while Gale's team is cheering for him to keep up the good work.
"Keep your eye on the ball, Katniss." Peeta cheers and I can't help but feel relief that he still believes in me. "He'll throw it right down the middle. Gale isn't quick enough for any tricks."
Again, I know Peeta is saying those things for my benefit, but with Gale's talent as his target he's playing with fire. My eyes are on Gale and his jaw is clenched as he glares toward Peeta.
"Keep your mouth shut, Mellark." Gale spits.
My attention turns toward third base where Gale is looking and Peeta looks slightly amused. He shakes his head and laughs, "Relax Hawthorne. I'm just cheering on a teammate. You might want to thicken that skin, man."
"My skin is thick enough," Gale argues back, taking several steps toward third base. "I just don't appreciate you using me as a punching bag while you cheer on 'your teammate'."
My back straightens up and my eyes bounce back and forth between the two. I know mine are the only ones following this interaction. The whole crowd has gone quiet along with the two teams. If I wasn't so invested I would almost find this scene comical. Two grown men acting like hypersensitive teenage girls over something one of them said.
Peeta rests his hands on his hips, "Come on, Gale. Just pitch the damn ball. If it means that much to you I'll keep my mouth shut."
"Oh now I have to ask you to keep your mouth shut?" Gale's eyes grow along with his anger. Whatever Peeta just said has obviously triggered something in Gale, but as to what only they know. "I thought that was something you were good at."
"That again? Just let it go." Peeta runs a hand through his blonde curls.
"Just let it go? I'm sorry," Gale finally drops his glove, ball rolling into the dirt, and starts for Peeta. Peeta doesn't back down and finally comes off third base. "I didn't realize your life was forever changed by the events of that night. In fact, last time I checked your plans stayed exactly the same."
My eyes scan the crowd, the confusion etched on everyone's faces. Everyone except for several and then I realize what this silent anger toward Peeta is about. My eyes go back toward the two standing in the field. The two contrast each other completely; Peeta's light hair and skin against Gale's dark hair and tanned skin. Peeta is shorter than Gale. But it doesn't look like an uneven fight.
"And that night is my fault how?" Peeta argues.
"You could have said something. You should have said something!" Gale yells, stepping toward Peeta so they are only an inch from each other. "You knew that play was too much of a risk – they were too strong. Too big. You laid me out to dry!"
"You need to back up," Peeta's voice is low and the look in his eyes is the same one I saw that night when he went toe to toe with Cato.
"Or what?" Gale's voice meets Peeta's. "You going to hit me, Mellark?"
The silence is defining and my lungs seem to have forgotten how to work. I look as Reese slowly starts toward the two, almost waiting to see if this will work itself out. Clement has come back out of the dugout and so has Rory and Finnick. Haymitch, once only partially aware of the game, is now standing against the fence, his eyes never leaving the two boys.
I know we should all want to break this up before it comes to head, but we've also all seen this boiling up for several years. We're all curious and as terrible as it sounds; we're all waiting for this to be over.
Peeta is the first to move and all he does is shake his head, dropping his hands to his sides.
"Forget it, just play ball." He sighs, starting to turn back toward third base when Gale reaches out to stop him.
No one will ever know what Gale's intention was in reaching out to him, because as soon as he touches the blonde's shoulder Peeta turns around and shoves Gale. Hard.
"It wasn't just my fault, Asshole." Peeta yells. "You could have said something! We all should have said something! But if I remember correctly, we all wanted to win so bad we would have done anything."
"Like throwing your best friend into the fire?" Gale yells back, shoving Peeta in return.
Before anyone can react, punches are being thrown. Gale gets a sharp hit to the jaw while the eyebrow above Peeta's left eye starts to bleed. And all at once it's chaos. Finnick, Rory, Clement, and Reese are heading toward the two while Jackie backs up and everyone else – who wasn't already – is on their feet.
Finnick has a hold of Peeta while Reese pushes Gale away, both looking a little worn for wear. Everything begins to slow down and both boys' chests are heaving. The fight may have only lasted half a minute, but the damage is done.
Peeta pulls himself from Finnick, but Clement makes sure to step in between the two. He wipes the blood from his eye and glances at Gale, who rubs his jaw.
It's in the calm after the storm that I can read their expressions. Behind the anger and annoyance is a sense of what they lost. So often the depths and security of friendship is taken for granted until something – usually so petty – happens to tear it away. And the worst part of it is, you hardly ever see it coming. In some cases the damage is done in the blink of an eye.
Or in the snap of a ball.
"If I would have known you'd be hurt I wouldn't have done it." Peeta says breathlessly, "None of us would have. It's not like we all decided you were the sacrificial lamb."
"Hurt?" Gale groans. "Hurt is a scarp on my knee, Mellark. That play destroyed me. It blew out my knee. Tore it to shreds. I couldn't play another competitive yard!"
"And I'm sorry about that!" Peeta yells, stepping forward. Finnick's hands still on his shoulder to hold him back if he decides to go back for more. "But that could have happened during any play. During any game. To any of us."
"Yeah, but it didn't happen to you. Nothing but good things ever happens to Buckeye Mellark. Haymitch made sure of that." Gale glares.
"Fuck you. You're out of line and you know it." Peeta continues to yell as though no one is listening. "Haymitch wanted all of us to go further. That's why he called the play he did and that's why we went along with it. If I remember correctly, you were just as eager to get that title as we were."
Gale doesn't say anything and no one moves. The air is thick with tension and we're all afraid one tiny motion will make it all explode. Peeta looks down at the ground and shakes his head before looking back up at Gale.
"I'm done. You can be pissed off at me all you want, I'm done trying."
With that Peeta turns and starts to walk off the field. Before anyone can move from their stunned stance he is in his truck and peeling out of the parking lot.
Slowly everyone starts to move about, but the evening has gone sour. Finnick and Rory stand with Gale for a moment, checking to make sure he's okay. Reese and Clement huddle together obviously concerned for their little brother. The teams in the dugouts and the small crowd are all whispering together. I already know this story will be all over Dawson before the sun comes up tomorrow. I notice Haymitch is still standing at the fence, but now his eyes are on the ground. The guilt practically oozes from him.
And I can't stop myself from wondering how Peeta is.
The rest of the night goes by in a haze. The game is called short, everyone saying it's because they want to eat, but we all know it's because no one is in the mood to play anymore. Even the usual festivity that is eating is slightly hindered. The conversations are quiet and short. And people don't stick around to visit.
I try to check on Gale, but as soon as the game is called he disappears. Rory says he saw him getting into his truck and driving off. Prim and I climb into our own soon after dinner. Rory walks Prim to her door and I wait, slightly annoyed, while they say their prolonged goodbye. I feel guilty after I clear my throat loudly to get them to hurry along. I'm just on edge now. I try to ignore the reason why.
Prim tries to carry on a conversation throughout the ride to her and Mom's house, but my answers are distracted and my attitude is poor. Finally she gives up and silence fills the cab. When I drop her off she leans over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek and she watches me for a moment. I know she wants to say something about what happened tonight, but she doesn't.
And I am grateful.
When I pull up to my small house I suddenly don't want to go inside. I feel exhausted from tonight and I know it's not from my impromptu right field position. It's because I watched the two men of my life – although I'm not sure how big of a part Peeta is – tear each other apart. I ache remembering they used to be so close. I ache knowing that I watched the play that unraveled their friendship and knew nothing of it. I ache for Gale because I remember the day he realized he wouldn't be going to The University of Alabama. I ache for the way Peeta looked when he realized Gale blamed him for all of that.
I ache because at the end of the day it all doesn't matter anymore.
My thoughts have drifted along with my feet as I walk through the endless dirt roads that make up Mellark Ranch. The darkness comforts me as I see all the quiet barns, sheds and ranch hand homes. Even the main house is dark and I wonder what time it is.
Soon my eyes are drawn to one of the only soft glows of light I see and it's coming from the main barn. I know the work has been done for several hours now. Normally I mind my own business, but I've noticed over the years that Mellark Ranch has become like my home and I am rather protective of it. I like to know as much as possible about the place I've grown to love.
When I enter the cracked door I see where the light is coming from. It's the light right above the old sink with the cracked mirror. In its reflection I see myself in the background and Peeta's bruised face in the foreground. He notices me soon after I walk into the light and gives a tired smile.
"If you've come in here to tell me to apologize or defend Gale's honor I'm really not interested." He says, looking me in the eye via our reflections.
At first I'm not sure how to react. Several months ago that would have been the only reason why I was here, but now that I stand there in front of him and that's not even on my mind. I blink several times and then shake my head. I've never been good with words and fortunately Peeta seems to understand that.
"I never would have gone through with that play if I'd have known," Peeta's voice is quiet and I'm not sure if he's talking to me or to himself.
And I now understand why he stormed off. It's not because he got into a fight with Gale and it's not because Gale was hurt in a stupid sports accident several years ago. It's because he can't believe the guy that was once his best friend now believes he would sacrifice his future for his own. To Peeta loyalty is everything and for someone to question his is worse than the hardest blow to the gut.
And I understand that.
I walk forward, seeing that he's trying to clean up the cut above his eye. The rag he has in his hand has an ugly stain on it from his blood, but the cut above his eye is still a violent red from dried blood.
"Here," I say without thinking and take the rag from his hand. I start to dab the spot above his eye. At first I avoid is gaze, but once my eyes meet his I can't look anywhere else.
The silence between us is loaded, but for the first time that night, comfortable. And slowly the dried blood starts to disappear from around the deep gash. Gale's knuckle must have hit right on the ridge of Peeta's eyebrow bone to cause such a mark. It probably needed a stitch or two, but I doubt he'll ever go get them.
"I hid out here because I really didn't need my dad, or worse, my mother asking about what happened." Peeta states, as if he has to explain himself to me.
"Sometimes you just need to be alone." I say, understanding. "I get that."
Again, silence comes and we allow it to take over as I finish cleaning up. I place a small Band-Aid over the deepest part. Peeta tries not to wince when I push on the tender bruised area around the cut, but I notice how his eyebrows crinkle slightly and I quietly apologize.
"I'm glad you're the one who found me." He looks me in the eyes and I am now highly aware of the mere inches that separate us.
I look down to put the band-aid wrapper on the side of the sink along with the used rag, but I can't keep my eyes away and look up to find his dark blue eyes watching me.
I want to say something, but I'm not sure what to say. My skin is tingling and I'm highly aware of all of my senses. My heart is racing and my stomach is filled with butterflies, but I've never felt more alive or bolder. And when my lips meet his I swear I'll never be the same.
The kiss is light and his response is almost instant. My hands rest on either side of his face and my eyes flutter closed. I've only kissed three people in my entire life and two of them were when we were under the age of seven and don't really count. I'm not sure what I'm even doing, but I know I don't want to stop.
But I do. It's like the fearful part of my mind wakes up and I slowly pull away to look at him. And now I'm afraid because I know me. I know whenever I try to speak in moments of high emotion I usually make them worse. But I don't want Peeta to speak either because I'm now regretting everything, but only because I'm afraid this isn't what Peeta wanted. Maybe I misread everything.
"I – I –" I try to speak, while pulling away to leave.
Peeta quickly reaches out to gently tug me back toward him, "You're definitely not leaving me now."
And when his lips collide with mine I'm sure again. I'm bold again.