Istareatthetext conversation on my phone screen.
3:32 PM: You free to video call tonight? My roommate is pretty awesome. I think you two would totally hit it off. He’s a huge All Time Low fan. Can you believe it? I told him all about you, and he’s demanded he meet you. Just to warn you, once he starts talking, it’s hard to shut him up.
6:47 PM: Just finished up dinner. Can you talk tonight? I can tell my roommate he can join some other time if you’d rather not be bombarded with a stranger.
9:53 PM: I’m heading to bed. Gotta be up early to meet the coaches, staff, and the rest of the team. Bummed we couldn’t connect today. Talk tomorrow. Miss you, Maddy.
The words waver in and out, and I furiously blink away the moisture obscuring my vision. Not that I need to see them to know what they say. I’ve read them enough times.
This is so much worse than I thought it would be, and it hasn’t even been a full day. Fuck. I’d dropped East off at the airportthis morning. How was that today? I guess technically yesterday since it’s now just past midnight. I still haven’t responded, and I can already tell he doesn’t understand why. My chest fractures, and I let out an unsteady breath. This is going to hurt him, and not some small slight. A major wound. One we might not recover from.
My eyes sink shut. I can picture those light-brown brows pinched together, blue eyes shining with confusion. Vulnerable. Easton has always worn his emotions on his sleeve for all the world to see. He doesn’t know how to do it any other way. The only time he can shut it all down is when he’s out on the field or at the plate.
Not for the first time, I wonder if I’m making the right decision. Maybe it’s better to be pathetically in love with him knowing he’ll never be able to return it. Every part of me, down to the smallest atom, rebels at the idea of hurting him.Hurt yourself instead, my mind whispers.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes. I just want to get over him. I don’t want to love him anymore. I want him to be in my life and for my heart to not feel like it’s being put through a paper shredder. Seeing him with Shelby for a whole fucking year was the worst kind of torture. If they got married… I’d be his best man. How can I stand up there and watch the man I love marry someone else? And stand at his fucking side while he does it.
I can’t. I can’t do it.
This is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it’s what’s best for the both of us.
I blow out a breath and tap out a quick reply.
Sorry, crazy day. Glad you’re settling in well. Night.
No ‘talk soon.’ No ‘I miss you.’
I swallow down the acid rising in my throat, place my phone on my nightstand, and roll onto my side. I clutch my pillow to me like a lifeline and let the tears fall. I have a feeling I have a lot of nights like this ahead of me.
six
Easton
“You’vereachedthevoicemailof Maddox Barnes. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
The tone beeps, but I end the call. I stopped leaving voicemails days ago. I stare at the phone, my teeth digging into the inside of my cheek. Two weeks. It’s been two weeks, and he hasn’t answered a single call. He barely answers my text messages. If he does, they’re one- or two-word responses. Every request I make to chat gets ignored or passed over with asorry, the day got away from me.The fall semester hasn’t even started yet. What has him so busy?
And that’s the thing. He's not.
He’s actively avoiding me.
I don’t understand what I did to upset him. I drag a hand down my face and close my eyes.Think, East. Think.What were the last few days like before I left? Did I do something to piss him off? I had thought things seemed off the morning he dropped me off at the airport. Clearly, I was fucking right. But why are they off? Maddy and I have fought before—how could we not? We’ve been friends since we were little and have gotten into it over the stupidest shit. This feels different, though, and Maddy has never given me the cold shoulder like this before.
“Yo, Winters! We gotta go, or we’re gonna be late.” Rosario’s voice booms from the living room.
I click the side-button on my phone and pocket it. Thank God for baseball. I’ve thrown everything I have into it. I bury every anxious thought, every fear over what this distance could mean, behind my swings, behind my throws. I’ve been crushing the ball like a slugger. I work myself to the bone so that it’s lights-out the moment my head hits the pillow. No time to wallow.
My best friend doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.
But at least my coaches are impressed.
Silver linings and all that.
Silver linings fucking suck.
seven
September1st
