I blow out a breath and try to gain some composure. “She was upset. But school will start soon, so that will distract her.”
I bite my lip, and my gut twists. I’ve been thinking more and more lately that maybe…we should just end it. This is her senior year. She should be enjoying herself, not be tied down to a guy who will barely have time to speak to her. My focus needs to be one-hundred percent baseball. I don’t have time for distractions; Ican’tbe distracted. Only roughly ten percent of minor leaguers make it to the majors—and I’m going to be in that ten percent.
I decided we’ll try, though. See how it goes once the semester starts and how I’m feeling being in the middle of my first minor league experience. How she’s feeling with the distance. But Maddy? I glance at him again, and my stare clashes with his green gaze. My lungs falter. It feels like I’m leaving an essential part of myself behind.
“I don’t know how to be without you,” I whisper, the pressure building to a sharp sting behind my eyes.
He turns to me and takes hold of my shoulders. His eyes are hard, mouth set in a firm line. It’s a look he’s given me a million times. At school. In the dugout. He always centers me.
“You do, East. You know baseball. It flows through your veins. You are going to walk into that clubhouse, and your sole focus is going to be showing them how much of a fucking badass ballplayer you are. Your first at-bat, you’re going to walk up to the plate, and you’re going tosmokethat ball. By the end of the Low-A season, everyone will know who Easton Winters is. That’s all you, East. Your talent, your dedication. It’s all you.”
He gives my shoulders a firm squeeze, and then his stare darts away. “It might be, uh, for the best anyhow. Some time apart. We kind of have to learn how to exist without each other at some point. Independence is a good thing, or so I’ve heard.”
I scoff, but it’s choked with the emotion I can’t swallow down. “Nope. Unhealthy co-dependence is where it’s at.”
He smiles, but it’s…brittle. Something has felt off with him since he picked me up to drive me to the airport. It’s like there’s this invisible wall between us that’s never been there before. Maybe it’s reality. For the first time, we’re going to be apart. I won’t be playing ball with him any longer.
You and me.
The dream isn’t happening. Me and Maddy playing professional ball together.
It’s just happening for me.
I check my watch. Forty-five minutes until boarding. I clear my throat. “Well, I suppose I should get through security and find my gate.”
He blows out a breath, and when he looks at me again, his eyes are glassy. He nudges my backpack that’s sitting by my side with his foot. “I threw some Big League Chew and sunflower seeds in there.”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I can ask.
“Siracha Honey, East.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s like you think I don’t know you.”
It’s my favorite flavor of sunflower seeds. Maddy has always liked Dill Pickle. The weird fucker.
“And check your Spotify. I added a playlist of all our favorite pump-up songs. Gotta get that adrenaline going, get your head in the right space before the game.”
Something soft stirs inside me. Maddy and I are obsessed with punk-rock. We love the old-school Blink-182 vibe, but also bands of the next generation like All Time Low and State Champs. I can’t wait to check out the playlist on the flight. It’ll be like carrying a little piece of Maddy with me.
“I also put earplugs in there, in case your roomie snores like a freight train. I know how much of a light sleeper you are. Oh, and a full bottle of Tums.” He wrinkles his nose. “The peppermint ones, because you’re sadistic.”
A smile tilts my lips, even as my chest tightens. I pop Tums like candy when I’m nervous. I’ll probably need a Costco-sized supply to get me through this.
“Better than Dill Pickle sunflower seeds,” I chirp.
He rolls his lips in against his grin, then reaches up to squeeze the bill of his cap behind his head, his biceps flexing with the movement. It’s a nervous tic of his, and it instantly has any warmth evaporating.
This is goodbye.
Fuck.
“We’ll still talk all the time,” I rush out. “We can Facetime or whatever. It’ll be like you’re there. Just virtual Meast.”
His smile is more grimace than anything, and he nods. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Exactly like that.” He clears his throat. “We’re both going to be really busy, though, East. Fall semesters are always brutal for me because I need to load up on classes, so I have fewer distractions during baseball in the spring. Trying to get into PT school isn’t a walk in the park, you know?”
“Yeah…” Something is wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, but I can just tell.
The airport’s PA system cuts in. “Flight 457 to Tampa has arrived at Gate B12.” Shit. That’s me.
Gah, fuck it. I launch myself at him and bury my head in his neck, my arms squeezing around him. He grunts. I’m probably hurting him, but I don’t care. I have to make it a good one, have to make this last until I get home in a couple months’ time. I inhale deeply, draw in as much of that woodsy, uniquely Maddox scent as I can. I need enough in my lungs to get me through the rest of the season.
