He walks in.
The apartment feels emptier than it ever has. The couch where she used to curl into me. The kitchen island where she’d sit swinging her legs while I cooked. Her laugh used to live in these walls.
Now it’s just quiet.
Kamden closes the door behind him.
“You look like shit,” he says.
I huff out a humorless laugh. “Feel worse.”
He studies me carefully.
“You’ve been out,” he notes, glancing at the empty whiskey glass on the counter.
“Doesn’t help,” I mutter.
Silence stretches between us.
Finally he says, “Coach told me you agreed to step back.”
I nod once.
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“I thought it was what would protect her.”
There’s no sarcasm in his tone.
Just honesty.
I walk to the kitchen and brace my hands on the counter, staring at the granite like it holds answers.
“I saw her face, Kamden,” I say quietly. “At the bar. When she looked at me like I’d just ripped her heart out.”
My voice cracks despite myself.
“She didn’t deserve that.”
“No,” he agrees softly.
I swallow hard.
“I’ve never loved anyone like that,” I admit. “Not even close. And I threw it away in one night because I thought I was doing the right thing.”
I turn to look at him.
“You know what the worst part is?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“She believed in me,” I say. “Even when I don’t believe in myself. She saw me, Wilder, not Wild. Not the pitcher. Not the asshole at the bar. Just me.”
My chest tightens painfully.
“And I let them convince me I was poison to her future.”
Kamden’s expression shifts.
