Coach Wolfe’s footsteps shuffled against the dirt and stopped just behind her. “Listen, I heard you and Tilly …”
Tilly strained to listen over the sound of her pulse in her ears.
“So?”
There was pain in that one small word. She could hear it roll over and around, stitching into his voice like the laces of a baseball.
“So I need to know how working here is going to affect the two of you, if at all.” He grunted, and a bucket creaked taking his weight. A moment of silence passed. “All right, I don’t need to know as much as Harper does.”
Tilly’s eyes crinkled. She really liked Harper Wolfe.
“It shouldn’t change a thing. I’m here to do a job, and I don’t get distracted,” came Brayden’s reply. His voice was formal, not an ounce of remorse or regret. His bucket shifted. “Tilly is gone, and I’m here.”
“So you don’t mind seeing her around the park?”
Would they fire her if he said she was a distraction? She couldn’t lose this job, not now, not when she was still too bruised, and sort of afraid, to climb again. Leading tours was nice and safe. She needed safe right now.
“Naw. I’m good.”
Tilly pressed her fingers into her the skin around her mouth, her jaw resisting the pressure. The physical pain was a distraction from the daggers in her heart at being dismissed so easily by the man who’d once said he loved her. Unable to listen to any more of their conversation, Tilly rose to a crouch and worked her way up the steps as silently as she could.
When she got to the top, she felt a pair of eyes on her. Not just any eyes, but Brayden’s eyes. She’d know his visual caress anywhere. She turned and found him staring up at her, his brow pinched. He looked absolutely perfect on the field, framed by the green grass behind him. Her lips formed the wordsI love youbefore she could stop them. If he saw the movement, he didn’t acknowledge it.
A lump formed in her throat and she whipped around, sprinting for the exit. Her shift was over and her heart was broken. But she’d be back. She wasn’t going to let Brayden push her away from her friends. And she did have friends here. If she was going to survive this breakup, she’d need all the support she could get. Elise hadn’t fallen away, and Clover was a champ. They wouldn’t let the guys turn her out. Not that they would. Things would be awkward, but she didn’t think Dustin, Blake, or the other players were the type to cut her off.
Brayden’s eyes stayed on her until she was out of his field of vision. But that wasn’t quite far enough for her to let go of the yearning inside. Maybe one day she’d be able to see him and not crave the feeling of his warm breath on her neck or his large hand on her lower back. Maybe one day she’d forget that for a while, she had all that she’d ever dreamed of. And then one day she’d find a way to move on. But today was not that day.
Brayden
That was the second time in three days that Brayden had watched Tilly walk away from him, and it was just as gut-wrenching this time as it had been in his bedroom. Nope. This time hurt even more.
She couldn’t have heard his conversation with Coach. If she had, she would have picked up on his lies, would have known that he was dying inside. That every breath without her was like watching your best pitch get hit out of the park. It tore at him. Why didn’t they have screws and pins that could put his heart back together?
He’d get through this. He’d gotten through his mom leaving. He’d survive. One day, he’d look Tilly up on social media and see her with a couple kids and a husband. They’d be at some monument, climbing gear on and smiles all around. And he’d have confirmation that he’d done the right thing. He held on to that idea, because every fiber of his being told him he’d made the wrong decision. His head was the only thing that disagreed. He had to follow his head on this one—he’d followed his heart, and he’d hurt Tilly. He’d broken the promises he’d made.
He tapped his knuckles on the concrete half wall that separated the fans from the players and stared up at the spot where Tilly had disappeared.
“Hey, Birks,” said Newton from behind him. “You might want to get out of range. Gunner’s curves can go wild.”
Brayden shook himself and moved to the side. “Go ahead.”
Newton squatted down and raised his mitt. Gunner wound up and threw. His knee didn’t hesitate. Brayden gave him credit for being able to make the adjustment. The ball, however, spurtted high and outside. Newton didn’t even try for it. He took another ball from the batboy and tossed it out to the mound.
Brayden walked out there too.
Gunner’s shoulders came forward and his back slouched. “What? I didn’t hesitate.”
“No, but you could have killed a Cracker Jack vendor,” Brayden joked. He would have said the same thing to Turk Smith or Corban Noland, guys he’d shared the bullpen with.
“Shut up.”
Brayden pulled a baseball out of his back pocket. He’d tucked it in there before walking out of the dugout. It felt natural to hold a ball, his fingers tracing over the laces. “When you’re this bad, you need to shut up and listen. Don’t talk, punk.”
Gunner moaned. “You just love to tear me down, don’t you?”
Brayden didn’t answer. Instead, he laid his middle finger on the inside seam of the ball. “Your rotation isn’t enough.” He turned his wrist. “You need to roll that ball off your finger, pressing down as your wrist turns.” He mimed the movement again. Gunner didn’t even look at him.
Brayden held back his tirade. Without thinking, he threw the ball to Newton. His arm didn’t lift high enough to get the proper shoulder rotation; his wrist twisted too much, and the ball flew between home and first base.
