I went to sleep complete. I felt whole for the first time since that state trooper showed up at my brother’s game and pulled Colby’s dad aside to let him know his wife was killed in a fatal car collision while on her way to the game.
When I kissed Colby the first time, I was young and stupid. I dared myself to do it. Hell, if I’m honest with myself, I was as much a horny eighteen-year-old as I was a young man who thought he was in love. But then her father told me I was bad for her, that I would ruin her because that’s what the men in my family did—we ruined things. And that’s when I knew my love for her was the real deal. Because I believed him. And on the off chance his premonition was right, I took him at his word and promised. I walked away.
Not a single day has passed that I haven’t thought about that moment with a pang in my side, like a hot knife reminding me I left something precious behind. Sometimes, it’s a fleeting thought, a sensation that hits me during a sad song on a long run, or while I’m hitting on the tee alone. Before Colby showed up, it was the bus rides. I’d nestle against the window and look out at the landscape, and reminisce about how she and I would sit in the back of the pickup truck and count slug bugs or shoutout the mile markers. I thought of the times when we were a little older—old enough for feelings to get all weird and shit—and accidentally brushed hands in the back seat.
I never got to ride through part of the country in a bus with her at my side. And I can’t now. But damn, do I want to.
“Good morning,” she says as she steps around the back of the bus, as if we weren’t pressed together, naked, in my shower less than eight hours ago.
I nod and smile, but not too big. I meant it when I promised I wouldn’t let anyone know. If that’s how this has to exist—in a frail bubble that I must protect—then that’s how it is.
I felt her leave in the middle of the night, though I didn’t open my eyes or speak. I knew she wanted to go without words. Without guilt. And I understood. I still do.
Still, I wish she had stayed. I wish she was with me when my phone buzzed with major news forwarded from the PR team. It would have been nice to read the story about us together. Maybe we could have laughed about how little they actually know. Imagine if the next paragraph of that news story read:
And in a turn of events, Coach Kessler and the younger Vargas brother are fucking. Sure, Jayden thinks it’s more than that. He’s in love. But so far, it’s just fucking. And get this . . . they have to keep it a secret because if they don’t, we’ll tear them apart and they’ll both be out of jobs. Ha ha ha ha ha . . .
Okay, that’s probably not how the article would go. But that’s how it would feel. It already does.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Coach Kessler?” Jake says, slapping my back hard as I push my gear into the belly of the bus.
I glare at him, and he laughs, I think enjoying how it bothers me.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I lie.
His lips twist as his brow draws in.
“Uh, yeah. It is, dude. And now your brother is coming. Man, the stories you all probably have.”
“Jake, I’m serious. Her dad was our coach. Katy is a big town. We knew each other and went to school together. But she’s just trying to do her job, and we didn’t bring it up because, well—” I hold my palm out toward him. He’s Exhibit A.
His smirk falters, and his eyes drop to the ground before he bends over and picks up his catcher’s gear.
“You have a point. I get it. And yeah, I can see how she has a lot of shit to deal with. There’s a bit of a men’s club around the minors.” He pushes his gear bag in behind mine, then the two of us board the bus.
Colby is sitting in the third row, near the window. I catch a glimpse of her hair pulled back into a braid as I pass by, but I purposely don’t look her in the eyes. Jake doesn’t tease us about our newly revealed connection, either. Unfortunately, several of my teammates have the maturity level of a junior high schooler, one of them going so far as to make kissing noises as I maneuver my way to a seat in the back. Of course it’s fucking Adler. I can’t wait for this asshole to get traded. Everyone knows he got booted to Triple A ball because he’s toxic to a clubhouse. Texas wanted him out of the dugout, but they owe him too much to let him go completely. Problem is, no other team wants him. And since Coach refuses to give him enough at-bats to make him worth the headache he is, I fear he’s just going to be an expensive luxury we all have to deal with.
“You want to kiss me or Jake, Adler? Cuz, I think you’d prefer Jake’s lips over mine. Softer and all that. We all know how you like things . . . soft.”
“Fuck off, Vargas.” He gives me a middle finger, and I hiss, then laugh.
“Dude, not cool,” Jake says as he plops into a seat across from me.
“Sorry you got hit with the shrapnel. I had to shut it down, though.”
I reach my fist out, and Jake pounds it and nods.
“Fine, but next time, just punch him in the teeth. We’d all lie for you and say it was an accident,” Jake says.
I laugh hard. Brooks leans into the aisle from a few seats up to get my attention, nodding in agreement with Jake’s idea. “Dude, I’d pay you to do it. Just sayin’,” Brooks adds.
“How much?” I joke.
Brooks pulls out his wallet, but all he has is a twenty, so I sneer and wave it off. “Not enough.”
“Damn.” He chuckles as he situates himself back into his seat. Poor guy is exhausted. He recently found out he’s a single dad, and before he figured out a nanny situation, his hours were all kinds of messed up. Seems he has a system sorted out now, though. He hired this woman Roddy knows . . . Lindsey. I hope it works out.
I pull my phone out to check my messages, and hover over Colby’s contact for a beat, tempted to message her an apology for Adler acting like an ass. It’s best not to push things, though, and right now, I don’t know that I can fake my texts to sound banal or basic. I have too many things I want to say to her. And things I want to do to her. With her.
