Maybe I was naive to think I could avoid him forever, especially when my own mother married a baseball coach. Yet still, there’s over thirty teams in the major leagues. And countless other teams at different levels. Kai could have been onany one of them. What were the chances that he would be on the exact same team as the one my mom’s new husband coaches?
Apparently, really good.
Lucky me.
As I scan the green field, looking for the all-too-familiar stance of the man I’ve watched play ball countless times, I think back to the exact moment when I saw him for the first time in eight years. He looked shocked, of course. But there was something else, something that called out to me.
There you are, I’ve missed youis what my soul seemed to say. And I could swear I saw the same thing reflected back in his expression. But when he pulled me into the dugout, that longing was gone, replaced by the anger and pain I was, sadly, not all that surprised to see.
Eight years have passed without us exchanging a single word. He made it clear when I finally told him I thought we should end things that if that’s how I felt, then he never wanted to speak to me again. That hurt. Even if I did deserve it, seeing as I was the one who left, and I was the one who told him I couldn’t be with him any longer.
I told him I needed to stay in Italy to figure my life out.
That was a lie. Well, a partial one, at least.
The truth was, the long distance was incredibly hard. I missed him every day. And missing him that much, realizing I loved him that much, was scary in a way. Because how could I be with someone, give them my heart and soul, center my life around theirs, if I didn’t even know what I wanted out of my own?
So, for the last eight years, I’ve focused on myself. On my career. I know what I want now, to own a restaurant some day. And I won’t stop until I get it.
Still, ending things with Kai the way we did never stopped hurting. Like a thorn buried under your fingernail so deep, you can’t get it out. An ache you can never quite get rid of.
I don’t regret going to Italy to meet my father and my family. I do regret hurting Kai and leaving him and my mom.
Seeing him again brought that thorn to the surface at last. The pain was sharp, but the relief was just as powerful.
He looks good. The same as before, only more… Obviously, he’s older than when I last saw him, but the same kindness was in his eyes, the tiny lines on the sides showing he still smiles a lot. He’s filled out, with muscles everywhere on his lean frame.
He’s not the only one who’s filled out. And as hard as I’ve worked to overcome my body insecurities, a small voice inside wonders what he thought of my new shape. I love my curves, and I know I’m strong and healthy, but what does he think?
I give my head a mental shake. What Kai thinks of my body does not matter, at all. I’m here for a few months. If we even see each other, and yes, I’m telling myself that’s anif, not awhen, it’ll be as two people who used to know each other. Nothing more.
Tell that to my stupid heart that just sped up as Kai jogs out of the dugout and lines up with his teammates for the singing of the national anthem. He takes his hat off, and I swear his gaze shifts up in the direction of the box. He doesn’t know I’m here, does he?
Of course, he probably does. Tony might have told the team. Although he doesn’t seem like a chatty one. Still, I stand up a little straighter, fighting the urge to fidget with the deep green Tridents shirt I’m wearing.
When we’re finished with the anthems and the ceremonial first pitch, thrown by an adorable little girl who hugs Kai’s legs before running back to her mom, I exhale. He won’t be looking up here. He’ll be focused on the game.
His ability to tune everything out when he was on the pitcher’s mound was incredible. I used to tease him that I could stand in the first row with my shirt off and he wouldn’t notice.
He denied that, rather vehemently.
“That’s the guy you know from college. Kai, right?”
Apparently he’s not the only one capable of focusing to the point of being oblivious to everything else. I hadn’t realized Mom had sat down beside me until her shoulder nudges mine.
“Yeah,” I reply, hoping she’ll leave it at that.
“He’s cute. Maybe you two can find time to catch up while you’re here.”
“Maybe.”
Please let it go, Mom.
Thank God Mom’s attention seems easily swayed today as she swivels in her seat and waves at someone behind us. “Oh, there’s Willow! She seems nice.”
“Mm-hmm.” I have to acknowledge her somehow, even though I want to remind her I’m here to spend time with her, not make new friends. Or visit with old ones.
Then again, I suppose it could be nice to have someone else to hang out with when she’s busy with Tony or something. And Willow, who, if I remember correctly, is the owner’s niece and head of media relations or something, did seem cool when we met at Family Day.
