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“Oh, well, Cam was bleeding,” I point out, trying not to sound as annoyed as I feel. “Sorry about that.”
“So you and Camdyn are talking again?” She tries to sound casual but misses by a mile, flipping open her notebook as if she’s about to interview me for the school paper.
“We’re…” What are we? Making bad decisions? Getting stitches? Conducting muscle memory experiments? “It’s complicated.”
“I thought you told me you couldn’t do relationships right now,” she presses, her grip tightening on her pen. Maybe she’s about to stab me with it. “You said baseball was your priority and?—”
“Inez.” I cut her off before this turns into another one of her deep-dive articles. “I meant what I said. I’m sorry things ended suddenly, but I’m not in a place for... whatever you’re looking for.”
She adjusts her glasses again, this time with a shaky breath. “Oh. Okay.”
I try to be gentle but firm. “I can’t have a relationship and give what I need to baseball, so I’m sorry for ghosting you, but it’s how it is with me right now. I’m sorry if I led you on.”
“But you and Camdyn?—”
“Are none of your business,” I finish, probably too sharply, judging by how she flinches. I soften my voice. "Sorry, that came out wrong.”
From across the quad, Fork Guy’s voice rings out, “THE CARDS SAY WE’RE DESTINED TO BE TOGETHER, EMERALD!”
Followed by Emerald: “THAT’S THE DEATH CARD!”
A beat. The wind stirs, and Fork Guy bellows, “DEATH OF MY LONELY ERA, MAYBE!”
For a second, no one moves. Then, thankfully, Inez tucks her notebook under her arm and walks away, shoulders hunched.
I pull out my phone when it buzzes. “What a weird day,” I mumble, heading for the athletic hall for our second practice.
Camdyn
Fork Guy texted me about destiny
Should I be concerned?
How’d he get my number??
He’s trying to seduce Crystal Girl with tarot cards
I think he stole it from my phone somehow
In the distance, Fork Guy appears to be laying out crystals in the shape of a heart while Emerald sage-smudges the entire area.
Just another Tuesday at UW. At least we’re not getting alerts about a guy with a machete again. Though, that was an interesting day.
CHAPTER 23
BALK
JAXON
An illegal action by the pitcher when there’s a runner, or runners on base.
Seattle’s signature clouds smother Husky Field, matching my mood as I crouch behind home plate. The mist hangs heavy, making the ball slick in my mitt after an hour of bullpen work with Jameson. His fastball pops—ninety-three, maybe ninety-four. His control’s better, but he’s still leaving that four-seamer up in the zone more than Coach likes.
“Better,” I call, wiping droplets from my mask before tossing it back. “Keep that front shoulder in.”
Between pitches, my mind drifts to Camdyn. Five days. Feels like five weeks since I’ve seen her, touched her. That phone call two nights ago... heat crawls up my neck remembering it. Her voice, soft, telling me exactly what she’d do when she got back. The way she?—
Jameson’s next pitch nearly takes my head off.