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As our lecture begins, Jameson falls asleep, and I think back to the summer when Jaxon and I started the situationship. Maybe if I hadn’t started sleeping with him again and let go when we broke up, this wouldn’t hurt so much.
Maybe a clean break would have been easier.
Truth is, I held on hoping he’d change his mind. Hoping I’d wake up one morning and he’d realize what we had was worth fighting for. That I was worth choosing.
I don’t know if our story is finished. Fuck, I don’t even know what chapter we’re on anymore. All I know is watching him write a new story with someone else feels like reading the worst ending possible.
Someday I’ll love again and maybe fall harder than I did for the one with blue eyes and the sexiest side eye I’ve ever seen.
Another truth?
Jaxon’s forcing me to find myself. To figure out who I am without him. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
In baseball and softball, sometimes the pitcher decides to walk someone on purpose. Instead of letting them swing and seeing what happens, they just toss four balls and send them to first base.
No drama, no risk—it’s just, “Here, take the base, we don’t want to deal with you at the plate.”
Honestly, that’s kind of how Jaxon broke up with me. It’s like he didn’t want to see how things would play out between us. No real fight, no messy arguments—just this quiet, almost polite way of saying, “Let’s not even try.” And now I’m standing on first, missing him, wondering what would’ve happened if he’d just let us swing. Maybe we would’ve struck out, maybe we would’ve hit a home run, but at least I’d have known the ending.
Instead, it’s like I got walked. I’m here—safe, I guess—but not satisfied. And I can’t help but look back at the plate.
Somewhere between the bases of when we began and when we ended, I’m learning not everything is in my control. Sometimes you have to let go and see what happens next.
As my coaches say, you have to trust the pitch you’re about to throw.
Even if it breaks your heart in the process.
By the timeProfessor Nguyen dismisses us, Jameson jerks awake so fast he nearly knocks his notebook to the floor. He blinks twice, squinting at the clock like maybe he can time travel back to the start of class.
As we gather our stuff, I glance up and catch Professor Nguyen looking right at us. Or, more specifically, at Jameson. She raises her eyebrows—just a smidge—and gives him a look that says, I saw you drooling on your arm, Mr. Ninety-Nine-Mile-Per-Hour Fastball. Jameson tries to play it cool, but the tips of his ears go pink.
We head out into the hallway, backpacks slung over one shoulder. I dig out my phone, already scrolling through the notes app.
Jameson slides up next to me, grinning. “Hey, uh… so, did you maybe take notes for me? Since, y’know—” He gestures vaguely to his face, still creased from sleep. “I was doing my best impression of a corpse for, like, ninety percent of class.”
I snort. “You mean your best impression of someone who thinks Crocs are appropriate for all occasions?”
“Hey, Crocs are versatile. Unlike my anatomy knowledge, apparently. So… you got me?”
I flash my phone screen. “I got you. Even wrote ‘Jameson slept through this part’ in the margins so you know what to study.”
He laughs, relief obvious. We fall into step as we head out into the drizzle, the last stragglers from class passing us by. Behind us, I can feel Professor Nguyen’s eyes still on Jameson, probably mentally prepping his next pop quiz.
He glances back, then leans in close. “Remind me to buy you coffee next time,” he says. “Or at least bribe you with one of those muffins you love.”
“I’ll do anything for carbs.”
Jameson raises an eyebrow. “Anything?”
I shove him away, laughing. I have to admit, it’s nice to have a distraction.
CHAPTER 4
FIELDER’S CHOICE
JAXON
The decision of a fielder to throw the ball to an alternative base, other than first, in an attempt to record an out.