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My world’s crashing and I can’t stop it. The more I read, the less I recognize Jaxon. How could he tell her those things?
I dig my nails into my palms. My therapist said to ground myself. Didn’t work. Oh God. The baby. Our baby. Something so private, reduced to clickbait and rumors. I’m a Lifetime movie cliché, minus the redemption.
Memories flood in—cramping, blood, hospital lights. Things I told Jaxon because I thought I could trust him. Stop spiraling.
The bus hits a bump. My phone almost slips from my hand. Outside, the world streaks by, but all I feel is sick. No one else knew. The bleeding, the hospital, the pain—only Jaxon.
The air thickens, every breath a struggle. I glance around, suddenly sure everyone’s read it, judging me. Sarah and Emma are sharing earbuds, oblivious. Coach Drew’s asleep up front. They all look normal while my life’s on fire.
Brynn shifts, exchanging a look with Katie. They know. The weirdness, the hovering—it all clicks. They read it hours ago.
“Did you know?” I whisper, my voice cracking.
She hesitates—enough of an answer. “Oh my God. You knew.”
The betrayal cuts deeper. Not just Jaxon, but my teammates too. From everyone trying to protect me from what I already can’t escape.
I scroll back to Inez’s byline. Madness on the Mound. Of course. Mound? We don’t even have mounds in softball. It’s called a circle, you dumb shit.
I think of Jaxon again. The thought of him sharing our worst moment with someone else makes me want to scream.
I power off my phone and lean my forehead on the window, letting the vibrations numb me. The no-hitter feels like it was years ago. Victory turned to ash. What if my parents read it? I never told them about the baby. Now the whole world knows.
After last year, Coach Drew and my parents pushed therapy. I never told them about the miscarriage, or much about Jaxon. They assumed my televised breakdown was freshman pressure.
Coach Drew saw a nineteen-year-old crying in the dugout, blood on her legs, the game crushing her.
So I went to therapy.
Dr. Melanie, my therapist, asked, “What do you want?”
I told her, “What I want doesn’t matter.”
I’d spent so long trying to please everyone, I couldn’t even say what I wanted. And honestly, after last year, I didn’t think I deserved another shot.
I remember her last piece of advice:
Don’t change yourself to love someone else.
That hits different today.
When you’re fourteen and fall in love, it’s easy—and usually doesn’t last. Maybe it’s not supposed to. Maybe you’re meant to move on.
Not me. I stayed. It brought happiness, sadness, confusion—every emotion you can name.
And look where that got me. Sitting on a bus, world falling apart.
“Brynn,” I say quietly. “Who told her about this?”
She goes still.
“Brynn?” I gasp. “The only person who knew was Jaxon. Did Inez say anything about writing it?”
“Maybe we should talk later,” she mumbles.
“Brynn,” I croak, my voice foreign. “I need you to text Inez.”
“I already did.” Brynn won’t look up, chewing her lip. “She’s not answering.”