Page 138

He gazes down at me. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe words are too damn hard right now.
“I don’t deserve someone as understanding as you.”
My heart pounds in my ears and I want to fucking throw up. I want to argue. I want to fight. But sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let someone go. “Yes, you do,” I say, sniffing back tears. “Just because you’ve hurt me and made mistakes doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. You’re human, and we all fuck up.”
He nods, but it’s the kind of nod that means nothing. The kind that’s just… existing.
“Cam,” he chokes out. “Please don’t do this. I’m really fucking sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”
“I think… it’s what I need.” My head pounds with the words, barely able to get them out. “Some time to find myself after everything that’s happened.”
And then he’s holding me. And I’m holding him. And the rain keeps falling. Some stories don’t have happy endings. Some stories are just… moments. Beautiful, painful moments.
This is ours.
He pulls back slightly. Not letting go, but creating enough space to look at me. His hands come up, framing my face. Rain drips from his fingers, mixing with my tears.
“Baby,” he breathes, and I cry harder. His voice is soft. Broken. “I’ll always love you. No matter what happens. No matter how much time passes.”
And then he kisses me.
Not like we’re trying to solve something. Not like we’re fighting or making up. Just… a promise. A goodbye. A moment suspended between what we were and what we might become.
It’s gentle. Devastating.
When he pulls away, I can’t tell where the rain ends and the tears begin.
Some love stories don’t end. They… pause.
Maybe one day they pick back up, or maybe they stay tucked away, bittersweet and unfinished.
He squeezes my hands, and for a second, neither of us lets go. The field around us is empty except for the echo of our goodbye, the slap of rain, the smell of wet earth and heartbreak. I want to carve this moment into my memory—so I never forget how it feels to love someone enough to set both of us free.
Jaxon brushes a strand of soaked hair from my forehead. His thumb lingers, gentle. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers, whether it’s a question or a promise, I’m not sure.
We just stand there, breathing, letting the downpour wash over us. For a second, the world is all water and heartbreak and the bittersweet taste of something ending.
We don’t say goodbye. We don’t have to. It’s written in the space between us, in the ache in our chests and the way our hands finally slip apart.
I watch him walk away across the soggy field, his figure blurring in the gray Seattle rain. I want to call after him, but I don’t. I let him go.
The rain keeps falling, steady and cold, but I stand there a little longer. I close my eyes and breathe, and for the first time in days, the air feels sharp and real in my lungs.
Some stories don’t have happy endings. But the best ones don’t really end at all—they change, grow, wait for another inning.
Maybe one day, our story will pick up where it left off. Or maybe it won’t. But I know now that I can walk forward, even if my heart is still learning how to beat without him.
CHAPTER 26
KNUCKLEBALL
JAXON
A pitch that’s thrown with no spin, causing it to flutter in the air.
Ifeel like my blood is boiling and I can’t turn down the heat. The stadium thermometer reads 102°, but it feels more like standing in Satan’s mouth. My jersey’s soaked through, sweat dripping down my neck as I crouch behind the plate. The roar from the ASU crowd is deafening—they smell blood in the water.
Another Sun Devil reaches base—their third hit this inning. I jog out to the mound, but Jameson is already shaking his head before I get there.