Page 203

And suddenly, reality hits me hard. I glance at Camdyn, remembering her own freshman year, how she got pregnant, how she lost the baby in the middle of super regionals. I remember how everything changed for her—how it could have changed for both of us. My heart aches for her, and now for Jameson and Callie too. The future, which always seemed so clear, suddenly has a thousand different roads.
I wrap my arm around Camdyn, holding her close, grateful for the chaos, the love, the second chances—and for this weird, wild trip that gave us a little time to be kids, before life gets real again.
The suite is still buzzingfrom Callie’s bombshell. Everyone’s scattered—Brynn’s hugging Callie, Mom’s already on the phone looking up prenatal clinics in three countries, and Fork Guy is trying to manifest “positive baby vibes” with a circle of spoons on the carpet.
But Jameson’s nowhere to be seen.
I find him in the bathroom, the door half-closed, sitting on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. The guy who never shuts up is suddenly silent, staring at the tile like it’s going to spell out an answer.
I knock gently. “Hey. You alright?”
He lets out a shaky, almost laugh. “Am I alright? I don’t even know. I’m gonna be a dad—maybe? I mean, what if I’m not?” He scrubs his face, voice raw. “Callie was with Sawyer… that’s whywe’ve been fighting so much. She’d been seeing both of us at the same time. What if it’s his kid?”
I try to put myself in Jameson’s shoes for a minute. If Camdyn had been fucking around with other guys at the same time we’d been in our weird situationship, I would have been livid. Pissed beyond belief. But, she wasn’t. Callie was and we all knew it.
I can’t offer him much advice on that but I can on the baby part. Jameson doesn’t know about Camdyn getting pregnant freshman year. He doesn't know the regrets I have over it, but at least I can give him some advice. I sit on the floor next to him, back against the door. “You won’t know for sure until you talk to her. But either way, man, you’ve got to show up. For her. For the baby, if it’s yours. And for yourself. You love her, even if it’s messy. That counts for something.”
He lets out another breath, not quite a laugh but not a sob either. “I just… I thought I had more time before… well, whatever. I don’t know. To be a kid. To figure it all out. Now I’m just… I don’t fucking know but I can kiss my career down the drain.”
I nod. “Yeah, me too. None of us have it all figured out, though. We… keep showing up. Even if we’re scared.”
The door swings all the way open and Fork Guy bursts in, tiara askew, juggling three hotel spoons. “Emergency dad meeting!” he announces, dropping the spoons on the bathmat. “Jameson, paternity is tricky, but love is easy. Babies need support, snacks, and boobs. And possibly a lawyer, but well, boobs.”
King slips in behind him, hat backwards, looking more serious than usual. He sits on the edge of the sink. “Dude. We’ll figure it out. If you need someone to teach the kid how to hit bombs—I’m your guy.”
Jameson stares at the floor for a minute, then at us—me, Fork Guy, King. For a second, he looks like he might actually cry, but instead he shakes his head, the panic giving way to something almost like relief. “This is the weirdest support group ever.”
Fork Guy pats his shoulder. “That’s what makes us great. Also, I think you should name the baby something powerful—like Kody. Or, if it’s that other guy’s kid, call it ‘Soccer Ball’ and call it a day.”
Jameson actually laughs. “You’re all idiots,” he says, but there’s a smile there now, too. The four of us sit in the bathroom, the whole world on pause for a minute, and I realize none of us have any idea what we’re doing. We’re simply standing at the plate waiting for the next pitch.
We’re leavingfor the airport at some ungodly hour, everyone running on four hours of sleep and a dangerous mix of Turkish coffee and leftover baklava. The suite is chaos—suitcases exploding, Mom triple-checking passports, King and Brynn arguing over who packed the better souvenirs.
It’s me and Camdyn in the hallway when Jameson and Callie approach, voices sharp and low but impossible to ignore.
“You could have told me you were fucking him,” Jameson spits, wheeling his suitcase so fast it slams into the wall.
“I wasn’t though,” Callie says, her voice breaking as she struggles with her own bags. “I swear, I wasn’t.”
Jameson lets out a raw, bitter snort. “Bitch, you’re fucking pregnant and you don’t even know whose baby it is.”
Camdyn grabs my arm, eyes wide, and we both freeze. I’ve never heard Jameson talk to a girl like that in his life. He’s usually all jokes and swagger, but now there’s nothing but hurt and something sharp behind his eyes. I want to say something, do something—anything—but I stand there, watching the two of them unravel.
Callie stops, tears rolling steadily down her cheeks. She can barely catch her breath. “I… wasn’t sleeping with him like a lot.”
Jameson laughs, this horrible, hollow sound that echoes down the hotel corridor. “I don’t care. I reallydo notfucking care anymore.” He storms off, not looking back, his anger trailing behind him like a storm cloud.
Callie stands there, shaking, wiping her face with the back of her hand, and for a second she looks so small, so lost, I almost step forward. But what could I even say? I look at Camdyn, searching her face for answers, but she looks as helpless as I feel. There’s nothing either of us can do to fix it—not here, not now.
Fork Guy limps into the lobby, clutching his ankle and looking more offended than hurt. “I was saying goodbye to the local wildlife,” he says, gesturing dramatically at what looks like a suspiciously fluffy Dubai mongoose lurking outside the hotel doors. “Apparently, they don’t appreciate a friendly tarot reading.” He pulls up his sock to reveal a tiny bite mark. “Do you think it’s venomous, or just emotionally charged?”
Mom barely glances up from her boarding passes at Fork Guy. “If you start frothing at the mouth, just try not to do it on the Emirates carpet. That’s a cleaning fee I refuse to pay.”
The tension in the air is so thick it’s hard to breathe, and even Fork Guy’s antics only barely cut through it. I glance back at Jameson, his shoulders hunched as he disappears toward the elevator, and then at Callie, who’s hugging herself and looking everywhere but at us.
Camdyn squeezes my hand, her grip tight. I wish I could say something to make it better, but all I can do is stand there and hope that, somehow, we’ll figure out how to put the pieces back together again.
Jameson and Callie are not even pretending to speak to each other. He’s glued to his phone, headphones in, staring out the shuttle window like he’s in a music video about heartbreak. Callie’s sitting three rows up, sunglasses on indoors, scrolling through photos and deleting every one that features Jameson’s face.