Page 10 of Curve Ball (The San Jose Coyotes #2)

GAEL

I ’m on the field, my heart pounding in my chest as I round the bases after hitting a home run.

The crowd is a whirlwind of noise and color, but all I can focus on is the fact that I just saw a ghost. Adriana is here, in the stands, watching me play.

Her dark hair, her curvaceous body, and those fucking eyes that haunt my dreams—it’s all I can do to keep my shit together and not run to her right then and there.

Because let’s be so fucking for real. I was about ready to scale the wall and climb into the stands to talk with her.

I slide into home plate, and my teammate claps me on the back, but I barely register it. My mind is elsewhere, back on those stands, on her. I can’t believe she’s here. It’s been months since that night, since we hooked up and she ghosted me.

Coach pulls me aside, giving me a stern look. “You good, Gael? You zoned out there for a sec.”

“Yeah, I’m good, Coach,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Just needed to catch my breath.”

“Great hit! Keep it up.” He pats my back and sends me back to the dugout.

I grab my water bottle and take a long swig, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

I need to talk to her; I need to find out why she’s here and why she hasn’t responded to any of my texts.

But like an idiot, I deleted her number.

Fuck.

Really regretting that right about now.

I spend the rest of the game in a daze, going through the motions but not really present. My teammates must think I'm losing my mind, but I can't focus on anything but her. Everything I’ve worked so hard towards and I’m just pissing it away because I’ve got her stuck in my head.

The final out is made, and we win the game. The fans go wild, and it’s barely a hum in my ears as I'm already pulling off my glove, grabbing my bag, and heading for the tunnel.

I need to find her.

Naturally, I dress quickly and slip out the back to the parking lot, scanning the crowd for any sign of her. That's when I spot Kai standing with Isla by their car. They're deep in conversation, but he looks up and spots me, waving me over.

“Hey, man," Kai says, clapping me on the back. “Great game out there. That was a killer home run.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, my eyes scanning the crowd behind them, still hoping to spot Adriana.

He notices my distraction and follows my gaze. “You looking for someone?”

I hesitate, then decide to come clean. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

Kai’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Someone I’ve been trying to get ahold of.”

All he does is nod, understanding in his eyes. “Is this the person who’s got your head up your ass? Just call her.”

It’s not that easy.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll do that. See you tomorrow.” I take his hand and pull him into a shoulder hug and head to my car, plotting how I’m going to approach this with Adriana.

Later that night, I'm back at my place, showered and changed, vegging out on my bed. I can't stop thinking about her, about the way she looked at me tonight, the way she ran away. The way I try to go over every single thing I did and said. She looked at me like she was scared.

I would never hurt her.

Coming on strong may have been the death of this, but I need her to know that she doesn’t have to be afraid of me.

Fuck it.

I decide to take matters into my own hands and send her a message on Instagram.

MendozaG14

Adriana, please. I just want to talk. Can you give me your number so I can call you? I think texting and messaging each other is leaving way too much to be interpreted the wrong way.

I hit send and wait, my heart pounding in my chest. I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't respond, if she keeps ignoring me.

But I have to try, have to make her see that I'm not a bad guy.

The only thing that helps keep my nerves in check is pacing my living room, my head filled with all the things I want to say to her, all the questions I need answers to. Why did she ghost me? Why did she go to the game tonight?

And most importantly, can she give me a chance to prove to her I’m worth giving a shot ?

My phone buzzes, and I nearly drop it in my haste to answer. It's a message from Adriana, and my heart leaps into my throat as I open it.

adriamor

I don’t want to talk, Gael.

I stare at the message, my mind blank. I don’t want to talk. What the fuck does that mean? I type out a response, then delete it, then type another, my frustration growing with each passing second.

MendozaG14

Adriana, please. I just want to understand. Why won't you talk to me now? Tell me what I did.

I hit send and wait, but the little gray dots that show she's typing don't appear. Fuck, this is torture. Maybe I should try a different approach to appeal to the connection from that night. The chemistry that I know would still be between us if she just gave me a chance.

MendozaG14

I still feel it, you know, that soul-pulling tug from when I stared into your eyes. Every fucking day. And seeing you tonight, it's like nothing has changed.

I hit send and wait, my heart in my throat. I don't know what else to say; I don't know how to make her see that I'm serious, that I want this, want her. My phone buzzes, and I snatch it up, eager to read her response.

adriamor

I remember, Gael. But some things are better left in the past .

I stare at her message, my mind reeling. Better left in the past? No, I don’t believe that for a fucking second. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe she never felt the same way I did. It was just one night, and I was desperate to cling to someone. To feel like I could actually have something real.

Was I just a quick fuck to get over someone?

I type out a response, my fingers shaking as I tap each letter.

MendozaG14

Veo cómo es. Está bien, si así es como te sientes y solo quieres dejarlo atrás, no te mensajearé de nuevo. Realmente esperaba que me dieras una oportunidad, mama. Creo que podríamos haber sido buenos juntos.

I hit send and toss my phone onto the couch, running a hand over my hair in frustration. Fuck her, fuck this, fuck everything . I thought I was getting over her, thought I had moved on, but seeing her tonight has brought it all back—all the pain, all the longing, all the fucking hope.

Grabbing a beer from the fridge and flopping down on the couch, I take a long swig as I stare up at the ceiling. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make her see we could be good together, that we can make this work.

My phone buzzes again, and I snatch it up, hoping it's her, hoping she's changed her mind. But it's just a notification from Instagram, telling me that someone liked one of my posts. I toss the phone aside, not caring who it is, not caring about anything anymore.

The rest of my night is spent on the couch, drinking beer and wallowing in my own misery. I can't believe she's doing this to me, can't believe she's pushing me away like this. But I know I can't force her to talk to me.

I’m not that type of guy.

No, I’ll just sit here and tell myself it was all my fault. That I’m not good enough, never was good enough for someone like her.

Too drunk to head to the bed, I drift off to sleep on the couch; I make a promise to myself—to let her go, to move on, to find someone who wants me as much as I want them.

Even if it kills me, I'll do it.

The next morning, I wake up with a pounding headache and a mouth that tastes like I ate something that had been sitting in the fridge for a month.

I stumble to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, downing it in one gulp.

I need to get my shit together. I need to focus on the game and not on Adriana and her fucking hot-and-cold act.

New mantra: Fuck everything but my family and baseball.

I pull out my phone and check Instagram, hoping against hope that she's messaged me back, that she's changed her mind. But there's nothing, just the same old notifications and likes. I toss the phone on the island and head for the shower, determined to wash away the memories of last night, of her.

Finishing my shower and getting dressed, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. I need to get out of the house, need to clear my head. I grab my keys and head for the door, my mind already on heading to breakfast because I need to get some food in me before I throw up.

Hitting my favorite taco truck, I sit on one of the picnic tables and demolish at least ten carne asada ones before stopping.

It’s moments like this I wish I lived closer to the beach.

I could really go for a long walk on the shore with the water lapping at my feet.

So that’s what I decide to do. Santa Cruz is only forty-ish minutes away.

The drive gives me so much peace from my thoughts as I blast the music as loud as my ears will allow, and when I get to the boardwalk, I park, take my sweats off, and head straight for the beach in just my basketball shorts, shirt, and trainers.

With the waves crashing against my bare feet and legs, I can't help but think of her, of the way she made me feel, the way she still makes me feel. Seeing her last night made me realize I still want her, that so much was unfinished between us.

I’m not built for one-night stands.

I sit down on the sand, pulling my knees to my chest and keep my eyes on the water. I lose track of time and watch the sun dip below the horizon.

You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Gael.

Can't keep living like this.

I can't keep pining after a woman who doesn't want me.

Tears run down my cheeks and I don’t bother wiping them away as the sea breeze mingles with them as the tide inches closer. Standing up, I brush the sand off my shorts, taking one last look at the now-dark horizon.

It's time to let go, time to move on, time to find my happiness, even if it's not with her.

Over the next few days, I throw myself into my game.

I'm more focused than ever, more determined to be the best damn baseball player I can be.

I don't have time for distractions, for heartache, or for what-ifs.

I have a job to do, and I'm going to do it better than anyone else.

I spend my days at practice or games, pushing myself to the limit, and my nights at home, alone, trying to fill the void that Adriana left in my soul.

I watch movies. I read books; I even try my hand at cooking.

Definitely not my gift.

I’ll stick with baseball.

But nothing fills the emptiness, nothing takes away the ache in my chest.

I keep my phone on silent, ignoring the notifications, the likes, and the messages. I don't want to see her face. I don't want to be reminded of what I can't have. I just want to focus on myself, on my future.