Page 10

Chapter nine

Kai

“Great game, Yami. Whatever you’re doing differently, it’s working, so make damn sure you take care of that arm tonight. We need the same from you next time.” Coach Stirling gives me a nod of his head, which is about the most enthusiastic praise we get from the guy.

“Thanks, Coach.” My mouth is dry and I have to swallow nervously. It’s fucking awkward talking to him, knowing I’ll be texting Isabelle as soon as I get back to my room.

She’s an adult, and he’s not her real dad. But his words from spring training have stuck with me. At least, the part I remember listening to. It makes sense he’d warn us off her, most of the team is young and single, and Iz is, without a doubt, a fucking knockout.

Some part of me can appreciate that he’s protective of her. She deserves that. But I could do without the uncomfortable feeling of keeping secrets from him. Even if we aren’t doing anything wrong.

Friends. She wants to be friends again.

I thought about it a lot after she left my place last week.

Hell, I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

After she left, I wondered if I’d been too hard on her, telling her exactly what her leaving did to me.

But in the end, I’m glad we cleared the air.

At least, part of the way. Having Isabelle as a friend is better than not having her at all, and if we’re gonna do the friends thing, we have to be honest with each other.

We’ve been texting every day. Light shit only, nothing serious. But it feels fucking good to have her back in my life, there’s no avoiding that truth.

There’s also no avoiding the fact that I’ve pitched two damn near perfect games, ever since she wrote her initials on the inside of my cap. Not that I can tell Coach she’s the reason I’m on fire.

My stomach lets out an angry growl as I hit the showers.

New York’s got a decent facility, I must say, but their locker room is lacking.

I’m no princess, but I do like the soft towels and luxury body wash we have back in Vancouver.

I make a mental note to pack some the next time we go away.

After all, Iz likes the way I smell… not that I should be thinking about that, but, ah hell. I am.

I shower off quickly, my stomach now making it very clear it wants food. Most athletes at my level have big appetites and fast metabolisms. But mine is next-level. Always has been. Mom and Dad used to keep a bag of snacks in the car for me because, on almost every trip, I’d get hungry.

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I hurry back to my cubby.

“You comin’ out with us tonight?” Darling asks from the next cubby over.

“Nah. I’m tired. Gonna grab some food and hit the sack.”

He grabs my shoulder and forces me to spin around, a cocky grin on his face. “Hold on. Are you feeling okay, brother? Since when do you turn down a night out?”

We don’t often go out after games, especially when we have another one the next day.

But the guys are riding the high of back-to-back wins the last five games.

I know they’re not planning much, just dinner at a high-end steakhouse.

But even the draw of a twelve-ounce sirloin can’t tempt me away from going back to my room and texting Isabelle.

And I love red meat.

“I’m fine, just not feeling steak tonight.” Lies, all lies.

Darling frowns, staring at me. “You sure everything’s okay?” he asks in a softer voice.

“Totally. Wanna grab breakfast tomorrow, then go for a run?” I ask, shoving my feet in my shoes and grabbing my wallet and keys. He nods, and I give him a fast smile before heading out the door to where the cars wait to take us back to the hotel.

Half an hour later, I’ve put in an order with room service, kicked off my shoes, and have my phone open to catch up on the messages I missed during the game.

IZ: OMG how the hell was that a strike? That ump is blind.

IZ: I see you haven’t fixed that weird elbow thing you do sometimes.

I laugh at that one and reply to it before reading the rest.

KAI: Still a couch-coach I see…

Her reply is instantaneous.

IZ: I call it like I see it, Yamaki.

IZ: Good game tonight.

KAI: Thanks. It was the hat.

IZ: I know.

I grin at the phone and scroll back up to continue reading the messages she sent earlier.

IZ: Damn I just had my heart in my throat watching Sinclair run home. That was CLOSE.

She’s right. I’m not sure I would’ve risked that run, but Sin managed to slide in, a second before the ball hit the catcher’s glove.

IZ: Okay, I have to admit. You’re somehow even better than you were in college. That’s not fair you know.

That makes me chuckle and thumb out another reply.

KAI: I’m like a fine wine. I get better with age. And conditioning. And a solid rehab team. And lots of ice baths.

IZ: LOL Wait you mean you aren’t stuck with physiotherapy students who don’t know their scapula from their scaphoid?

KAI: Nope. Thank fuck. That kid was such a dumbass.

Another memory, of the time I injured my shoulder during a game, and the trainer for my college team was mentoring a student that I hope to God never went into sports medicine.

Iz and I had been dating long enough for her to know a few things, and she was appropriately horrified, and amused, by the treatment this kid tried to give me — on my thumb instead of my shoulder.

KAI: You know too much…

IZ: What do you mean?

KAI: I’ve got no secrets around you.

IZ: I’m sure you’ve got a few now. It’s been eight years.

Eight years. And yet, somehow, it feels like no time at all has passed. We’ve actually managed to slip back into the easy friendship that we started with. Something I never would’ve expected to be possible.

There’s a knock on my door. Thank fuck, food. I need to feed myself before my stomach eats me.

KAI: Room service just got here. brB.

IZ: Okay

I get my food, tip the hotel staff that delivered it, and return to the bed. After taking a giant bite of the steamed salmon and rice that is nowhere near as good as the steak with the guys would’ve been, I pick up my phone again.

KAI: So whatcha doing these days?

IZ: Hanging with my mom, exploring the city. Oh and I met an amazing couple that own a restaurant, I’m hanging out with them tomorrow.

I can hear the excitement in her words, even over text. And suddenly I’m filled with the need to see her. Without thinking too hard about it, I push the button to connect to a video call. Her smiling face fills the screen immediately, and I swear I feel the tension leave my body.

“You gonna learn some new recipes to cook for me?” I tease, settling back against the bed and scooping up a bite of my dinner.

“Maybe, got any requests?”

“You know I’ll eat whatever you make me. Hell, I suffered through that disaster you called a soufflé back in college, didn’t I?” I can’t resist poking fun at her, and the disgruntled look she gives me has me chuckling.

“You try making a goddamn chocolate soufflé in a college dorm kitchen,” she huffs, and fuck, she’s so damn cute.

My fingers itch to pick up a pencil and draw her. The lighting wherever she is casts soft shadows over her face but every line is as familiar to me as it was years ago.

I’ve never drawn another person. Animals, objects, nature, sure. I have books filled with sketches. But people? Nope. No one but her.

Hell, no one even knows I draw for stress relief except Isabelle.

I’ve kept it a secret ever since I first picked up a pencil back in high school.

Back then, I was an idiot teenager who worried I’d get teased for the hobby.

Over time, it became my thing. My way to escape and turn off my brain, connect to something else.

Isabelle only knows because she found a sketchbook of mine when we first started hanging out. She encouraged it and agreed to keep it a secret. What she doesn’t know is that my favourite thing to draw has always been her.

“I should let you go, I’m guessing you need to finish eating and get some sleep.”

I blink out of the vision in my head of what I want to draw, and find her looking at me through the phone, an indescribable expression on her face. She looks sad, but also, hopeful somehow.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I’ll be home in a few days. Maybe we could hang out again?”

Her nod is instantaneous. “Yes. I’d like that.”

“Okay. Cool. I’ll talk to you soon, I guess.”

“I’d like that, too.”

Our conversation has become stilted, and I’m not used to that with Isabelle.

Not when everything was always so easy before.

But this isn’t college. And I can’t just expect everything to go back to the way it was.

Still, as we stare at each other, I have to admit that something has sparked between us.

Some forgotten ember from the past that maybe wasn’t as extinguished as I thought it was.

But that’s something I don’t feel ready to look at too closely just yet. “Goodnight, Iz.”

“’Night, Kai.”

We hang up, and I force myself to finish my now-cold dinner. My previously ravenous appetite has disappeared. All I want to do is go to my suitcase and open the inner pocket, pull out the small sketchbook I always have with me, and draw.

When the last bite of salmon is gone, I move the dishes to just outside my door and quickly get ready for bed. I do need to sleep.

But I need to sketch Isabelle more.

By the time I finally stop, my eyelids are heavy, my fingers are black with charcoal, and I’ve got three more drawings.

One is the Isabelle I remember. The one I normally draw. Eight years younger, wearing my college hoodie, dancing in the small communal kitchen of our dorm.

The second is Isabelle the way I imagined her in Italy over the years. Standing in a vineyard, head upturned to the sun, a peaceful smile on her face.

And the third is Isabelle from tonight. The newer, softer roundness in her cheeks and curves. The faint lines beside her eyes that tell me she’s in the sun a lot and she laughs a lot. And that expression. That sorrow mixed with hope, and deep down, if I’m honest with myself, I feel, too.

Having her back in my life feels as natural as breathing. As easy as a perfect 96-mile fastball.

But the cost of having her back is losing her all over again when she goes back to her life in Italy. And I need to decide real fucking quick if I can survive that twice in my life.