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Chapter thirty-three

Kai

We’re down in Idaho, on the second night of our thankfully short away series. I’m on deck to pitch tonight, and I’m already dreading it.

I wasn’t planning on laying my heart on the line to Isabelle like that. Certainly not minutes before having to leave for four days. But when she dropped the bomb that her boss wanted her back in Italy early, the words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them.

She can’t go back without knowing how I feel.

I was an idiot eight years ago, a foolish, immature idiot, and let my own hurt feelings stand in the way of fighting for what I wanted.

She needed to be in Italy, and I get that.

But I wish I had fought for a chance to try and make it work between us.

I wish I hadn’t lost her, pushed her away, and missed all this time with her.

I’ll be damned if I’m stupid enough to do that a second time. If she needs to go back there, fine. But she’ll do it knowing I love her, and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

The downside to putting it all out there and then leaving is that I didn’t even have time to let her respond. Okay, that’s not the whole truth. I was scared of what her reaction might be, and how it might affect me on this series, so I got outta there as quickly as I could after saying my piece.

Only I haven’t heard from her since. Not even a text. I know I told her not to say anything until I got back, but I meant about how she feels. A check-in or something would be nice, but I guess I asked for this.

Still, I’m a mess. Even with the Power Rangers on in the background while I wear a track in the carpet of my hotel room pacing can’t get me centered on what I’ve got to do on the mound tonight.

A knock on the door has me pivoting on my heel halfway to the other wall. I open it to see Darling and Monty standing there, both looking worried.

“What’s up?” I say brusquely before turning and walking into my room. They follow me in and settle, Darling leaning against the dresser and Monty sitting on the end of the unused second bed.

“You tell us. Something’s going on with you.”

I look at Monty with a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been quiet ever since we left Vancouver.

The first night in Spokane, you didn’t come hang out in Sin’s room with the rest of us, you skipped breakfast today, and now you’re here scowling at the fuckin’ pink Power Ranger.

” Darling gestures to the television. “Somethin’s wrong, brother. Tell us what.”

I exhale, letting my head fall back. “Sometimes it sucks having friends who know me so well.”

The guys don’t laugh like I hoped they would. Instead, when I look at them again, they’re still staring at me with matching looks of worry.

“I’m fine, guys. Seriously. Just got some stuff back home to deal with. This trip was bad timing, that’s all.”

“And would that stuff be about five feet tall with blonde hair?”

I turn a glare on Monty. “Stop.”

“Aw, c’mon, Yami. We’re your best friends and we’re not idiots. We know there’s somethin’ going on with you and Isabelle. Hell, we all do. You weren’t exactly subtle at Sin’s cabin. Hell, the only reason Mav and Sin aren’t in here themselves is because we promised to report back to them.”

I sit down on my bed and flop backward, pulling my cap down to cover my face. “So, what, does the entire goddamn team know? That’s just great. Why hasn’t Coach reamed my ass out already?”

“Because we’re not gonna throw you under the bus like that,” Monty says. “Give us at least a little credit.”

“Alright, it’s about Isabelle. What did you do?” Darling’s voice holds a note of teasing, but I scowl at him anyway.

“Why do you think I did something? I didn’t. Unless you count telling her I love her right after she told me she might have to go back to Italy two weeks ahead of schedule.”

Darling lets out a low whistle and Monty curses.

“Shit, Yami, that’s enough to throw anyone off their game. What’d she say?”

“Nothing. I didn’t let her respond. Figured it might be worse if she didn’t say she loved me back, so I dropped it and ran.”

“Let me guess, you haven’t heard from her since?” Darling’s voice is now full of sympathy. “Been there, man. When Evie went to her interview in Dogwood Cove and I didn’t know how she felt about me, shit, that was the longest two days of my life.”

“Now double that amount of time and throw in a game I need to pitch in a few hours,” I say dryly. “I won’t see Iz again for two more days, I’m expected to live up to the starting pitcher role tonight, and I have no idea if she’d even consider staying in Vancouver with me.”

“Here’s a random thought. Don’t kill me for it.” Monty stands, placing his chin in his hand and propping that elbow up with his other arm. “Why don’t you call her? Right now. Call her and ask her what she’s thinking. Because not knowing is clearly not working so well, buddy.”

I snort. “And if she tells me she’s very sorry but she has to leave in a few days?

How the fuck am I meant to pitch after that?

Christ. You didn’t see me after she left the first time, eight years ago.

It was only college ball, but still, I almost fucked up my chances of ever getting to the major leagues, I was so wrecked.

Nah. I can’t talk to her. Not until tonight’s game is over.

It’s the only one I’m pitching in this series. ”

“So you’ll call her tomorrow?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m gonna suck it up and wait ’til we get home. If she’s gonna break my heart a second time, she can do it to my face.”

As I feared, tonight is already a pile of steaming shit.

During my bullpen warm up, I couldn’t find Monty’s glove with a telescope. It’s like I was fucking blindfolded. Then, when I went out to take infield with my teammates, I missed every one of my throws to first base and forgot to line up a cutoff throw to home. It’s like I lost my brain.

Except I know it’s not lost. It’s in Vancouver with Iz, along with my heart.

I need to go back to the bullpen to finish my pregame warm up, but I need a second to regroup.

It’s probably not the best idea to do it in the dugout next to Coach, who’s probably going to tear into me about my warm up, but my head is spinning and I need to sit.

Unfortunately for me, the dugout is closer than the bullpen.

“You okay?” Mav drops down on the bench beside me.

He’s a quieter guy, normally keeps mostly to himself.

But over the last couple of years, he’s warmed up to the rest of us, largely because of his fiancée Sadie.

She’s softened him, that's for damn sure. Still, he’s the last guy I would’ve expected to check in on me.

“Fine.” My answer is clipped. He deserves more from me, a part of me can acknowledge that. But I already confessed everything once today. I’m not looking to do it again.

“Right. Fine. I know what that word means.” He chuckles under his breath before pushing up to stand.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I fire back with a grumpy glare.

He just shrugs. “Means Monty and Darling told me you’ve got some shit going on at home with…

” He trails off, shooting a quick glance in Coach’s direction — who for some reason is glaring down at his phone — before looking back to me.

“Isabelle. We’ve all been there, Yami. Having to deal with shit at home while trying to play, I mean.

The only thing you can do is shove it to the back of your mind, lock it down tight, and focus on the game. ”

“Great advice, Mav. I’ll get right on that.”

His eyebrows raise, but he otherwise looks totally unaffected by my sarcastic response. “Okay. Good.” With that, he pivots on his foot and walks over to one of the equipment managers, handing them his glove so he can get ready to bat.

One of the assistant coaches walks up to me, looking down at a clipboard. “Yami, Coach says you’re out tonight. Head to the bullpen and keep your arm warm, we’re switching you and Tucker on the schedule. You’ll pitch the last game instead.”

I stare at him in shock. “What?”

He just shrugs and jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward Coach Stirling. “Take it up with the boss.”

Fuck.

I spend the game in the bullpen, watching my teammates struggle their way to a 6-5 win. The guys are all exhausted when they come off the field, and I can’t help but feel like it’s partly my fault.

“Yami. Conference room. Now.” Coach barks the order into the locker room before turning on his heel and stomping away.

Here we go.

My head is a mess. I hate that it affected my game, but what’s done is done. I’ll listen to Coach’s lecture, nod when I need to nod, then I’m going back to the hotel and I’m fucking calling Isabelle.

I can’t take it anymore. I need to talk to her and figure out what she’s thinking.

But the lecture I’m anticipating is not what I get when I walk into the empty conference room that was recently filled with media. Instead, Coach slams a piece of paper down on the desk between us and shoves it across the top toward me.

“Mind telling me what the fuck this is all about?”

My heart stops.

It’s a printout of a tabloid article, with a zoomed-in photo of me and Isabelle.

I instantly know exactly when it was taken.

Back in July, at the end of All-Star break, as we were driving home from the cabin.

We stopped to grab a bite to eat, and I stupidly draped my arm over her shoulder and kissed her head.

We thought no one noticed, there were only a couple of people around, but apparently, we were wrong.

“Look. Coach. It’s not —”

“Don’t insult my goddamn intelligence and try to say it’s not what it looks like. How long, Yami?”

I blink once. Twice. “How long?”

“How long have you been dating my stepdaughter?”

My spine stiffens, and my fists clench. “With all due respect, Coach, I don’t know that it’s any of your business.”

Coach raises his eyebrows, his jaw ticking. “It is when it’s impacting how you play. So get talking.”

There’s no escaping it. I wish I could talk to Isabelle before I do this, but that’s not an option. I’ve got to tell him everything.

“Isabelle and I were in a relationship in college. We were more than friends, we loved each other. She moved to Italy to get to know her father’s family and broke it off with me.

We hadn’t seen each other in eight years until you brought her to Family Day back in the spring.

But we reconnected and started hanging out again. ”

I pause, mentally debating exactly how much to tell him. Something tells me he won’t be a fan of the idea that we initially planned to keep things casual, friends with benefits style. Good thing that’s not how I feel any longer. Maybe I can win him over with the honest truth.

“I never stopped loving her, Coach. I want nothing more than to have a second chance with her. But I also know she has dreams and goals that she might not be able to accomplish if she stays in Vancouver with me. So you wanna know what’s going on?

I told her that I love her right before leaving for this trip.

And I asked her to consider giving me that second chance.

But I haven’t heard a word from her since I walked out the door of my apartment. And that’s fucking killing me inside.”

Coach sinks down into his chair and pulls his hat off, then rubs his bald head. “Well, shit, Yami.”

I sit down in the chair opposite him. “Yeah.”

He lifts his gaze to meet mine, and I’m relieved to see the anger is gone from his face. “She’s leaving in a couple of weeks, son.”

“Sooner, possibly.”

“What?”

I nod, leaning forward and bracing my elbows on my knees. “Her boss called. The restaurant is gonna be ready sooner than they expected. They want her back in Italy in, like, a week.”

“Ah, damn, her mother’s gonna be devastated.” He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. “So how are we gonna convince her to stay?”

I’m already shaking my head before he finishes speaking. “I won’t do that to her. If she wants to go, she’ll go. The best I can hope for is that she won’t break things off with me. That she’ll at least consider something long-distance until I can come up with a better solution.”

“Yami. You’ve got how many years left on your contract. Four? Five? You’re really gonna be able to handle your girlfriend living on the other side of the world for that long?”

I shrug, looking him square in the eye. “She’s worth it, Coach.”

The barest flash of a smile crosses his face and I know that was the right thing to say. He might not be her actual father, but he cares about her, and I respect that.

“Good answer. But still, let’s hope like hell it doesn’t come to that.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope.”

“Now get your shit together, son, I need my pitcher back. You’re goin’ in for the last game. That means you have thirty-six hours to get your head straight so I don’t have to bench my starting pitcher again. Got it?”

I nod. “Yes sir.”

I don’t got it, but I will. There’s no other choice.