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Chapter seven

Kai

“Calm the fuck down, I’m coming,” I grumble, pulling on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt as I run a towel through my soaking wet hair. The incessant pounding on my door was audible even in my en suite bathroom where I had just climbed out of my soaker tub.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my ice baths, but nothing beats a soak in a hot bath after a shitty game like the one we played this afternoon. I’m in a piss-poor mood even though I didn’t pitch, and all I want to do is sit on my couch and sulk about how we had our asses handed to us.

Instead, I need to tell whoever it is at my door to fuck off.

At least, that was the plan. Until I open it, and five feet of blonde tornado comes ripping into my apartment.

“What the hell, Kai. What is this?” Isabelle’s waving her phone around like a lunatic.

I drape the towel around my neck, holding the ends, and narrow my eyes at her. “How did you find out where I live?”

She ignores my very legitimate question and unlocks her phone before thrusting it in my face.

“‘Playboy of the Tridents Seen With Two Victoria’s Secret Models at Manhattan Club.’” She lowers the phone and swipes.

“Here you are on a red carpet with some actress.” Another swipe.

“And how about this one: ‘Kai Yamaki Seen Berating Server at Local Hot Spot.’ Since when do you scream at people trying to do their jobs?”

“Actually, he was trying to steal my used napkin, but whatever,” I interject dryly. “You know, if you keep searching, you should also see articles about the donations to various charities I do every year, the time I spend volunteering with a local little league, and the philanthropy the team does.”

I shouldn’t feel the need to defend myself, but what the fuck? She’s pissed I have a life and a media presence? Too fucking bad. I’m pissed she left, and yet thinks she has any right to judge me after all these years.

But Isabelle doesn’t continue yelling at me. Her face falls as she shakes her head. “This isn’t you, Kai. None of it. What happened to you?”

Her disappointment is the match that lights my very short fuse.

“What happened? You! You happened. Or more accurately, you left .” I can’t stand still any longer, dropping my hands to my sides and clenching my fists as I pivot and walk down the short hall to my open-concept living space.

It’s sparsely furnished, giving me plenty of room to pace as I unleash on her.

“You were it. My person. The one who I thought knew me, saw me, loved me. And you fucking left. Fine, you needed to go and meet your dad. I get that, hell, I supported it. But you didn’t come home.

It was so easy for you to just toss us aside and decide to stay there.

” Damn it, my voice cracks. I harden myself. “You. Didn’t. Come. Back.”

She’s shaking her head, her arms wrapped around her stomach as if she can hold herself together.

“And I’m sorry for that. You have no idea how sorry I am that I hurt you that way.

But you can’t honestly be blaming me for the fact that you’re known as the playboy of the team?

Really? The Kai I knew was better than this. ”

I can’t handle the disappointment I hear in her voice. It simultaneously fuels my anger and deflates it back into the sadness and loneliness that took over a part of me when she left. And all of it leaves me exhausted.

“What do you want, Iz?” I ask. I move to the couch and lean against it. “Tell me and let’s just move on.”

“I don’t know,” she admits, sounding just as broken as I feel. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here tonight like this. But when I saw all that, I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe you’d become that person.”

“Well, believe it,” I fire back, then exhale slowly. “You destroyed me, Iz. I thought everything was good, that we were good, and then you ripped it all away. I left university after you told me you were staying in Italy. Did you know that?”

She shakes her head.

“Yeah. The week after you called me and tore my goddamn world apart, I declared for the major league draft, and was picked up by the Tridents. Spent a couple seasons in the minors before moving up. Nothing else mattered to me but baseball at that point. You were gone, what else did I have?” I let out a low laugh.

“Maybe I should thank you for leaving. It broke my fucking heart, but it did wonders for my baseball career.”

“Oh Kai,” she murmurs. My eyes close. I feel her come closer, and then her hand is tentatively on my arm.

“I don’t know what else to say other than I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry you were hurt so badly. That I did that to you.

You have to know it wasn’t easy. No part of leaving you and my mom was easy.

And deciding to stay? That tore me apart.

But I knew I had to do it, or I’d always wonder if something was missing from me.

I didn’t expect you to cut all contact, though.

” She sighs. “At first I was so angry at you for doing that. I was young and selfish and stupid, and I thought we could somehow stay friends. But eventually, I came to understand why you cut me out. As much as it hurt to lose you so completely, I get it. I couldn’t blame you for doing that at all.

You did what you needed to protect yourself. ”

Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to hear that apology.

I know she probably didn’t mean to hurt me.

Hell, maybe she had no clue just how much it would break me to lose her.

She did what she had to do, for herself, and on some level, for me.

I get that. I don’t like it, but I get it.

I exhale and open my eyes. She’s so close. I could easily pull her into my arms. She’d fit perfectly, especially with her softer, rounder curves. Hell, she’d feel like heaven, I’m guessing. But I’m man enough to know I owe her an apology as well.

“I was a young, stupid dumbass when I did that,” I say. “I’m sorry I cut you off so completely. I was hurting. Devastated. And pushing you away felt like the only thing I could do.” I swallow, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “But fuck, did I miss you.”

The next thing I know, she’s hugging me. Tentative at first, as if she’s not sure she should be doing it. But fuck that. I wrap my arms around her, any sense of self-preservation thrown away. Because that heaven I was guessing I’d feel in her arms? It’s even better.

“I missed you, too,” she mumbles into my shirt, squeezing me tighter.

I let my cheek rest on her head, my eyes closing once again as I drink in the sensation of holding her again.

Letting it seep into all the cracks and dark crevices of my heart.

I can feel her breathe in and out, and then she speaks again.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even when I was angry and hurting that you cut me out, even when I was filled with guilt over leaving you, even when I had finally accepted that as much as it hurt, moving to Italy was what I needed to do.

I never stopped missing you. There was this one day, about four years ago, when I was at work.

It was a perfectly sunny day, and everything felt right, you know?

That magical kind of day where you just know you’re where you’re meant to be.

” Her head lifts but she doesn’t stop holding me.

“I was just enjoying my day, cooking for my customers, when this couple walks in. And it was Bo Osaki.”

My eyes widen at the mention of my all-time favourite player.

“I wanted to call you so badly. I wanted to take a picture or get his autograph. But I couldn’t. You weren’t in my life anymore. I didn’t even know if you were still playing baseball. That’s probably the most memorable time when it hit me just how much I lost in deciding to stay and find myself.”

She falls silent, and we stay where we are. Holding each other as eight years of painful feelings wash over us. It hurts to think about it again, but on the heels of the pain is a sense of release. Like the ghost of our past can finally be at rest.

Eventually, she steps back and clears her throat. “I realize I probably have no right to ask this. But do you think we could try to put it behind us?” she asks quietly, her eyes trained on me.

I don’t answer right away. I don’t know how to do that. Can I move on from the heartbreak I’ve held on to for eight years? I’d like to think yes I can , that having some closure with Iz will make that possible. But what would that even look like?

Seizing the moment of silence, Isabelle keeps going.

“I’m only here for a few months. But I’ll be back to visit Mom and Tony.

And if you’re here, too, well, I’d really rather it wasn’t awkward between us.

” Her gaze drops down for a beat before lifting back up to meet mine.

“And you were such an important part of my life. Something that’s been missing for so long.

I know I’m being selfish again, but I have to ask.

I’d really like my friend back. If that’s at all possible. ”

Friends. My heart pangs with longing for what we had when we first met.

Before we fell in love, we were friends.

Bonded as the only two Canadians in our year, we would share care packages of ketchup chips and Coffee Crisp chocolate bars.

We’d celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving in October and hit the campus bar on American Thanksgiving when all of our other friends were with their families.

It was such an easy transition from friends to so much more. I don’t think I even knew it was happening until one day I was kissing her, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to do.

Loving her felt natural.

I thought I’d love her forever.

“Friends,” I finally croak out. “We could try that.”

Her smile of relief cuts me so deeply, I think if the couch wasn’t behind me I’d stagger back. “Thank you.” She drags in a slow breath and exhales, and I watch at least some of the tension bleed out of her. “So how was the game today?”

I wince, grabbing the back of my neck. “We lost.”

Her gaze lands on the spot where I dumped my gear when I got home. “Is that the hat you were wearing?”

The hat in question is a brand new one, given to me today by the equipment manager when I claimed I forgot my hat at home. I didn’t forget. I left it on purpose.

“Yeah, why?”

The look she gives me floors me. No fucking way. She remembers?

Sure enough, she picks it up and examines the inner brim before putting it back down.

“It doesn’t have my initials. That’s why you lost.” She arches her brow, and I can see the smirk fighting to break free. But I play it cool, pretending I’m not affected by the fact that she remembers, or that she caught me.

I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head. “Yeah, because a hat makes or breaks a game,” I say, injecting sarcasm into my tone.

“You’re right, it doesn’t work if I don’t sign it.”

I watch as she strides to my kitchen counter and snatches up a pen before returning to where I stand and scribbling her initials on the inside of the brim.

“There. Now you can wear it. Got anymore I need to sign?”

I debate with myself. Do I let her in close enough to show her? Can I trust her with knowing just how much of a role she’s played in my career all this time?

I don’t know how I reach the decision, but eventually, I turn and walk to my bedroom, straight over to the walk-in closet where I’ve got a shelf full of hats.

Most of them from teams I played on in the past, but several of my Tridents ones are there too.

I stand to the side and let her examine every single one.

Each time she picks one up, turns it over, and sees the I.M. written on the inside, she sets it down without a word or even a glance my way. Until she goes through every single one.

“All my hats at the stadium have it written on them too.”

She finally turns to face me, a cautious yet hopeful smile on her face. “I’m glad to see you didn’t throw your good luck away. And now that we’re friends again, I can make sure all future hats are prepared correctly. After all, the luck is stronger if I write my initials myself.”

My own smile finally breaks free. “Yeah. Good thing.”

And I guess it really is good. Isabelle is back in my life, and while going back to being friends with her is not something I would have ever expected to happen, I’m surprisingly okay with it.

Things will never be the same between us. But tonight it feels like we’re finally starting to clear the air.

“I know this is a weird thing to ask, and you’re allowed to say no.” She fidgets with the hem of her shirt.

“Just ask, Iz,” I say, curious what she could possibly be nervous about asking.

“Can I…can we…can we hug again? I just, it feels really good to hug you. And I know we’ve only just decided to try this whole friends thing, but I could really use another hug.”

It turns out, I can’t deny her anything. No matter how badly she hurt me, all she has to do is ask, and I’ll come running.

Or rather, open my arms and let the only woman I’ve ever loved step into them for a hug.