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My entire body feels as if there’s a weight on me. It’s like my bones are made of bricks and even if I wanted to get up, I can’t. I take a deep breath to keep myself from hyperventilating and read through their messages from last week before he texted me after the hockey game.

She’s texted him a ton, but his answers are pretty short and usually not right away.

He waited hours to text her back, which, if he’s busy, isn't abnormal.

I glance at the dates and times and know he wasn't at practice or in class, so he was probably ignoring her. She texted him the night we were at Kellan’s.

He replied two days later with three short words.

Sorry, busy lately.

As I scroll up, I notice one from the week he told me they were talking.

He sent a goodnight text with a sleeping face emoji like he used to send me.

I see flashes of us as kids and the texts I’d get from him after games.

The cute emojis he’d send and the sad face if I didn’t get a chance to send him one.

Ima be real with you. There’s a sad Taylor Swift song playing in my head and I think my heart dropped out of my ass when I see his goodnight text.

It was weeks ago but it doesn’t matter. The feeling sucks so bad.

I knew they were talking, I did, but the reality of seeing it weighs more than I ever thought it would.

For a moment, I can't move. I stare at her phone and I can't fucking move.

I don't know how to answer her or what to say.

Blood rushes to my ears and it's like I’m drowning.

Someone should install a life preserver in this room for emotional emergencies.

A sharp pain hits my chest and I immediately hand Inez her phone back. Like it’s burning me. Which, emotionally, it kind of is.

I’m pissed. I hate that he’s even talking to her, or was, or whatever. My emotions are doing this weird dance between jealousy, anger, and something that feels suspiciously like hope. It’s like an emotional mosh pit in my chest.

I swallow hard and it feels like I'm trying to gulp down sand, and my eyes start to burn with tears. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare fuckiung cry in front of this girl who has Jaxon’s catching photo saved as his contact picture.

“So, like, what do you think?”

I hate this. I fucking hate it. “He's tired.” The lie comes out smoother than I expected, considering my internal organs are currently trying to reorganize themselves.

“Wait, what?” Her eyes drop to her phone, and then back up to me. She squints and tips her head to the side, as if she’s baffled I knew this by his texts. “How can you tell?”

“By his answers.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel, which is a miracle considering I’m pretty sure I’m having an out-of-body experience right now.

“Oh.”

“I've known him since he was thirteen. If he’s tired, his answers are short.” In part, that’s a lie.

His answers do change when he’s tired, annoyed, or dealing with a game loss, but also, he’s losing interest in her.

If Jaxon likes you, he texts you. A lot.

And besides that, if he had any feelings for her he wouldn’t still be talking to me, right?

Right? Someone please confirm this because my anxiety is writing fan fiction in my head.

“I see.” She tucks her phone into her pocket shyly. “So he’s not ghosting me?” she deduces. It’s not a question, at least I don’t think it is.

Make it stop. Make this gut-deep, heart-crushing feeling fucking stop. I want to crawl under the table and hibernate until this whole situation goes away.

“I have no idea,” I snap, annoyed she’s still sitting in front of me and asking me all this shit about him. “We don't talk as much.” And I don't have to know anything about her to know she’s shocked here. “You'd have to ask him.”

“Wait.” Her brow draws together. “You guys still talk?”

Oh shit. Did I say that out loud? My heart stops, then starts again at double speed. This is fine. Everything is fine. Except it's not fine. Nothing about this is fine.

I panic, that lump rises in my throat again and it’s as if my ribs are squeezing my organs. Like my entire chest cavity is playing a game of “how much can we compress before she passes out?” Will he be mad if I say yes? Should I even care at this point?

I definitely care, even though I shouldn’t.

My thoughts rush, a tingling heat washing up my neck as I envision us in the shower. The way his words “Baby” felt whispered against my wet skin.

Oh god, brain, not now. This is NOT the time for that highlight reel.

I can’t breathe in here and I think I’m going to throw up. I can feel it rising up in my throat. The room is spinning like I’m on some twisted emotional merry-go-round. I want off this ride, sir.

I don’t wait for the next person to interview me. I stand up and rush out of that media center. Real professional, Cam. You’re nailing this whole “composed athlete” thing.

The wind hits my face subtly and there's a small amount of relief, but it's not enough and only a reminder.

Thirteen years old. A spring day at the fields, alone in the dugout after practice and him standing next to me.

I can recall every detail of the way it felt when he touched me for the first time.

Gentle. Reassuring. I remember his fingertips were cold to the touch, his intention hesitant but his words warm as he whispered, “Pretty girl,” in my ear.

Leaning into the railing outside, I try to draw in deep calming breaths but nothing helps and I start to hyperventilate. I push out quick, shallow breaths but they don’t provide any relief. I want to burst into tears. I hold them back. I won’t let them fall. But I do.

Why am I letting this control me? Why am I constantly doing this to myself? It’s like I’m starring in my own personal soap opera, except instead of dramatic music, all I hear is my anxiety screaming.

I cover my face with my hands as the tears roll down my cheeks. Angrily I brush the tears away, pissed I’m crying. Nothing says “I'm totally fine” like crying outside the media center while desperately trying to not cry. Nailing it.

Let him go. You don’t need this stress.

I’ll tell you what though, I should not have looked at those texts. Like, that was probably in the top five of “Worst Decisions Camdyn Has Ever Made.”

And I sure as shit shouldn't have fucked him the other day.

Two epic fucking fails on my rules. Someone revoke my “Making Good Life Choices” card immediately.

Groaning, I run my hands down my face, wet with the tears I can’t stop.

I hear the media doors open, then two arms around me. I don’t have to look to know it’s Brynn. “What happened?” she whispers in my ear, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Inez said she showed you Jaxon’s texts.”

It takes me a minute before I can reply and I’m brushing tears from my cheeks.

I shrug out of her hug and turn to face her.

“I saw a goodnight text from him and it brought back all these memories.” I hate the way my voice shakes.

I don’t have to let this bother me, but I am, and the weakness taking over makes me feel like I’ve failed, once again.

I fail myself, him, this team... Add it to my growing list of “Things Camdyn Screwed Up This Week.”

Brynn continues to rub my back. “Oh, babes. I'm so sorry.”

“Am I being stupid hanging onto him, Brynn?” I suck in a quick breath.

“Like for real. What the fuck am I doing? This is so stupid.” It is stupid.

I’m being dumb. He’s not mine anymore, and I’m not his.

We’re... whatever the fuck he decides, and that right there should tell me to move on.

But here I am, collecting emotional bruises like they’re Pokémon cards.

“Girllll, I’ve been in love with the same guy since second grade and I’ve never officially dated him.” Her eyes widen. “I'm the wrong person to be asking.”

She’s right, in part. It’s different for Brynn though.

She talks to other guys, dates them, puts herself out there.

I can't. I’ve tried so many times. I have no interest in seeing anyone else and as you can see, the idea, the realization that Jaxon was trying to date other girls sends me into a fucking anxiety attack.

Why can’t I be like my friends and move on?

Why can’t I be a cold-hearted bad bitch?

No, instead I’m a caring Camdyn drowning in fucking feelings.

Brynn pulls away and I hate the sympathy in her eyes. “No boy is worth feeling like you’re not enough.”

I want to believe her. I should, but it’s not that easy. Not when everything I’ve ever known about life and love goes back to him. I can’t walk away and forget it all like he didn’t mean anything to me. That would be like trying to forget how to breathe. Theoretically possible, but probably fatal.

Her lips flatten and though I know she gets it, she doesn’t understand how controlled I am by this. “Are you coming back inside?”

“Yeah.” I nod, my breathing slowing slightly. “In a minute.” Or maybe never. Never sounds good right about now.

“Okay, well,” she pauses and hugs me once more. I stare at the media center, dreading seeing Inez’s face again. Like, what do you even say after running out during an interview? ‘Sorry, had an emotional breakdown about your maybe-boyfriend, shall we continue?’ “I love you.”

I smile but don’t say anything. My throat’s tight with unease and I’m not sure I can say anything, or should say any more.

I need to get my shit together and back inside that damn building.

I need to harness that uncontrollable urge to break down.

This right here was the reason I failed in the World Series. I can't, won’t let it happen again.

I breathe in, and out once more. Like those meditation apps are always telling you to do, except I’m pretty sure they didn’t plan for this level of emotional chaos.

My phone vibrates once in my back pocket and I think it’s probably Coach Drew telling me to get my ass back inside.

I pull it out of my pocket to see Jaxon’s name on the screen. My heart does this weird stop-start thing that can't be healthy.

Jaxon

Good luck today!

You’re starting in the circle!!

Go get 'em girl??

All right, so he looked it up on the website to see I’m starting. And he texted me at the exact moment I needed it. Relief floods through me and that feeling, the warmth, the calmness that he texted me when I needed reassurance is both ecstatic and overwhelming at the same time.

I can’t allow myself to get too excited. I hate that my heart is tethered to the one person who keeps me hanging on, even when I know I need to let go. It’s like being on an emotional yo-yo, and he’s the one holding the string.

Every time my phone buzzes, I drop what I’m doing. It’s like I’m on deck, waiting for my turn, holding my breath for his call.

It feels a lot like a sacrifice fly. I let my plans hang in the air, knowing he might not even notice. I make it easy for him to win, to feel wanted, while I stay behind, tagged out and hoping maybe this time, he’ll see what I’m giving up for him. Or maybe I’m the out so he can score?