Page 54

BALK

JAXON

An illegal action by the pitcher when there’s a runner, or runners on base.

S eattle’s signature clouds smother Husky Field, matching my mood as I crouch behind home plate.

The mist hangs heavy, making the ball slick in my mitt after an hour of bullpen work with Jameson.

His fastball pops—ninety-three, maybe ninety-four.

His control’s better, but he’s still leaving that four-seamer up in the zone more than Coach likes.

“Better,” I call, wiping droplets from my mask before tossing it back. “Keep that front shoulder in.”

Between pitches, my mind drifts to Camdyn. Five days. Feels like five weeks since I’ve seen her, touched her. That phone call two nights ago... heat crawls up my neck remembering it. Her voice, soft, telling me exactly what she’d do when she got back. The way she?—

Jameson’s next pitch nearly takes my head off.

Focus, Ryan. Focus.

But it’s impossible when all I can think about is her getting back from Utah tonight and I’m half-hard, trying to hide it behind my mitt. It’s not ideal, not when every thought is about making good on those late-night promises. The way she said my name, barely a whisper as she finished...

Fuck. Stop!

“That’s enough,” Jameson says, heading over to his bands, mist clinging to his purple jersey.

I’m taking off my gear when King walks in, hunched over his phone, trying to keep it dry.

“You seen this?” King asks, his face more serious than when he took that line drive to the nuts last season.

“Seen what?” I nod at him.

“This.” He shows me his phone. It’s a blog post. The title hits me right in the gut:

Madness on the Mound: The Untold Story Behind UW Star Pitcher’s World Series Collapse

My stomach drops. Inez’s name is at the top. The featured photo is Camdyn, last year’s World Series semifinal, staring at her glove. That sixth inning. The one none of us talk about. The one that broke her.

I read, hands shaking:

While fans watched Camdyn O'Hara’s public meltdown in the sixth inning of the Women’s College World Series semifinal—a game that could’ve sent the Huskies to the championship—few know the private tragedy that came before.

Sources say O’Hara’s struggles started weeks earlier, during Super Regionals, when a medical emergency forced the freshman phenom to leave a game in the fourth inning.

This same stretch coincided with rumors that her relationship with UW catcher Jaxon Ryan had ended…

“The fuck?” I stand so fast I knock gear and heavy balls off the bench. “When did this go up?”

King says something, but I don’t hear him. I can’t stop reading:

The pressure of keeping her athletic career afloat and a rocky relationship with Ryan created what insiders call ‘an emotional powder keg.’ Sources whisper about a devastating loss during Super Regionals, when O’Hara left the field bleeding—an incident that fueled rumors of a miscarriage.

Witnesses confirm seeing Ryan rush from his own game in Arizona that night, though both players have stayed silent about what happened.

O'Hara’s performance started to spiral, leading to what fans remember as her Oklahoma meltdown.

With the ace on track for a no-hitter and the Huskies up 2-0, five outs from their first championship in fifteen years, her hidden heartbreak finally cracked through.

Errors, walks, wild pitches. Teammates wondered if it was more than freshman nerves…

My vision blurs. Holy shit. How does she know about this? About the miscarriage? About Super Regionals? Camdyn didn’t even tell her parents, let alone the team.

“Brynn sent it to me,” King says. “She said Camdyn’s on the bus from Utah. Doesn’t know yet.”

I grab his phone, hands trembling. The article keeps going:

Multiple sources confirm the fairy-tale romance between O'Hara and Ryan collapsed after the Super Regionals tragedy, with their final split days before that World Series game. “You could cut the tension with a knife when they were together,” one teammate says. “It wasn’t just a breakup—there was something deeper neither would talk about.”

The aftermath has cast a shadow over O’Hara’s sophomore season, with the once-dominant pitcher’s erratic performance raising eyebrows among coaches and scouts.

Some call it a sophomore slump, but those close say the scars are deeper.

“Some things change you forever,” a source close to Ryan says.

“And some losses aren’t just about baseball… ”

Struggling? Camdyn’s leading the league in strikeouts and homers. She’s one of the only pitchers who bats cleanup—or hits at all.

“She wrote this?” My voice sounds nothing like mine. “Inez wrote this?”

“Yeah, on her blog.” King takes his phone back. “Brynn’s freaking. Camdyn’s been in a good mood after Utah. She doesn’t want her to see it. Can you get Inez to take it down?”

“I don’t know… Jesus, King. How the fuck does she know this?” I’m pacing between the mound and the fence. “I never told her anything about Camdyn. We talked for two weeks. That’s it. I never said more than we dated.”

He glances between his phone and my face. “Wait, you didn’t...?”

“No!” I shout, hands up. “I’d never do that to Camdyn. Ever. None of this is even true…” I can’t finish. Parts of it are. But that’s not my story to tell. Never was. “Someone else told her. But who?”

Camdyn didn’t tell anyone. Not her parents, not Callie. Only the coaches knew, and no coach would ever spread that.

“I gotta call Camdyn.” I reach for my phone, but Coach Lou’s whistle cuts through the air.

“Ryan, get over here!”

“Fuck.” I rake my hands through my hair, panic rising. I set my helmet down. “How long’s their bus ride?”

“Brynn said four hours. They swept Utah, though. Cam threw a no-hitter.”

Any other day, I’d be proud. Now I just think about how that high is about to crash. Four hours. Four hours before Camdyn’s back in cell range, before someone shows her the article, before her most private pain is out there. And I’m stuck at fucking practice.

“Hey.” King grabs my arm as I start toward the field. “Want me to have Brynn keep her off her phone?”

I nod, sick. “Yeah. Please. And tell her…” I swallow hard. “Tell Brynn I didn’t do this. I’d never do this to Camdyn.”

“I know, man.” King’s already typing. “We all know.”

Some mistakes you fix. Some you can’t. But this one’s not even mine. Someone sold Camdyn out. Someone who knew everything. And when she finds out...

“Ryan, get over here!” Coach Lou’s voice rings out. He spots King still on his phone and stomps over, snatching it. “What did I say about phones at practice?”

“Sorry, Coach,” King tries to grin. “I’d advise you not to check my search history. Trying to keep it PG-13 around here.”

His joke falls flat. My chest is so tight I can barely breathe. The mist settles deep in my lungs, and it’s not the weather making me feel like I’m drowning. Four hours. Four fucking hours before Camdyn sees that article.

The mist turns to rain. Coach Lou runs infield drills, but I’m useless. Every throw to second is short or sails into center. My hands shake so badly I can barely grip the ball.

“Ryan!” Coach yells. "What the hell are you doing out there? Third overthrow!”

I try to focus, but all I can see is Camdyn. Three and a half hours left. Rain drips off my cap, blurring everything. Or maybe that’s just me.

King keeps glancing my way from short, checking his pocket where Coach confiscated his phone. He’s usually cracking jokes. Now he’s quiet, probably thinking about Brynn trying to keep Camdyn distracted.

“Third!” Coach barks. I try to throw. My chest tightens. The ball sails, nearly nailing our left fielder.

“That's it!” Coach Lou storms over. “Ryan, get your head out of your ass or?—”

“Or what?” The words snap out before I can stop them, sharp and hot. “You’ll bench me? Go ahead.”

The field goes dead silent. Even the Seattle traffic seems to pause. Coach’s face turns dangerously red. But I don’t care. Let him bench me. None of it matters compared to what’s about to happen to Camdyn.

“Everyone else, weight room,” Coach says quietly, eyes locked on me. “Ryan, poles.”

The team jogs off. King lingers, mouthing “You good?” I nod, but we both know that’s a lie. Nothing is good. It’s only getting worse.

Three hours, twenty minutes until Camdyn’s phone explodes with notifications. Until her world crashes down.

I spend two hours running foul poles, every step fueled by rage. As soon as Coach releases us, I’m gone. King calls after me. I don’t stop. I don’t even change out of my practice uniform and I still have my cleats on.

I don’t remember walking to McCarty Hall, or taking the stairs two at a time. Just the roar in my ears and my hands shaking so bad I can barely grip the rail.

Her door is cracked, study group signs taped to the whiteboard. I don’t knock. I just walk in.

Inez is at her desk, typing. She turns. “Oh. Hey.”

I slam the door, rattling the windows. “What the fuck did you do?”

She jumps, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you're talking about.”

I grab her laptop. “The fuck you don’t!”

She reaches for it. “Don't?—”

The laptop hits the wall with a hard crack, pieces skittering across the floor.

“That was expensive!” she yells.

“So was what you did to Camdyn.” My fists clench, knuckles white. My pulse hammers in my head, the room tense as a live wire. Inez shrinks back, suddenly small.

A girl appears in the doorway. “Inez? You okay? Should I call security?”

“No, it’s fine,” Inez says, voice trembling. “He’s—we’re just talking.”

“Why’d you write this after I asked you not to?” I demand. “You promised.”

“Jaxon, it’s not that deep. It’s a story, and everyone wants to know what happened. Someone would’ve written it.”

“You shouldn’t have been the one.” I sweep everything on her desk to the floor—books, mug, photos. Coffee seeps into papers.

The girl in the doorway pulls out her phone. More people gather, phones up.

“I’m calling security,” the girl says, dialing.

“Go fuck yourself,” I snap, glaring.

She holds up her phone, glare just as sharp. “Too late.”

“Alana, don’t—” Inez starts, but it’s too late.

“You don’t even know what happened, Inez!” I yell. “How could you think this was okay?”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is small. She picks at a sleeve, avoiding me. Her bravado is gone.

“You’re sorry?” I raise an eyebrow. “Think about how this makes her look. She doesn’t deserve this.” My voice breaks. “She doesn’t deserve anything I’ve put her through this year.”

Inez has tears in her eyes, probably from me yelling, but she still says, “I’m assuming by your reaction, it’s true.”

I groan, raw and broken. “What the fuck were you thinking? You wrote about something personal that wasn’t yours to share.”

“So it is true?”

“Who told you?” I demand, kicking through the mess. “You said you were writing about the team, not launching a vendetta blog against Camdyn.”

“I have nothing against her.”

“The fuck you don’t.” I motion at her broken laptop. “This says otherwise.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Clearly you fucking did!” I get right in her face. “This isn’t just a story. This is her life.”

“Campus security’s on their way,” Alana says from the hall, phone up.

“Remove the fucking post!”

“Jax!” King’s voice cuts through. He pushes through the crowd, Ollie and Jameson behind him, all in practice gear. “Jax, come on, man. This isn’t helping.”

I’m shaking, not from anger but something closer to grief. Because I know exactly how this will wreck her, and I’m to blame.

“If anything happens to her because of this,” I say, barely above a whisper, “that’s on you.”

Two campus security officers appear, yellow jackets bright. “Everyone clear the hall,” one says, while the other steps between me and Inez.

“Sir, you need to leave now.”

“Come on, Jax,” Ollie says, quietly grabbing my arm. “Let’s get out of here before this gets worse.”

“He’s coming with us,” Jameson tells the officers, captain-steady. “We got him.”

King’s hand lands on my shoulder, firm and gentle. “Now, Jax.”

The last thing I see before they pull me away is Inez’s pale face, realizing what she’s done. Not to Camdyn. Not to me. But to herself.

After this? Nobody on the team will ever trust her again.

“Keep walking,” King mutters as we head down the stairs, security flanking us. Ollie’s got my other arm like they think I might turn back.

We don’t stop until we’re outside McCarty, spring air sharp on my face. The officers linger until Jameson assures them we’re leaving.

“You good?” King asks when they’re gone.

I shake my head. “She’s gonna see it,” I say, voice raw. “She’s on the bus from Utah right now. She’s gonna see it and I can’t—” I stop, swallowing hard.

The guys form a circle around me, solid as always, waiting for me to pull it together. Finally, King says, “Come on.”

“We’ll order pizza,” Ollie adds. “Play MLB The Show until you stop looking like you want to kill someone.”

But all I can think about is Camdyn, on that bus, about to have her world blown apart. Again. What the fuck have I done? I shouldn’t… I can’t…