Page 55

LINE DRIVE

CAMDYN

A hard struck ball that travels in a parallel trajectory to the ground.

T he bus is almost silent—just the engine’s hum and a few whispers. I’m looking on Instagram and the school website at stats, still high from our no-hitter against Utah, but Brynn keeps glancing over, restless, her phone lighting up nonstop.

“You good?” I ask.

“Totally fine,” she says, way too fast. “Just... tired.”

I’m about to push when a notification pops up. A blog post, shared by a bunch of student accounts: Madness on the Mound: The Untold Story Behind UW Star Pitcher’s World Series Collapse.

What the fuck?

My heart stops.

I see it’s by Inez, and my stomach free-falls as I start reading.

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…

A lump rises in my throat. My heart’s pounding so hard it’s all I can hear. There were articles after the World Series, but they stuck to the game. Not this. This is my private life—secrets only two people knew.

Brynn’s hand lands on my phone. “Maybe you shouldn’t?—”

“Are you fucking shitting me? She wrote this?” I yank my phone back and keep reading.

“...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…”

My hands shake. I can’t believe this. No way Jaxon gave her those details. Or did he?

“Hey,” Brynn tries. “Why don’t we watch a movie?”

My world’s crashing and I can’t stop it. The more I read, the less I recognize Jaxon. How could he tell her those things?

I dig my nails into my palms. My therapist said to ground myself. Didn’t work. Oh God. The baby. Our baby. Something so private, reduced to clickbait and rumors. I’m a Lifetime movie cliché, minus the redemption.

Memories flood in—cramping, blood, hospital lights. Things I told Jaxon because I thought I could trust him. Stop spiraling.

The bus hits a bump. My phone almost slips from my hand. Outside, the world streaks by, but all I feel is sick. No one else knew. The bleeding, the hospital, the pain—only Jaxon.

The air thickens, every breath a struggle. I glance around, suddenly sure everyone’s read it, judging me. Sarah and Emma are sharing earbuds, oblivious. Coach Drew’s asleep up front. They all look normal while my life’s on fire.

Brynn shifts, exchanging a look with Katie. They know. The weirdness, the hovering—it all clicks. They read it hours ago.

“Did you know?” I whisper, my voice cracking.

She hesitates—enough of an answer. “Oh my God. You knew.”

The betrayal cuts deeper. Not just Jaxon, but my teammates too. From everyone trying to protect me from what I already can’t escape.

I scroll back to Inez’s byline. Madness on the Mound. Of course. Mound? We don’t even have mounds in softball. It’s called a circle, you dumb shit.

I think of Jaxon again. The thought of him sharing our worst moment with someone else makes me want to scream.

I power off my phone and lean my forehead on the window, letting the vibrations numb me. The no-hitter feels like it was years ago. Victory turned to ash. What if my parents read it? I never told them about the baby. Now the whole world knows.

After last year, Coach Drew and my parents pushed therapy. I never told them about the miscarriage, or much about Jaxon. They assumed my televised breakdown was freshman pressure.

Coach Drew saw a nineteen-year-old crying in the dugout, blood on her legs, the game crushing her.

So I went to therapy.

Dr. Melanie, my therapist, asked, “What do you want?”

I told her, “What I want doesn’t matter.”

I’d spent so long trying to please everyone, I couldn’t even say what I wanted. And honestly, after last year, I didn’t think I deserved another shot.

I remember her last piece of advice:

Don’t change yourself to love someone else.

That hits different today.

When you’re fourteen and fall in love, it’s easy—and usually doesn’t last. Maybe it’s not supposed to. Maybe you’re meant to move on.

Not me. I stayed. It brought happiness, sadness, confusion—every emotion you can name.

And look where that got me. Sitting on a bus, world falling apart.

“Brynn,” I say quietly. “Who told her about this?”

She goes still.

“Brynn?” I gasp. “The only person who knew was Jaxon. Did Inez say anything about writing it?”

“Maybe we should talk later,” she mumbles.

“Brynn,” I croak, my voice foreign. “I need you to text Inez.”

“I already did.” Brynn won’t look up, chewing her lip. “She’s not answering.”

“Tell her…” I swallow, fighting nausea. “Tell her if she doesn’t take it down in the next hour, I’m going to the Athletic Department about her posting personal medical info about a student athlete.”

She nods. “I will.”

Here’s a new fucking rule:

Trust no one.

The bus pulls into campus. Brynn checks her phone every two minutes, fingers twitching. Something’s wrong.

Coach Drew is waiting. His face says it all.

“Camdyn,” he starts. “I’ve seen the article. I’ll get it taken down.”

I nod. No words. No emotion. Nothing.

The walk to my dorm is a minefield. Every glance is a stare, every whisper about me. About the article. About that day.

And then I see him.

Jaxon. Waiting in his practice uniform, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.

You know that feeling when your life’s imploding, but everyone else acts like it’s just another Tuesday? That’s right now.

Two girls pass, whispering. Maybe it’s their Psych midterm. But my brain only hears: the article, my story, my secrets.

Jaxon stands there, hat backwards, but something’s off. His shoulders slump. Broken.

Another group passes. More whispers, more glances. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. Tears pool as I watch everyone else moving on, like my life isn’t burning down.

Jaxon looks wrecked. “I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice cracks. “I swear I didn’t know she was going to publish it. I would never?—”

“But you talked to her.” My voice sounds hollow. “You knew she was writing it and didn’t tell me?”

He nods.

A guy from Stats walks by and double-takes. Great. Free entertainment. The sun glints off Baker Hall, everything golden and unreal, like we’re extras in someone else’s soap opera.

Jaxon steps closer. I catch the scent of his sports deodorant and dirt—used to make my heart race, now it turns my stomach.

“Can we…” He glances around, running a hand through his hair.

It’s already a mess, sticking up in all directions like he’s been doing that nervous habit of his all day. “Can we go somewhere private?”

“Why? If you knew and didn’t tell me, there’s nothing left to say.”

Two more people slow down. One girl stops, Starbucks in hand, full-on eavesdropping. Welcome to campus celebrity. No wonder real ones go nuts.

Jaxon notices. His eyes are rimmed red, jaw twitching—his game-time tell. He’s barely holding it together.

“Cam,” he says, soft. The same voice from the night he found out about the baby. “Please. You have to believe me. I didn’t know she’d publish it. I told her not to.”

Behind him, the coffee cart’s closing up. Students sprawl on the grass. Everything looks normal. But nothing is.

Here’s the truth about college sports: people think they know you because they watch you play. They see the field, the news, your socials. But they don’t know the sacrifices, the pain, the private moments—the ones you want to keep.

Now, thanks to Inez—and Jaxon—they think they know everything about me. Why I failed that day.

The late sun throws harsh shadows. Everything is too bright, too loud, too much. “Well, she fucking did. That wasn’t yours to share. It happened to me.”

Jaxon blinks. “I was there, you know.”

Anger flashes. He can see it. “No, you weren’t. I was in Oklahoma. In a hospital. Alone. Coach held my hand. You were gone.”

He looks at me, his expression unreadable. The wind picks up, pine and coffee in the air. “Camdyn, I came as soon as I finished my game. I would’ve come sooner if I’d known.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t fix this. My face burns. “That’s not the point, Jaxon. Why did you tell her anything about us? Or me?”

He doesn’t answer.

Tears sting my eyes. “Did you want me to hate you? Make it easier for yourself?”

He looks miserable. “No! I swear, Camdyn, I didn’t know.” He chokes on it. “I knew about the article but she said she wouldn’t print it.”

“Well, she fucking did,” I snap. “Why’d you say anything about me?”

“I didn’t tell her anything about you. Nothing. Just that we dated.” His eyes close. Tears there. “I’d never tell her about the baby, or anything private.”

Tears spill down my face. “Jaxon, I didn’t tell anyone about the baby and now she’s told the whole school. How did she know?”

“I didn’t tell her. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Holy hell, Jaxon. It’s implied! What if my parents see this? What if yours do? Nobody knew but us and our coaches.”

“Camdyn, you know me.” He tries to reach for me. I step back. “I’d never betray you.”

“No, I don’t know you. The Jaxon I knew would never do this. He knew what he wanted—me. And in my worst week, you ended things. Now some girl you talk to knows more about my pain than my own family. So no, I don’t know you anymore.”

“I know.” He nods, swallowing twice. “I fucked up. I always do. I… fuck, Camdyn. I don’t know what to say.”

I hate what he’s done to me this year.

I hate myself more for letting him.

His jaw clenches, eyebrows knitting together. I know my words hurt by the way his eyes fill with tears. My heart twists for him, but what about me? What about my pain?

Here’s another rule: don’t think he really cares. Your heart is a motherfucking liar. Trust no one.

He steps closer, desperate. “Please believe me—not wanting a relationship wasn’t about you. You’re perfect. I thought not dating would take pressure off, for both of us, for the game, for everything. But it was never you. I’ve always loved you. Still do.”

I can’t tell if he’s lying. But I almost believe him.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. The anger is gone, replaced by exhaustion.

This is where I’m supposed to be strong, right? Stand my ground, tell him where to shove it. But sometimes being strong means admitting you’re done.

“I need space,” I say, quieter than I mean. The anger drains away, leaving me hollow. Like someone scooped me out and left just enough to breathe.

Space in college is a joke. We play for the same school. Practice fields, dining halls—there’s no real escape. But I need whatever space I can get, even if it’s just pretend.

Jaxon steps back, already giving me space. “I’ll fix this,” he says, voice raw. “I’ll get it taken down.”

I shake my head, watching a leaf skitter between us. “It doesn’t matter. That’s the thing about the internet, Jaxon. Once it’s out, it’s out. Everyone’s already seen it.”

He nods, silent. He gets it.

The wind carries the scent of summer and all that poet crap. Funny—nobody writes about moments like this. Standing outside your dorm while your life unravels in front of a crowd.

Jaxon shifts, like he wants to say more. “Cam…” His voice is desperate, pleading, dangerously close to love. He reaches out, then drops his hand. “I never meant?—”

“Don’t.” I cut him off. I can’t hear one more apology. “Just... don’t.”

Want to know the worst part? Part of me wants to fall into his arms and let him fix it. But that part’s an idiot who hasn’t learned a thing.

So I turn away. One foot in front of the other.

Behind me, I hear his shaky breath. I don’t look back. Can’t. If I do, I’ll see that look on his face and my heart will try to overrule my brain.

Let me give you some advice. Your heart is the worst in a crisis. Like letting your drunk friend pick the DD. Don’t.

Students stream around me as I head for the doors, parting like water. My key card shakes in my hand as I swipe. The reader beeps. I pause.

I don’t look back.

I push through the door, let it click shut. The lobby is empty. I make it to the elevator before my legs give out.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is walk away. Even when it feels like your heart’s being ripped out. Even when every cell in you is screaming to turn around. Even when you know someone you love is hurting just as much.

Because sometimes space isn’t what you need—it’s what you deserve.

The elevator doors close. I finally let myself cry.

Some rules are hard to follow. Especially when your heart refuses to listen. But here’s another fucking rule for you: Never take your eye off the ball. Never trust anyone. Just because they say you can trust them doesn’t mean it’s true.