Page 60

WALK

CAMDYN

The result of four balls at a plate appearance.

W hy did you let me do that?

Oh my God. I shouldn’t be allowed to have my phone. Like, ever. Take it away from me.

I’m in Survey of Human Anatomy, pretending to care about the difference between cuboidal and squamous epithelial cells while my brain replays every mortifying text I sent Jaxon last night. I don’t give a damn about anything right now—except why the fuck I sent those messages.

The lecture hall reeks of coffee, highlighter, and stress sweat. Dr. Yu’s trying to keep us awake, pacing with a plastic kidney like it’s an Oscar.

Jameson slides into the seat beside me, his hair still damp from a last-minute shower. He flicks his eyes to my phone and grins. “You look like someone who failed a pop quiz. Or texted the guy you swore last week you’d never text again.”

I groan. “Oh my God… I sent him sixty messages.”

“Someone needs to take your phone.” Jameson snatches it and scrolls, his eyebrows climbing higher with every swipe. “You texted him a bee emoji twelve times.”

I bury my face in my hands. “I know, right? Do you think he read them?”

He tilts the screen so I can see. “Pretty sure. See? Read receipts. He was definitely awake for the ‘bees are just spicy flies’ part.”

Fuck my life. Seriously.

Dr. Yu clicks over to the lymphatic system slide. “If you’ll look here, the body’s response to venom is actually a fascinating cascade of histamine release?—”

Jameson leans in and whispers, “Maybe you should volunteer to talk about your allergic reaction. Full-body experiential learning.”

“Hard pass,” I mutter, still staring at the ‘READ’ under my last message. No matter what we’ve put each other through, I still crave the power he has over me. I fight the urge to call him. I text and delete before I can hit send.

Jameson’s already off on another tangent. “My dad used to stare at my bat.”

Conversation whiplash. “Uh… what?”

He laughs. “Not like that. That was random, huh?”

I snort. “Little bit. Why’d he stare at your bat?” The words come out weird but I push through, curious.

He fiddles with his pen. “Before me and my sisters were born, my mom dated this dude—abusive asshole, they broke up, but something happened… I don’t know all of it, but this guy Shane and some other dudes took a bat to my dad’s head.”

I twist in my seat, mouth open. “Wait. You’re serious?”

He nods, suddenly somber. “Yeah, it was wild. He had a brain bleed, tons of surgeries. Lost his hearing in his left ear, gets dizzy and killer headaches.” Jameson shrugs. “He survived, though.”

“That’s good.”

He shrugs again, like it’s both ancient history and baggage he can’t put down. “Anyway, I loved everything about baseball. I always had a bat or a ball in my hand. I didn’t know until later why he struggled watching me play.”

And all I can think is, has he told Callie this?

“How long ago was it?”

“I don’t know. Long time. They’re coming to the game next week.”

“Really? Can I meet them?”

He looks at me, surprised. “If you want. Jaxon will be there though.”

“Oh.” I shrug, trying to play it cool while my stomach does somersaults. “It’s fine.”

“Still haven’t talked?”

“Um, well, I sent him sixty messages and bee emojis….”

Dr. Yu’s voice slices through our bubble: “Camdyn, maybe you can explain for the class what happens if a bee sting triggers an anaphylactic reaction?”

Jameson grins. “Perfect timing.”

I roll my eyes. She probably read it in the game highlights, since me jumping around after the bee sting got some laughs. I can’t help smiling—I’m living proof the lymphatic system isn’t to be messed with.

Jameson taps his pen on the desk, eyes drifting to the PowerPoint where Dr. Yu is now hyping up “the fascinating secrets of connective tissue,” which, judging by the room, isn’t as fascinating as she thinks.

I lean in, lowering my voice. “Does he talk to you about it?”

“About what?”

“Jaxon. About me and him.”

Jameson pauses, his face giving away that maybe Jaxon has said something. “Nah. He doesn’t. I don’t think he wants to hear what I have to say.”

“What do you mean? You’re his best friend.”

“Yeah, but he gets moody if you ask about relationships. Like, try to crack open the Jaxon vault and he’s suddenly all, ‘Yo, did you see the Mariners lost again?’”

I snort. Classic Jaxon, but now I’m curious. “Has he said anything to you about it?”

“No. Changes the subject faster than an Olympic sprinter.”

Weird. I wouldn’t have expected that, but then again, it’s Jaxon—king of gatekeeping. “Oh.”

Jameson glances at the diagram of a lymph node. “You’ve always been there for him. He’s got it easy compared to most guys—he’s my boy, but he doesn’t see it.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Think I should move on?”

He grins, waggling his eyebrows. “To me? Yeah, I do.”

I slap his shoulder and get a glare from Dr. Yu. “Jameson.”

He laughs, raising his hands. “Kidding! But no, I don’t. Well, let me put it this way. You can try to move on, but he’s not gonna let you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Wait, what? Why?”

“He’d lose his shit if you weren’t there for him. He acts all cool but if you started dating someone else, he’d spiral—full soap opera breakdown. He’s fragile.”

I sigh, tracing the edge of my notebook. “We haven’t talked in a week.”

“Oh, I know. His mood was better last night, though, and your bee emojis explain a lot.”

Somehow the idea that I made him smile last night makes me feel better. “I can’t keep giving everything to someone who won’t do the same.”

Jameson nods, picking at the corner of his syllabus. “Yeah, you can’t.” He gets it. He and Callie are both champions of the emotionally unavailable.

“This didn’t really help.”

“I know.” He chuckles, the sound low and honest. “I suck at this shit. Emotional support isn’t my main skill. If you wanna talk about being the goat at pitching, I’m your guy.” He flexes his arm, and I laugh.

“I’ll remember that. So… how’s it going with Callie?” I nudge him.

He groans, slumping back so far I think he’ll slide out of his chair. “You tell me. We don’t talk. She never talks to me and last I heard she’s talking to Sawyer.”

“Yeah.” I chew my lip, thinking about how we’re both stuck in the same weird limbo.

He shrugs, raising his hand in surrender. “There you go. At least you didn’t send Callie sixty messages about bees.”

I shoot him a look. “Yet.”

He grins. “Please do. She’d love that. Make sure you ask if bees have knees.”

Dr. Yu passes around a box of latex gloves for the “hands-on tissue lab,” and the whole row groans. Jameson snaps his glove with a dramatic flair. “Yo, you wanna get some pizza after this? I’m starving. If I have to look at one more spleen cross-section, I might actually die.”

“Yeah, I do.” I don’t even have to think about it. And not having to feels damn good.

For once, I’m not wondering what Jaxon would say if I’m eating pizza with his friend. Or if he’ll text me later. For once, I’m doing what I need for myself, and it feels good.

As we head out, Jameson nudges me. “So. Pineapple on pizza or nah?”

I grin. “I love pineapple on pizza.”

“Knew I liked you for a reason.” He laughs loud enough that Dr. Yu gives us a look. But for the first time in a long time, I don’t care.

We end up at Big Mario’s, tucked off University Way, where the tables wobble and the windows are always fogged with the smell of melting cheese and garlic knots. Jameson orders a greasy slice bigger than his face, plus pepperoni knots, because apparently he’s “carb-loading for emotional support.”

I pick at a margherita slice, tracing condensation on my water glass as Jameson scrolls his phone, pausing every few seconds to show me a meme or a video of a cat falling off a counter.

“How’s Mookie?” I ask as he dips a knot in marinara.

“Mmm. He’s good. Jax hates him.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. “Why?”

Jameson grins, mouth full. “Because Mookie sleeps on his pillow. Like, directly on his head. Last week Jax woke up with a mouthful of fur and threatened to put Mookie up for adoption.”

“Sounds like him. His sister had a dog once, and Jaxon took it to the pound and left it there when she went on a date.”

Jameson sighs, like Jaxon’s already tried that with Mookie. “He even bought a special vacuum for cat hair.”

“Of course he did.”

Jameson shakes his head. “His OCD gives me anxiety. If I leave my clothes on the floor, he picks them up and puts them away. I dropped a sock once and he stared at it, trying to telepathically will me to move it.”

“He cleaned my room once. I took a nap after practice in high school and woke up to him color-coding my closet.”

Jameson hangs his head, laughing. “Of course he did. Bro can cook, though.”

“I know!” I gasp, instantly missing Jaxon’s fried rice. “And it’s good shit, too.”

“Not gonna lie, I room with him for the food. His teriyaki is top-tier. No shame.”

We both laugh, but every time Jaxon comes up, my heart hammers. It’s like ignoring a sunburn—every move, it stings.

The longer we go without talking, the worse I feel about us ever working out.

I obviously still want him, but holding out hope is starting to feel less like optimism and more like self-sabotage.

There are so many times I want to text him, check in, or send a meme only he’d get.

When I see his name topping the NCAA Pac-12 home run leaderboard, I want to send a “damn, slugger” and hear him call me a nerd.

But I don’t. And this distance kills me.

Our lives used to be tangled in a way I thought couldn’t be undone, like headphone cords at the bottom of a bag. Not talking now feels like losing a limb I thought I needed.

And the longer the silence drags on, the heavier it gets. I never thought Jaxon would go this long without texting me. He always caved after a few days, sending something dumb—like a picture of Mookie in a hat, or a TikTok reminding him of the time I face-planted in warm-ups.

Now… nothing. No random texts. No stupid memes. No “u up?” at 1 a.m.

I don’t even bump into him on campus or in the dining hall, and if I hadn’t seen him on TV at the games, I’d think he’d fallen off the planet.

Although… guess who still has his location on my phone? Me. And I know he still has mine. Maybe that’s our secret way of staying in each other’s lives. Or maybe I’m just looking for some sign to make it hurt less. Like if I know he’s still out there, somewhere close, it’ll sting a little less.

Jameson watches me, quiet for once, then slides the last pepperoni knot across the table. “You look like you need this more than I do.”

I take it, and for the first time all day, I actually taste the food in my mouth.

He leans back, chewing on his straw, eyes fixed on the wobbly table like he’s weighing his words.

“You know, Cam? I’ve known Jax a long time.

He’s stubborn as hell, but he’s not stupid.

He’s just scared—scared of screwing things up with you, or losing you for good.

But he’s not gonna let you go. Not really. ”

I snort, but it’s weak. “Yeah.”

Jameson grins, soft and real. “He cares about you more than he knows how to say. Always has. You two? It’s not over. Not even close. He’ll come around. Trust me.”

I want to believe him. And maybe, for the first time in a while, I do.

Maybe I’m not okay yet. But at least I’m not alone. And maybe hope isn’t as far away as I thought.