Page 74

BASES LOADED

CAMDYN

A situation where the offensive team has a runner on first, second, and third base.

I stare at him, the door half-open, the hallway’s chill sneaking in behind him.

I’m not ready for the sight of Jaxon—unshaven, hair a little longer, eyes blue as the sky.

He looks older, and tired, like he hasn’t slept in days.

Or maybe that’s just how I remember him.

A little lost, a little out of reach, and still—God help me—impossible to ignore.

We haven’t talked in two weeks, not since I went to his dorm. Not since I realized I was still willing to drown for him.

He’s holding a pint of ice cream, which is almost funny.

“You’re not room service,” I say, because my brain is fried and that’s what comes out.

“So I’ve been told,” he says, but his voice wavers, like he’s not sure if he should laugh or apologize. He shifts, the Ben & Jerry’s trembling in his hands. He keeps rubbing the back of his neck, gaze flicking everywhere but me.

My heartbeat goes wild. One look and I’m sixteen again, dizzy, flushed, hopeful. Can he see it? The way my cheeks burn, my hands tremble? I clear my throat, trying to steady myself, trying to be the version of me who doesn’t fall apart when he shows up.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, softer than I mean to.

He lifts the ice cream, like it’s proof. “This is me trying to do something right. For once.”

“Oh.” I laugh, short and sharp, pure defense. “Huh. Ice cream?”

He leans his shoulder into the doorframe, looking so much like the boy I remember it aches. “Mhm.”

“Strong move.”

His lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. “I thought so. And…” He swallows, shifting again, shoulders hunched like he’s catching. “I miss you.”

The words land square in my chest. I want to say I miss him too, but I’ve told myself I need to be different this time.

Stronger. I can’t let him in just because he showed up with dessert and sad eyes.

I can’t let him in even though I fucking want to.

So I hold strong. Sort of. I point at the ice cream, pretending I’m fine.

“Are you going to share that or just hold it all night?”

He looks relieved to have something to do, fumbling with the lid. “I’ll share.”

“There’s spoons in here somewhere, I think.” I glance around, suddenly aware I’m still in my hotel robe—the one I wear after games, when I’m too tired to pretend I’m not raw. “Or maybe a spork.”

He chuckles, and for a second the tension breaks. “Well, if you can’t find one, I know a guy.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “Please don’t tell me Fork Guy is lurking.”

“Oh, he made it through airport security somehow.” Jaxon shakes his head, more amused than disappointed. “Honestly, I don’t think TSA will ever recover.”

He hands me a spoon, his fingers brushing mine.

The touch is electric, familiar, and it takes everything not to shiver.

We sit on the bed, knees almost touching.

The room smells like hotel soap, my shampoo, and the faintest trace of his cologne.

We eat in silence, every word we haven’t said crowding the space between us.

I think about last time—rain on his dorm window, his hands in my hair, the way everything felt possible for a few reckless hours. About how quickly it all fell apart when I realized it didn’t solve anything. Still, I wish I’d texted him after.

I break the silence first. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said it wasn’t you who told Inez about the miscarriage.”

His face crumples for a second, then he pulls it together. His hand tightens around the spoon. “I get why you didn’t. We’re… confusing.” His words are nervous, but there’s laughter in them, like he’s saying holy shit, we’re a mess.

“I know what you mean,” I say, glancing at the flickering TV. “I should have, though.”

He shakes his head, staring at the melting ice cream. “I think I needed to lose you to understand what you mean to me.” His voice is so low I almost miss it. His shoulders slump, like he’s letting go of something heavy. “Or meant.”

The urge to reach for him is almost unbearable. But I can’t—not yet.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you after that night in your dorm,” I say quietly. “I thought we weren’t ready. But I still wish I had.”

He nods, not meeting my eyes. “I wanted to text you too. I just… didn’t know what to say.”

“You weren’t mad?”

“No. Not at all.” He finally looks up, then quickly away, cheeks coloring. “Bro, you gotta fix your robe.”

I laugh, surprised at myself. “Why?”

His hand comes up, thumb brushing my cheek, gentle and steady. The contact makes my breath stutter. There’s so much history in that touch—every fight, every kiss, every time we tried and failed and tried again. “Cuz ima be good.”

“Mhm.” My voice is shaky, but I try to keep it light, even though I’m tempted to rip my robe off and straddle him. It’d probably relax me and I’d forget about the fact that I’m pitching in the biggest game of my life tomorrow.

He winks, a flash of the boy who used to make me laugh until I cried. “I’m tryin’ to be.”

“I know you are.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the hum of the hotel AC and the clink of spoons against cardboard.

He sets his spoon down, bracing himself. “Sooo… I got a call from the Braves.”

“What?” I nearly choke on ice cream. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “It’s unreal to think I might make it.”

“You will,” I say, and I mean it. If there’s one thing I know, it’s Jaxon’s talent.

He smiles, but it fades fast. I see the apprehension in his eyes.

Getting a call is one thing. Getting drafted is better.

Still, just because you’re drafted by an MLB team doesn’t mean you’ll play an inning in the majors.

It just means they want you. From there, you have to prove yourself every day and claw your way through the minors.

“So? What are you gonna do?” I ask.

“My parents want me to finish school.”

“What do you want?” My voice is smaller now.

He doesn’t look at me. He stares into the ice cream like it might have answers. “Us.”

The word hangs there, electric and terrifying.

“What?” I whisper.

He’s quiet so long I think he won’t answer. Finally, he looks up, eyes bloodshot and pleading. “I miss you.”

Everything I thought I’d let go of that day on the field rushes back. I haven’t let go of anything. I still want him. I ache for him. But wanting him and being able to trust him aren’t the same, and I don’t know how to bridge that distance.

He leans forward, elbows on knees, voice raw. “I know I fucked up and you’re probably not going to forgive me easy. I don’t deserve easy. But I want to try.”

I swallow hard, fighting tears. “What changed your mind? I thought you didn’t want any commitments right now.”

He shakes his head, almost laughing at himself. “Nothing compares to how I feel with you. Baseball, my life—none of it feels the way it did when I was with you.”

I’m crying now, silent and messy, and I don’t even try to hide it. Are you? Because I’ve never heard him say anything like this—not to me, not to anyone.

He looks at me, and it’s like every wall I’ve built starts to crack. “I can’t stop thinking about you and I’m losing my fucking mind without you.”

The silence is thick with everything we aren’t saying. I want to reach for him, to let him in, to believe this time will be different. But I’m still learning how to protect myself, how to be strong and soft at once.

So I sit there, ice cream melting between us, and hope that maybe that’s enough. For now.

The silence stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable.

My eyes are still wet, and I swipe at them with my sleeve, embarrassed at how easily he can unravel me.

In the background, the muted sounds of hallway doors and distant TV static remind me we’re here, just two people trying to figure out how to be brave in a hotel room.

Jaxon shifts, searching for words. He looks at me, and there’s a steadiness now that wasn’t there before.

“Camdyn,” he says softly, voice low and certain, “I don’t want you to decide anything tonight.

I didn’t come here to make it harder, or ask you to figure us out right now.

All you should be thinking about is the game tomorrow.

That’s what matters.” His hands fidget with the empty ice cream carton, voice trembling at the edges but strong at the core.

“You’re pitching tomorrow. It could be the final game of the series.

You’ve always shown up for me, cheering me on even when I didn’t deserve it.

” He glances away. “I wanted to finally be here for you. To see you do your thing. You deserve that. You deserve someone in the stands who’s there for you with no expectations. ”

For a second, I can’t breathe.

He stands, shoving his hands in his pockets, and offers a crooked smile. “So don’t worry about me. Or us. Not tonight. Just go out there and win tomorrow, okay? I’ll be in the stands cheering for the girl who’s always there for everyone else. Not because I have to, but because I want to.”

I laugh, watery and relieved, and nod, the weight in my chest easing. I don’t know what’s going to happen with us. Maybe that’s okay. Tonight, all I need is to remember I’m not alone out there, not really. That’s enough.

I’m starting to let Jaxon’s words sink in when there’s a sudden, frantic knock at the door. Not polite—a full-on someone’s-trying-to-alert-us-to-a-fire knock.

Jaxon’s eyes go wide. “God, please no.”

I sigh. “You let Fork Guy into the hotel, didn’t you?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “Couldn’t lose him in baggage claim. He’s like a homing pigeon.”

The knocking intensifies. “Cam! Baseball Boy! Open up! It’s urgent!”

I pad over in my robe and crack the door. Fork Guy stands there, dripping wet, plastic forks stuck in his hair like some deranged Poseidon. Next to him is a kid in swim trunks clutching a pool noodle and looking traumatized.