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17

CRY IT OUT

Jamie

I watch from the kitchen island as Amanda flits around the apartment, stuffing things in bags and occasionally stopping to furiously type something on her phone. I’d offer to help, but I’ve learned by now I would only distract her from her thoughts. The chaos is all part of her preparation.

Like a pregame ritual.

Maybe I need something like that to help me get my game back on track.

We lost the last game I pitched, though at least for that one, I didn’t take the L. I let three runs through in the first six innings, but the other team let four through, so we were still on track for the win when I left the game. The problem is, the other team’s reliever only let one more run through, while ours let three through. While he took the loss, in my mind, it was still on both of us because we both let equal numbers of runs through. And frankly, I should be improving my game from here, not getting stagnant.

I’m pitching again tonight, and my stress levels are higher than they should be. It’s getting in my head, and I know that’s making it worse. Part of me wants to call Aaron and beg him to come down here—to help me out. He always helped me through my funks in the past. But that’s not his place anymore. The amount of laughter and eye rolls I’d probably get at bringing in my high school mentor to help me would be ridiculous.

But Aaron is good at finding and fixing problems, and I haven’t developed enough of a relationship with the other pitchers to ask them—or even our pitching staff. Yay, introvert problems. Something I need to get over if I’m going to succeed.

Fuck it. I’ll go in a little early today, talk with Marc, maybe see what options I have.

Amanda whizzes by and over to the giant blue-black refrigerator. She frowns every time she sees it. I know she’s not happy here. Yet another place I’m failing. I don’t have enough bandwidth to manage it all, though. Some things have to give, and the apartment can be solved in the off-season. My game has to come first right now so my off-season isn’t permanent.

Amanda sets a thing of bagels on the counter, then grabs a knife.

I instantly hop off my stool and round the counter to her, grabbing the knife before she can cut one of her fingers off.

“I’ll do that.”

“I can cut a bagel.”

“You sound like you’re hyped up on drugs right now, and you’re practically shaking. I’ll do it. Let me help you.”

She sighs and leans against the counter, nodding. “I’m sorry. I’m… today is a lot. Like a lot, a lot. I’m excited, but I’m nervous. I’ve never hosted anything this massive before, and I want to get it right. Not just because it’s great for my business, but it’s an important cause.”

I finish slicing the bagel and pop it in the toaster, then put my hands on her shoulders. “It’s going to be amazing. You work insanely hard to make every event as perfect as it can be, and you are one of the most capable people I’ve ever met when it comes to rolling with the punches and solving problems on the fly. You’re brilliant.” I kiss her cheek. “Beautiful.” I kiss her other cheek. “And deeply passionate.” I press a soft kiss to her lips. “It’s all going to be amazing, and I can’t wait to see it.”

“You said you think you might be an hour late?”

“Hopefully less. As soon as the game is done, I’ll be hauling ass to get there. It’s not too far from the stadium, so it should be quick.”

Much quicker than getting from our apartment to the stadium, which takes forever. There was twice the mileage between our apartment and the Knights stadium, but it took half as long to get home. I am not used to city life.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

I wrap my arms around her back. “Always.”

“I love when you walk into an event, and I can feel you watching me from across the room. It’s an extra boost of confidence.”

“Mm. If that’s the case, I’ll be your stalker all night.”

“I like the sound of that.”

The bagel pops up from the toaster, and though she reaches for it, I grab it first. “Go sit. I know how you like your bagels.”

Again, she melts a little and heads for one of the stools.

“How are you feeling about the game today? I’m sorry I can’t be there.” Her voice is a little tight when she says it, but I don’t know why. I know today is important to her, and while I wish she could be both places, that would be next to impossible. Plus, it’s not like I won’t see her after the game.

“Trying not to get too in my head, but it’s probably a losing battle. I need to find something to get me out of this funk.”

I slide the plate across the counter to her, and she catches my hand, resting hers on top of it. “I don’t think it’s as much of a funk as you think it is.”

“I’ve seen guys who are better than me bounce between the minors and pro ball for months at a time?—”

“Yeah, but your contract was taken over. It wasn’t a random call up in a pinch. This is different.”

“I could still get sent back.”

She slowly shakes her head. “I somehow doubt they would’ve gone through all this effort just to do that. Have some grace for yourself.”

Coming from the one person who might be harder on herself than I am on myself.

“I just don’t want to lose what I’ve worked for. I don’t want to be the butt of the joke. The guy who couldn’t hack it in the majors.” I meet her eyes, trying to lighten the mood. “And end up podcasting from my parents’ basement.”

She smiles softly, but there’s an edge of sympathy there that I hate.

“That was never your fate. Let yourself adjust. By the way, have you eaten breakfast? You seem like you’ve been eating less lately, and I’m not sure I can keep living with you if you start meticulously counting calories.”

“Thanks. Glad to know what your deal breaker is.”

She gives me a sweet smile. “Food is one of the best parts of life. I won’t apologize for that.”

“And you never have to,” I remind her. I hate that she ever feels poorly about her body. “Don’t worry. I had a protein shake earlier and I’ll grab something else in a bit.”

She eyes me with that mama bear concern, but lets it go. “Okay.”

I turn back to the fridge and get her a glass of orange juice.

She smiles up at me when I slide it in front of her, and for a moment, I feel a shred of peace and normalcy. This is how things used to be. It’s how I want them to be again. I just need to get my head out of my ass and get through this rough transition.

My stomach burns as I walk toward Marc’s office. I’m not great at asking for help, or even admitting I need it. I never realized how easy Aaron made things on me by always noticing there was a problem and calling me on it.

When I get to Marc’s door, I hear laughter from within, and I second-guess knocking. But the door is cracked, and Corey Matthews, who is lounging in a chair by the desk spots me instantly.

“Hey, rookie. Need something?”

“Uh, I can… come back.”

My stupid cheeks burn, but Marc appears at the door with a look of mild concern on his face.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to talk with you about—do you think there’s anything I can be doing differently? Working on?” I’ve never had to ask that question. Aaron always said I was great at taking direction, but he also gave me direction constantly.

I suddenly feel very coddled.

Marc gestures for me to come into his office, then gives Corey a look like get out , but he doesn’t move. The privileges of being the pitching coach’s chosen family. But then that makes me think of the vibe between Aaron and me, and it gives me a shred of hope that maybe this is the right call.

I need to get over myself and admit I need help if I want to fix things.

“I don’t feel like I’m hitting my stride the way I want to, and I’m curious if you’ve seen anything I can work on.”

Marc looks at me. “I’ve made a few little notes, but you’re still new. Still settling in. We’ve played against some hard teams with great hitters. I don’t think there’s anything you’re doing wrong. We can make some tweaks to what you’re working on, but you know how much of this game is mental, and all the training in the world won’t help with that. If you think that’s a part of it, consider going to see the sports psychologist for the team.”

I blow out a long breath. Psychologist? I guess it’s an option, but I’ve always been able to get myself through these things before .

“What did you used to do?” Corey asks.

“What do you mean?”

“If you had rough patches or losing streaks, what did you do?”

“Usually, I’d get together with my friends—the guys I came up with, especially Aaron—and play. We’d have fun, and they’d help me out. But I’ve also never had a losing streak like this before.”

Corey sighs and mutters something under his breath. “Look, I think you’re doing fine for a rookie. Plus, you don’t need to worry about being the star while they still have me.”

“You can get out of my office any time,” Marc says to him. Then he looks at me. “Take it one game at a time. Let’s see how you do today, okay?”

I give a quick nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His words run through my mind as I walk out of the room.

“Seriously, get out of my office,” Marc says to Corey as I walk down the hall.

It makes me smile. I miss my friends. I’ve gotten good at burying that feeling deep down and leaning into the introvert side of me, but I was lucky to play AAA close to home and have them close. They’re all pains in my ass, but I miss having them right there. Though I consider texting Aaron and asking if he’ll come down for a game—come see if he notices any issues—I don’t do it.

This is mine to fix, and I need to get used to that.

One game at a time, so let’s try to make this one a good one.

I want to throw something other than a baseball right now.

I started the game out strong. Only a couple of hits over the first two innings. Then a run got through in the third, and another in the fourth. Now we have a runner on third, two outs, and a full count. I’m dangerously close to walking this batter because of how badly I’m pitching. My first two throws were strikes, but after that I couldn’t throw anything but perfect pitches to foul off or horrifically bad balls. I almost hit the guy with the last one.

Marc stands in front of me, staring at me after giving me a speech to get me out of my head.

“You want to stay? Or do you want me to pull you?”

I swallow and take a deep breath. We’re still up by one. I only need one more strike.

“No. I can handle it.”

He nods. “I know you can. Close it out.”

He smacks me on the shoulder and jogs back to the dugout.

After a moment, I get ready and throw the next pitch. Another. Fucking. Foul.

Breathe .

I force myself not to look over at the family area since Amanda won’t be there.

It’s okay. I’ve got this.

My catcher signals for the throw, and I prep my favorite pitch. Two-seam fastball. It’s perfectly thrown, and for a second, relief floods me as I watch it fly toward the plate.

Then it connects with the bat to a deafening crack, and I watch as it soars over my head and over the back fence for a home run, taking the score from us leading 3-2 to them leading 4-3.

“You’ve gotta let it go,” Beau says. “We won the game.”

“No thanks to me.”

Our reliever came in and closed that shit out strong. We won 7-4. But not because of anything I did. And because I didn’t go back in for the sixth after things turned around and we started getting our bats going, the reliever was credited with the save. Not much stings more than that. I’d rather lose and know the loss was shared than feel like I was the worst member of my team for the night.

“All right. You want to stay and work on some stuff? You said that’s what you did with your friends, right? If you want to stick around, I’ll try to help,” Corey says, though he sounds like it’s physically painful for him to offer.

“It’s not a bad idea, but don’t overwork your arm,” Marc says.

“Anybody else? Daily?” Corey asks.

Ryan looks at him. “Can’t. Beau and I are headed to the gala.” He looks at me. “Shouldn’t you be too?”

I glance at the clock. “We got done a little early. I should have forty-five minutes or an hour if I push it to work on stuff.”

“All right, I’ll meet you out there,” Corey says.

A couple of other guys volunteer to stay, and I let myself have a spark of hope that maybe this will help.

Amanda

“It is an honor to have you all here tonight supporting us and the incredible trans community.” I clap loudly as Alannah speaks. “We also want to say thank you to all the staff here tonight, to Paige, who did so much leg work to make this possible, and Amanda for stepping in and making sure everything about tonight has been flawless.” She meets my eyes and raises her glass. I raise mine in response, and as she finishes speaking, pride rushes through me.

Tonight has been amazing so far, and it’s an honor to be a part of it.

As everyone gets back to what they were doing, I glance around the floor, a quick flash of excitement rolling through me when I see Beau and Ryan from the Metros. I look around, more specific this time, but don’t see Jamie.

I make my way over to where Ryan is with his wife, Bridget .

“Amanda, this is absolutely beautiful.” She looks up at Ryan. “Can we go back in time and have her plan our wedding?”

Ryan just laughs, then leans in to kiss my cheek.

“Hey, Jamie’s running a few minutes late, but he should be here soon.”

“Thanks.”

Alannah gets my attention, and I hurry across the room to see what she needs, hoping Jamie will be here by the time I’m done.

My stomach twists. It’s been an hour-and-a-half since Ryan and Beau got here. Where the hell is Jamie? I don’t have my phone on me, so I suppose he could’ve texted, but unless he was vomiting or got hit by a bus, there aren’t many excuses for him not being here.

I take a brief break to grab a water from the bar, mostly to calm myself down.

“You nailed this. Glad I recommended you,” Mark Abbott says, sliding up next to me. He orders a drink, then turns to me, his brow furrowing. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” I force a smile, but I doubt I’m doing a good job of it.

Mark looks around, then back at me. “Where’s Jamie?”

I shrug. “Don’t know.” There’s only an hour-and-a-half left in the event, and he’s still not fucking here.

“But he’s supposed to be here,” Mark says, not asks.

“Yep. He was supposed to be here over an hour ago. I’m not sure where he is. Maybe something with baseball. I don’t know how the game was tonight.”

Mark slowly shakes his head. “That’s no excuse for him not being here when he said he would be.” He meets my eyes, then the bartender shows up with his drink, and he grabs it. He nudges me with his elbow before he walks away. “You’re important too. Remember that. ”

Sighing, I glug the rest of my water, then get back to it. I have a job to do, and that continues, whether Jamie is here or not.

The last hour of an event is always the most chaotic. People are leaving, the kitchen and bar are slowly shutting down, the hosts are tired, and I’m trying to make sure everything is ready for when the tear down crew arrives.

I walk out of the kitchen, and nearly trip over my own feet when I see Jamie sitting at the bar, drinking.

He’s two hours later than he said he’d be here. Obviously, the game didn’t run late.

Lifting my chin and standing up straight, I walk over to him. Halfway there, he sees me and stands up.

“Hey, baby,” he says when I get to him. “Everything looks amazing.”

With his words, I smell alcohol, and glance over at his drink. “Are you drinking?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“Oh, so the Metros newest pitcher and my boyfriend, who is underage, is drinking at an event I’m running after showing up two hours late. Amazing. Do you have any idea how that looks?”

“Mands, I’m sorry.” He reaches for my hands, but I step away.

“Not here. Not now. I’m working.”

“Right,” he says quietly.

“Enjoy what’s left of the event. We’ll talk later.”

I spin on my heel, remembering the moment from two years ago when I told him he couldn’t crash an event to apologize. I thought we’d come so far since then, but as I walk away, I’m hit with the same ugly feeling of being second best—of not being anyone’s first choice.

Jamie waited for me after the event and ordered a car service to take us home, but I wasn’t going to get into it in the car.

The second we’re through the apartment door, though, he immediately starts apologizing.

“I’m sorry. I?—”

“Where were you?”

He swallows hard. “Tonight’s game was rough, so a couple of the guys offered to help me out.”

“And it had to be tonight ?”

“I played like shit tonight, and I wanted to work through some of it while it was fresh in my mind.”

Baseball will always be his first love .

The sting of that moment hits me all over again. He prioritized me. He spent months proving he cared for me before we made things official, and since then, he’s continued to do that… until things have gotten difficult with baseball.

Did I ever come first?

“I’m sorry you had a tough game, but that’s no excuse for you not being there tonight. Not only was it an important cause, but it was deeply important to me. I go to every single game I can be at for you. I travel with the team. I work my schedule and my life around what you do, and the one thing—the one night—I ask for, and you couldn’t show up for me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“I do?—”

“It’s not just that I wanted to share it with you, it’s that I wanted your support. I wanted my person to put me first, and you didn’t. Your career is important, and I’ve known since we started doing this that it’s not something to take lightly. I’ve accepted that I can’t always be your priority, and I’m okay with that. But tonight, you chose baseball over me when you didn’t have to. That hurts. ”

“I’m sorry.” I know he is. I can see it on his face. But words don’t mean much right now.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Finding the clothes I set out for myself earlier, I head for the bathroom and lock the door. He can use the guest bathroom if he needs to. I need peace. Space to think.

I take off my pretty black dress, and toe off my heels, then I stare at myself in the mirror. Tears prickle my eyes. I don’t bother trying to blink them back.

Steam fills up the room as I turn the water on burn-my-skin-off hot.

Numbly, I climb inside and go through the motions. I’m halfway through washing my hair when the sobs hit. I remember the way he helped me shower when I was sick, how he took care of me. He chose me over baseball, and I’d never felt more wanted—and even though we hadn’t said it yet, I’d never felt more loved.

I finish rinsing the conditioner out of my hair, then lean against the back wall of the shower and sink to the floor, giving into the body shaking sobs.

Is this what our future looks like? Me begging to be chosen again? My chest tightens at the thought. I’m trying to trust that Jamie wouldn’t do that to me, but today he showed me what was more important to him. Maybe it was just once, but it did damage to my already fragile heart. The urge to put my walls up, be mean, and push him away is strong, but that’s not what a healthy relationship is, so I let myself cry it out until I’m ready to face it all again, even though I’m hoping he’ll already be in bed, so I can just go to sleep.

After getting dried off and dressed in comfy clothes, I walk back into the bedroom to find all the lights on, and Jamie sitting on the bed with two lap trays of sushi on the bed in front of him.

Tears well in my eyes again, and he walks over to me, pulling me into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, babe. We got done early with the game, and I planned to practice for forty-five minutes, then head to the event and be there when I said I would, but I accidentally left my phone in my cubby and lost track of time. Then there was traffic—I…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I hate myself for missing it. I’m insanely proud of you, and I missed out on seeing the best of it because of a stupid decision on my part. I hate that I hurt you, when all I wanted to do was celebrate you. I know my words can’t fix it, but I needed you to know.” He kisses my forehead. “I love you, and I’m honored to be your partner. I’m sorry I didn’t show you that tonight.”

He steps back and cradles my face in his hands, looking into my eyes.

It’s so frustrating that in moments like this I still crave his touch even though he’s the one that hurt me. I can’t tell him it’s all okay when it isn’t, but I don’t want to live in my anger and hurt, either. So I lean against him again, holding him tightly.

He runs his fingers through my hair, and I look over at the bed.

“When did you get that?”

“I had it delivered before I left for the stadium.”

That’s the boy I know.

Sniffing, I lean back and look up at him. “Thank you.”

“Got your favorite wine too.”

He takes my hand and helps me onto the bed, then hands me the glass of wine.

Once we’re both sitting, he clinks his glass against mine. “To you.”

“Thank you.”

“So, I probably don’t have a right to ask, but… I’d love to hear about the event if you’re willing to tell me.”

I stare at him for a moment. An earnest, apologetic look shimmers in his eyes.

“Okay.”

Though my heart is hurting, I believe he’s sorry and truly wants to know about the event, so I get cozy with him, dive into the sushi, and tell him all about it.

It’s one of those mornings where I don’t want to open my eyes and let the daylight filter in. I’m still exhausted, even though I slept like the dead. Jamie and I stayed up late eating sushi and talking about the event, then I fell asleep in his arms.

The remnants of my hurt from last night are still there, especially as I reach for him and find nothing but the cold bed next to me.

No falling back to sleep now.

Slowly, I peel my eyes open and sit up. As usual, the first thing I do is reach for my phone, but my hand hits a piece of paper. Pulling it to me, I see it’s a note from Jamie.

Go check your office. There’s something you need to see there.

X- Jamie

I guess that means it’s time to get up.

My legs ache as I swing them over the side of the bed. And then my feet howl in pain when they touch the floor. I’m going to be on a regiment of heat and ice today. No more heels for events. I know better, but I did it anyway.

I grab my silky floral robe and wrap it around me as I walk out the master bedroom door and down the hall to the spare room, which is also my office. It’s long, but a little narrow, and feels too office-y for me. I love the one at our apartment in Ida because it’s a little cocoon of creativity. It’s warm and cozy and brings out the most creative parts of me.

Oh well. At least I have an office here. At school, I work out of a small bedroom in the lake house I share with the hive mind. I have a small desk there, but after a couple of weeks, it’s usually overflowing. This is spacious, at least.

I look around, remembering that Jamie sent me in here. Then I notice a new photo frame on the wall. Only it’s not a photo inside it. It’s a newspaper clipping.

A newspaper clipping talking about the success of the event—and me.

I glance at the clock and see it’s around nine. That means Jamie went and found a newspaper and framed this before I even woke up.

“You deserve to be celebrated.” I spin at the sound of Jamie’s emotion-drenched voice. “I’m sorry I failed at that last night. As usual, you are a mesmerizing force of nature, and I’m honored to be your partner.” He crosses the room to me, a bag from my favorite local bakery in hand. “That is to remind you of your success and your passion. You have the ability to grow your business into something even more incredible than it is now, and I have no doubt you’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, gratitude sweeping through me. “What’s in the bag?”

He gets that sheepish boyish grin. “Breakfast sandwiches and hash browns.” I groan at that, and he sets the bag down on my desk and wraps his arms around me, burying his face in my neck. “I love you so fucking much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I hold him close, curling my fingers in his hair. “I love you too, and I know.” Sucking in a breath, I lean back and look up at him. “I forgive you.”

He rests his forehead against mine, then pulls me tight to him again.

And most of me revels in it. But deep inside me, there’s a painful pinch of something else. Discomfort. There’s a tiny piece of me that feels a little uncomfortable about how vulnerable I was with him last night. I almost feel stupid about it, like I was somehow overreacting, even though I wasn’t. And being vulnerable with him now is an entirely different situation. A part of me wants to stop myself from doing it, and a little piece of my heart shatters when I realize why. He broke my trust last night—at least part of it—and despite how apologetic he’s been, being vulnerable with him now comes with fear. Fear that he won’t be careful with my vulnerability, and he’ll hurt me again.

Is this the way our relationship is going to go now? He’s always been my safe place, and the thought of losing that absolutely crushes me.

So I hold him tighter, trying to push all those thoughts away, because I don’t want to let one bad night form a fracture between us we can’t recover from.