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EYES SHUT

Amanda

“Hey, Amanda?”

A pretty girl with long, light brown hair smiles sheepishly at me.

“Hi. Paige?”

She sighs heavily and drops into the seat across from me at the little café tucked just inside a hospital.

“Thank you for this.” She grabs the coffee cup in front of her and takes a sip. “It’s rare I get out of the NICU these days, and when I do, it’s never to do something for myself.”

“How’s your little one doing?”

“Getting stronger every day. Hopefully, we’ll be home by the end of August.” She sniffs, then waves her hand. “Anyway, what made you reach out?”

I’m not sure exactly why the event planner who planned most of the gala is the first friend I’m trying to make here, but there was something about the vibe of her work that made me feel like we’d hit it off. And when I look at the clearly exhausted woman across from me, I feel a certain kindred spirit with her. Our exhaustion comes from two different places, but both of us have prioritized ourselves last.

“First, I wanted to let you know you did a phenomenal job planning that gala. It was easy for me to walk in and pick up the pieces. I made sure your business cards were set out along with mine because you deserve as much—if not more—of the credit.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s what you deserve.” Because she needs to hear that. For very different reasons, this woman is holding her whole world together, and while I don’t know anything about her partner, I’m certain she still needs to hear that she’s worthy. “The main reason I reached out to you wasn’t that, though. Honestly, I’m new around here, and I don’t live here full time, so I don’t have any friends.” I clear my throat. “My therapist said to do something for myself because I don’t do that enough, so this is me reaching out. Not asking for anything, but seeing if you need a friend too. Based on how you work, I thought we might get along as more than just business associates.”

She swallows hard. “I’d really like that. I haven’t been here long either. My husband and I lived in Savannah until about six months ago. We moved up here for his job, and while I don’t regret it, my focus on rebuilding my business and then my pregnancy means I don’t have any friends here—or much of a support system. My husband is great, but he works a lot.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a lawyer. Mostly deals with business and contractual stuff. He was the one who recommended me for the gala. But, uh… how did you end up here?”

“My boyfriend got called up to the Metros.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah. It’s been… busy. Lonely.”

“I understand that feeling. Some of the wives from my husband’s law firm have offered to bring dinner, but no one has met me where I am—literally. So, thank you.”

“I’m happy to do it. I’ll be back at college soon, but I’ll probably be around on weekends, and I’m happy to buy you a coffee and just relax with you whether it’s here—or hopefully at your house soon.”

“God, I hope so. I’d love that.”

“Good.” I blow out a breath. “There was one other reason I reached out. It might not be at the front of your mind right now, but I thought maybe we could team up. Not business partners or anything, but be each other’s backups or in case of emergency person for our businesses.”

“That would be… amazing. I haven’t had a lot of time to think about my business lately, but when I have, I’ve been worried.”

“We can talk about all that later, but let me know if there’s anything hanging over you still that I can help with. For now, let’s get to know each other?”

“Sounds great.”

I spent the subway ride home going over my calendar and to-do list.

I leave to go back to school in a week-and-a-half. Jamie is traveling for the four days before I leave. He’ll be back the night before I leave. I was supposed to go with him—even though he won’t be pitching—so we could have a little more time together, but now I’m not sure I can do it.

I need to go back to Ida before I head back to school and get a bunch of stuff from our apartment. I’ve got to make sure everything is set up for the cleaning person to come once a week and that building security will keep us updated on any issues. Then I really want to spend a little time with Jace and my brothers—even Josh. He annoys me, but he’s still my brother and we always spend time together over the summer. I missed our family vacation this year. The only one I’ve ever missed other than the year I was horribly sick .

When Jamie took care of me.

My heart still hurts after everything that’s happened in the last few weeks, though the last week has been better. I don’t want to say it’s because he hasn’t pitched, but I think it might be part of it. It’s been less stress. With the team being closer to playoffs, they’re matching pitchers up against specific teams and players, which means Jamie is pitching for the first time tonight since his win.

I’m hoping having less stress and coming off a good game last time will have him in a good space for tonight.

I don’t know how to talk to him about not going on his road trip with him. As much as I want to, I know it’ll leave me too stressed, and when he’s here, I want to be present with him. On the road, I’d have less time with him anyway, and traveling right before I have to drive five hours back to school sounds awful.

Guilt flashes through me, but I do my best to put it aside.

I still haven’t told him about my run-in with Maci—other than the times I tried and he wasn’t listening. I know I need to, but it’s hard to want to when I was vulnerable—something he knows is hard for me—and he didn’t show up the way I needed him to.

I’m trying to work through that on my own and let it go because I don’t want to be bitter, but it’s impossible not to notice the change in our relationship. Once the season is over, I’m hoping we can take some time together and work through it all, but until then, I’m trying to hold on and keep it all together.

My therapist was right, though. Doing something for me made a huge difference in my mental health, and the idea of having a friend here makes such a difference too.

“Hey, baby,” Jamie calls as soon as I walk inside the apartment. “How was your coffee?”

I set my stuff down and walk into the kitchen. “It was good. I think I might’ve made a solid friend.”

“Good.”

“How was your morning? ”

“Fine.” He walks over and kisses me. “Did a little workout and relaxed. Actually, I did some yoga and meditation.”

“Oh?”

“Trying to find some balance.”

“That’s good,” I breathe.

“Anyway, I was just going to warm up some of that extra falafel for lunch. Want some?”

“Yes, please.”

We walk over to the kitchen, and he goes to the fridge while I sit down on a stool. He sets a few containers on the counter, then pauses and looks at me.

“Oh, before I forget, Emily texted earlier to see if she could interview you either tonight or sometime in the next couple of days, since we’ll be on the road trip after that.”

Ah, shit. Well, I’m not going to lie to him, even if I didn’t particularly want to discuss it now.

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine, but… I’m not sure I’m going on the road trip.”

His head snaps up. “What? Why? You’re going back to school in less than two weeks. You’re supposed to come.”

“I know, but I was looking at the calendar today, and I have too much to do and I need to go back home before then too, and I think it would just be easier if I stayed. If you were pitching I’d go, but?—”

“But spending time with me is too much to ask for?”

Oh, is he fucking kidding right now?

“Do you think I want to be away from you? Of course I don’t.”

“Then come. Figure out the rest later.”

“There is no later! I already figured out the many things I have to do, and I’m trying to prevent myself from completely burning out by spreading out what I need to do instead of trying to squeeze it all in at the last second.”

“Good to know where I fall on your priority list,” he mutters, turning away from me .

Fuck. That.

I shove my stool back and march around the counter. “Did you just accuse me of not prioritizing you? You clearly haven’t been paying attention for the last couple of months. I have been running myself ragged, doing everything I can for you. Taking care of you. Sacrificing myself, my health, my wellbeing for you . And you have the audacity to complain because I’m not going on a road trip you aren’t even playing in? Don’t you dare say that I haven’t prioritized you when you’ve barely remembered I have needs outside of you and your career for the last two months.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

I stare at him, not blinking, not moving an inch. “Why did I decide to go to therapy?”

“What—because you needed to focus on your mental health.”

“But what was the catalyst?”

“I don’t know. You didn’t tell me.”

“I told you twice . But you weren’t listening. For someone who claims to always see me, you’ve had your eyes shut a lot of the time lately.”

He stares at me for a moment, anger giving way to something softer.

“Why did you start therapy?” His voice is hushed and uncertain.

“Because that queer wedding I was so excited to have the opportunity to plan was Maci’s wedding.”

His eyes go wide. “What? But she told you it was all an experiment?—”

“Believe me, I know. And I reminded her of that after she chased me down the street. Then I spent the next hour crying with Hyla and Mackenzie, and I realized how deeply I’ve neglected myself. That I didn’t have a safe space inside me because I was in a constant state of upheaval and turmoil. And when we talked that night, I let you tell me all about the win you worked so hard for, and when it was finally my turn, when I tried to be vulnerable with you and tell you about the worst day I’d had in a long time, you fell asleep. Then the next morning, I tried again, and you got distracted by your teammates and had to go. Do you know how that feels? To need your person so badly and have them completely tune you out?” My voice breaks. “I’ve spent the last two months sacrificing my mental and physical health for you, all the while understanding how essential baseball is. And you’ve done nothing but take advantage of that.”

“I didn’t realize?—”

“That’s not an excuse. It’s part of the problem.”

We stare at each other for a long moment.

“You should eat, so you’re ready for your game later. I’m going to take a bath.”

With that I push past him, grab my favorite wine from the fridge, and head for the bathroom because fuck it all. I’m doing another thing today that’s only for me.

Jamie

I can’t get out of my head.

This game has been a complete disaster. It’s been raining on and off. Our hitters can’t find the ball even when it’s right in the center of their zone. And I’ve let hits and runs through in every inning.

Right now is the worst, though. We have two runners on base and two people have already scored. We’re not just losing, we’re being demolished, and I’m responsible for a good chunk of that.

I don’t feel grounded in my body right now. A part of my mind is somewhere else. It’s hearing Amanda’s words over and over.

I knew I was fucking up, but I didn’t realize it was that bad. Why the fuck didn’t she talk to me sooner?

I roll my shoulders and try to shake it off. Usually when I feel like this, I’d look over at the family section of the stands, but today, I’d probably see Amanda glaring at me .

Fuck it .

Focusing on the plate and my catcher’s glove, I wind up and throw. It’s the perfect pitch… for the batter to wallop over the center field wall.

I’m not even surprised when Marc jogs out to the mound. Even though I’m coursing with rage—at so many things—I don’t argue when he pulls me. My head’s not in it, and I don’t deserve to be out here.

I’m almost surprised when I see Amanda waiting for me after the game. Hell, I’m a little surprised she came at all, seeing as she’s been spread so thin lately. If I’m destroying her life so much, she could at least have the decency to tell me.

I’m holding on to the dream—the career—I’ve worked so hard for by a thread, and it hasn’t left a lot of mental space for anything else, but we’re still us, right?

I’m doing the best I can. Why is that not enough?

She’s surprisingly calm when I walk over to her, but why wouldn’t she be? She let everything out on me right before I had to pitch. It’s no wonder I played like shit.

When I get to her, she looks at me like she wants to say something, but doesn’t. I’m too pissed to say anything. Not here. Instead, we walk silently to the car, then climb in the back seat, enduring a painfully quiet forty-five-minute ride back to the apartment.

I hate how far the apartment is from the stadium. Who gives a fuck about how nice our little neighborhood is when it’s so damn far away from where I have to spend a huge chunk of my time?

Amanda keeps glancing at me, but doesn’t say anything. Of course not. Why would she talk to me when she can bottle it up and explode at the worst time?

When we get back to the apartment, I’m dangerously close to throwing shit and having a tantrum. I’m too keyed up. Too pissed off.

I don’t say a word to Amanda when we walk through the door. I just drop my shit and storm toward the bedroom.

“Jamie…” she calls, following me.

I clench and release my fists, the anger inside me boiling over.

“Why did you do that?” I yell when she walks through the bedroom door.

She jolts back. “Do what?”

“Why did you pick a fucking fight with me right before the game? I couldn’t think—I couldn’t focus. I threw one of the worst games of my life because of you!”

Amanda goes eerily still, then crosses the room, her icy gaze set on me.

“I did not pick a fight. We had a fight, and I held you accountable for how you’ve been treating me. Don’t you dare blame me for what happened at that game. I am not responsible for your emotions. You’re an adult. You need to learn how to manage those yourself. When something is hurting me and I have to run an event, I have to put it all aside and be in that space and in that moment. Maybe I can’t let all of it go, but I have had to learn how to do what I need to do when I need to do it. Granted, I’m a woman, so we’re trained to do that from a young age. Smile or someone will think I’m rude. Be friendly to everyone I meet or they’ll think I’m a bitch. Control my temper or I’ll hear a snide comment about how I must be on my period. I spend my life managing my fucking emotions, and I will not enable you to put your emotions on to me. They are your responsibility. Your mental health is your responsibility. You need to step up and learn how to handle those things yourself, or eventually, you’re going to run out of people and things to blame, and you’ll be left with nothing.”

She storms past me toward the bathroom.

“I’m going to get ready for bed. Sulk if you need to. Work through your emotions. Figure your shit out, but do not talk to me like that again, and if you can’t do that, then don’t expect to sleep in this bedroom tonight.”

She walks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. All I can do is stare at the dark wood and kick myself.

She’s right.

She was right earlier, and she’s right now.

My mental game has been shit most of the season, and that has nothing to do with her. She still shouldn’t have waited to tell me how she was feeling until she exploded, but I didn’t give her a lot of options.

For someone who claims to always see me, you’ve had your eyes shut a lot of the time lately.

The words ring in my ears, cutting deep as they were intended to.

Fuck.

How did we get here?

I stare at the door for a minute longer, then change into comfortable clothes and walk out of the bedroom.

I need to figure out my shit, but more importantly, I need to figure out how to start fixing things with my girl.

I barely slept last night. I crawled into bed around three, but all I did for another hour was watch Amanda sleep.

The transition to the majors has been rough for me, but I didn’t realize how deeply it was affecting Amanda—affecting us—because I wasn’t paying attention.

I’ve always told her I see her, and I’m not sure how to fix how little I’ve seen her over the past couple of months. I know her well enough to know it can’t just be words. It has to be action.

It’s going to take time, and that’s frustrating and stressful because we don’t have a lot before she’s back at school and I’ll be lucky to see her a weekend or two each month .

But I can’t fix anything if I don’t start trying.

Slowly, I reach over and run my fingers through her long, silky hair, hoping when she realizes it’s me touching her, she doesn’t slap my hand away.

Amanda

The gentle caress of fingers over my temple pulls me from sleep.

It takes me a moment to orient to what’s happening—what happened.

Yesterday was not good. Two fights. Two messy, complicated yelling matches. Not really matches, I guess. I did most of the yelling.

I wanted last night to be better. I had my second meeting with my therapist yesterday after Jamie left for his game, and I told her all the ugly details. She was entirely unfazed, and gave me some helpful tips in addition to talking through some of my feelings with me. But the most important thing was the reminder that Jamie can’t read my mind, and even though I was mad at him, keeping my feelings from him didn’t serve a purpose—it hurt both of us more. It’s okay for me to be angry, but I have to tell him I’m angry. Preferably when we’re both in a space to listen calmly.

That wasn’t last night. When he blamed me, pure rage flowed through me. After I yelled at him and had time alone to process, though, that wasn’t what stuck with me. It was the anger in his eyes. He’s never looked at me like that before.

Yet here he is now, gently stroking my hair to wake me up. I flash my eyes open and look at him. There’s regret and pain in his eyes, but it’s surrounded by tenderness. A tenderness that makes me want to burst into tears because I’ve been craving it.

“I’m sorry. I know those are just pretty words at this point, but they’re where I need to start. I’m so sorry. Sorry I blamed you. Sorry I hurt you. Sorry for all of it.” He gently rests his large hand on my cheek. “Things aren’t good right now, are they?”

Slowly, I shake my head. “Neither of us has done a great job of focusing on our relationship.”

“You have,” he whispers.

“No. I’ve prioritized you. I haven’t prioritized us. I also haven’t been talking to you, and I’m sorry for that too.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. “I remember you telling me once that growing up, the squeaky wheel always got the grease, but you never learned to squeak loud enough. But the thing is, you should never have to squeak with me. I don’t know how to fix this, but I think it has to start with talking—or you talking and me listening. Why didn’t you talk to me sooner? Especially about what happened with Maci?”

I could say it was solely because I was angry, but I know that’s not the truth.

“I was mad. But mostly… I was struggling, and I needed my person. I was vulnerable with you, and when you didn’t take the time to listen to me, it made me feel unwanted.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I wave my hand. “I don’t need you to apologize again. I just need you to understand. You’re my person. You’re always the one I want to comfort me, and when I don’t have that…” I trail off as tears spill from my eyes.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me tight to him. It’s what I’ve needed for too long. To be held. To know I’m safe. To know his mind isn’t somewhere else. All of him is here with me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner. I was angry and afraid to open myself up again.”

“I understand why you didn’t. I’m sorry I blamed you for last night. I was angry and wanted someone to blame, but it’s not you. It’s never you.”

“Do you understand why I said I can’t go on the trip? It’s not because I don’t want to. I want to. If I could, I’d be with you all the time, but I can’t maintain the other parts of my life if I do that, and I’m?— ”

“I understand,” he whispers, voice shaking. His fingers curl into my hair as he holds me tighter. “It wasn’t fair to get mad at you for that. Everything feels better with you, and that’s why I wanted you there. I wasn’t thinking about you.” He buries his face in my neck. “I’m sorry for the pressure I put on you, but I can never apologize for the way I need you. Even when I’m doing it wrong, even when we’re a mess, I need you.”

His lips press into the skin of my neck, and I tilt my head, desperate for more. I’ve missed this. Us. The connection we have. It’s always been a brilliant white flame burning between us, but it’s dimmed recently.

He lifts his head, pulling back, but I tug him closer, grabbing his cheeks in my hands. “I need you too. I’ve needed you more than I can put into words. I need us. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Frantically, I pull him to my lips. He slips his hand under my shirt as we both give in to the love flowing between us, what we’ve both neglected but need now more than ever.

He pulls back again and looks at me, awe in his eyes, like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Like nothing else could ever hold his attention the way I do.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs.

Then it’s rough kisses and fumbling to get our clothes off.

My emotions are out of control, and I can’t stop the tears that spring to my eyes.

“I love you,” he rasps, the same emotion flowing out of him.

We haven’t done the best job at communicating, but we can communicate like this. We can bask in our love and let it heal us.

His hot mouth slants over mine, and he wraps his hand around the side of my neck and he pushes inside me.

I cry out at the mix of pleasure and the achy pain still deep in my heart.

“I love you. I need you. You’re everything.”

Tears fall down my cheeks as I hold him close, bodies flush as we move together.

“I love you. I love you. Please don’t let me go. Don’t let me go,” I cry.

“Never.” He thrusts in harder. “You’re mine. Forever.”

Our emotions overtake us as we move together, our love working to fill some of the cracks in my aching heart.

I don’t know where we go from here, but giving in to the intense, beautiful love between us can’t be a bad place to start.