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21

DESPERATE, PATHETIC GIRL

Amanda

“I’m going to miss you.” Jamie’s voice breaks as he stares down at me, my face cradled in his hands.

The last ten days went by too fast. After our fight, we’ve been closer and gentler with each other, but we didn’t really get into the root of our problems. I don’t regret how we handled things that night. We needed to reconnect both physically and emotionally. But now I’m leaving with things still off balance, and I’m worried all we did is slap a bandage over a gaping wound.

I keep telling myself it’ll only be six to eight weeks until his season is over and we can be together again—hopefully fully heal things. I can survive eight weeks. I survived the last eight weeks. Somehow.

“I know,” I whisper, looking into his shimmering blue eyes. “I’ll miss you too. But we’ll do what we always do. Talk every night. Text all day. Phone sex. And I’ll be back down as soon as I can.”

He nods and pulls me tight to him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Tears line my eyes, and I hold him tighter. Saying goodbye is always the worst, especially when we won’t see each other for a while.

“Okay.” He steps back, wrapping his hands around mine. “Drive safe. Text me when you get there.”

“I will. I know we’ll talk plenty before then, but I still want to say it in person… good luck on Thursday.”

“Thank you.”

We stare at each other for a moment more, then he sweeps me into his arms, dipping me back in an all-consuming kiss. I want to sob at the passion and tenderness of it—the aching desire that makes me feel wanted and deeply loved. I want to hold on tight and never let go.

When we slowly unfurl, he wipes some tears off my cheeks and kisses my forehead.

I need to go, but I don’t want to. Five hours alone in the car sounds horrible.

Jamie takes my hand and leads me around the car, then opens my door for me. “I don’t want you driving when it’s dark. You should get on the road.” He clears his throat, trying to hide the emotion in his voice.

I nod and turn to get in, but he grabs me and presses me against the car door for one last fiery kiss. My skin prickles with want, and part of me wants to say screw it and leave tomorrow. But I need a couple of days to settle in before school starts. This is my last year. This time next year we won’t be saying goodbye, and when the season ends next year, we’ll be living together full time, no road trips to tear us apart. It’ll just be us.

I can’t wait.

This time when he lets me go, he helps me into the driver’s seat, then leans down and kisses my cheek.

“Drive safe, baby. I love you.”

I give him my brightest smile. “Love you too, baseball boy.”

He smiles at that, then steps back and shuts my car door.

I look back as I’m pulling out of the parking spot, then I’m off for five lonely hours to Old Lake Town.

Nothing like a therapy session to cap off a day of travel and moving back into the lake house with my friends. It was originally supposed to be during my time back home while Jamie was traveling, but we had to reschedule. I figured I’d get it out of the way, but my therapist is on fire today and low-key making me regret it.

“Why didn’t you talk more about the disconnect between you two while you were together?” my therapist asks.

She says it matter-of-factly. Like she’s asking what the weather is.

But maybe that’s how I should be looking at it. Like it doesn’t have to be big and dramatic, but part of life. Part of normal discussions. Jamie and I should be talking about those things. But we didn’t.

“Were you holding back because you were angry?” she prods when I don’t answer.

“No.” Ugh. This is why I can’t make it matter-of-fact. Because of the ugly emotions that swell inside me when I think about it. “I wanted to enjoy things being happy for a few days because there’s been so much chaos.”

“And talking about the hard things would’ve ruined that?”

I bite my lip and force a deep breath. “I was afraid it would push him away, and then he would push me away.”

All my feelings and fears about being unwanted or not chosen swirl around me.

“Amanda, have you ever heard of rejection sensitivity?”

“I’ve heard it mentioned in the past, but not much else.”

“Well, there’s a lot of nuance to it, and it’s not an official diagnosis, but you seem to be rejection sensitive within your interpersonal relationships. You’ve mentioned feeling unwanted or not chosen or that you’re afraid of those things. Do you feel that’s the case? ”

I swallow hard. “Yes. It’s one of my biggest triggers.”

She looks at me thoughtfully. “Often, those types of feelings are brought on by a traumatic event or repeated small traumatic events. Does anything in your life stand out to you?”

Fuck. I’ve never felt this called out in my life.

“It’s—there are several different things I could point to. I was always the kid who had to ask for attention. It was never freely given. But there is one bigger thing too…” Then I explain about Maci. What she did. “I felt almost gaslit when she walked away and had her mother tell me never to come back. It was like she couldn’t face the reality that we shared something and needed to make it one-sided—make me feel crazy for thinking she felt anything for me. It still eats away at me. Sometimes I think if I could just get closure, it would fix all my problems.”

“Closure isn’t a reality most of the time. Expecting anyone who we’ve had struggles with to tell us what we need to hear to move on is unlikely. And ultimately, the healing from it is still found within. What would knowing the truth of her feelings help?”

“I wouldn’t feel crazy. I’d know it wasn’t my fault.”

“Her treating you poorly was not your fault. It’s clear you had a relationship. You don’t continuously partake in consensual intimacy with someone if there’s no relationship of any sort. Whether or not she meant the words she said is irrelevant. Those words meant something to you, and you’re allowed to feel hurt because she went back on them. Holding on to that desire to know why is only hurting you.”

“Ouch.”

She smiles softly. “What do you do with that ouch now?”

“Work through it?” I ask with a hopeful smile.

“Exactly. I’m here to help find tools that work for you to do exactly that. And knowing you struggle with rejection sensitivity means we can find coping skills to help with that too.”

“Thank you,” I say, even though I know I don’t need to. This is her job, but this is the first time I’ve felt like I’m regaining some of my power and agency. Understanding myself better means I have a chance to heal more, and I want to do that.

Jamie

I’m not looking forward to tonight’s game. Amanda has been gone for five days, and I’ve barely slept the entire time. I’m not sure why. Because she’s not here? Or because things have been messy at best between us? Or just because I’m so exhausted, but I can’t settle my mind?

This season has taken a toll on me in more ways than I could’ve imagined. I got on the scale this morning while I was brushing my teeth, and I was shocked to see I’d lost ten pounds.

I feel like the absolute worst version of myself, and I don’t know how to climb out of the hole I’m in.

I have to try to get my head on straight before the game tonight, though.

Remember why it’s fun. Why I love the game.

But that only goes so far. I’m too disengaged. If anything, I want to get on the mound this afternoon and completely tune out the world.

My last game was a disaster, and if there’s one thing I have to do, it’s tune that out. I hate the shift toward matching pitchers up with teams; it means either small gaps or massive gaps between pitching. It’s been almost two weeks since I last pitched, but my next game after this is in two days.

Whatever. Maybe I need to lean in to how crappy I feel today and focus on getting my head straight for the next game.

When have I ever thought that before? Who cares if it’s a crappy game? No. That’s not me. I rise to the occasion. I figure out my shit. I overcome. I’m going to do that. It’s time to get back on track.

I’m not back on track.

This game hasn’t been an absolute shitshow like the last one, but I’m still struggling. I’m the definition of phoning it in right now, desperate to make it through this game without screwing anything up too badly, but I’m far from doing well.

We’ve gone back and forth between winning and losing all game, with several innings at a tied score. We’re ahead now, in the top of the sixth, but I already walked one batter—and not on purpose.

Fuck, I’m a mess. As I wind up and throw the next pitch, I’m not sure where my mind goes, but not where it’s supposed to because not only is my pitch way off, it catches the batter in the arm.

I put my head in my hands and grumble to myself as the catcher jogs up to the mound. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? You don’t seem like you’re here.”

“I am. Sorry.”

He gives me a sympathetic smile, then smacks my shoulder. “Get your head in the game. You’ve got this.”

Then he’s gone. Not the most useful conversation, but I haven’t put the time into getting to know him like I should have. Yet another way I’ve failed.

What would Miles have told me? Somehow, he’d have read my mind and given me some sort of prophetic statement to get me through.

I look over at the family section of the stands, and the emptiness weighs on me.

I can’t think about that right now .

Sucking in a deep breath, I get ready, then throw the first pitch to the next batter. Who hits a perfect double, allowing the guy on second to score and the guy I hit to get to third.

Fantastic .

Marc might as well pull me at this point, because I’m only going to keep making things worse.

“Excellent game tonight,” our first baseman says derisively as he walks by me. Dude is an asshole on a good day, but he’s not wrong tonight.

We won, but barely, and only because our reliever pulled it together. My game was shit.

“And you had so many shining moments tonight,” Declan says. “Like when you fumbled what should’ve been a perfect double play.”

“Ignore him,” Ryan says to me. “We all have rough games. Keep your chin up. Let me know if you ever want to work on anything. I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks.”

Beau slaps me on the shoulder. “That’s it. We’re going out after this. You need alcohol and greasy food to cleanse the system.”

“That’s the opposite of cleanse ,” Declan says.

“Come on,” Beau prods. “What do you say?”

“I’ve got to meet the reporter doing that profile piece tonight.”

“Perfect. We’ll come too. Get you some good food and make sure you’re nice and relaxed before she gets there.”

I stare at Beau and a few of the other guys, who are nodding.

Fuck it. Why not? I need to bond with the team.

“Let’s do it. ”

Amanda

It’s after six when I finally get home from my second day of classes. Whoever decided college should start mid-week is brilliant. It’s best to ease us in so we don’t quit after two days. If it wasn’t my final year, I might want to.

I kept an eye on the score of Jamie’s game throughout class, but it kept going back and forth. Once I’ve set all my crap down, I collapse on my bed and pull out my phone to check the final score. The Metros won, but the reliever got the save.

My stomach turns. What kind of space is that going to leave Jamie in tonight? He wasn’t planning to call me for at least another hour, so I force myself off the bed to get some food, but when I do, a sick creeping sensation works its way through my stomach.

Maybe this isn’t all worry about Jamie. I haven’t felt good for the last two days. I’m fatigued despite sleeping, queasy—more like nauseous right now—and I don’t have much appetite. Plus, I’m bloated. But that’s probably because of my period.

My period?

I blink a few times, then grab my phone and look at the calendar, counting backward to when my last one started.

Five-and-a-half weeks ago.

Oh no.

No. No.

This—I… shit.

I knew I missed a few birth control pills here and there with all the back and forth and traveling, but not enough to… I can’t be pregnant, can I?

What if I’m pregnant?

I grab my phone, but remember Jamie had the meeting after the game tonight. Instead of calling, I type out a quick text.

Me: Hey, uh, semi emergency… could you call me as soon as you ge t this?

I set my phone down, then get up and pace. But I’m still nauseous and end up right back on my bed. What would it mean if I’m pregnant? I’d be giving birth before the school year is finished. And in the midst of Jamie’s season.

How would I manage a baby when I’m building my business and he’s gone all the time?

My chest tightens. Grabbing my phone again, I start researching everything about the effectiveness of the pill I’m on and then spiral down a black hole of pregnancy symptoms and timelines.

After more than a half hour with no call back from Jamie, I call him. But after four rings, it goes to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me. Can you please call me back as soon as you get this? It’s important. Love you. Bye.”

Another half hour passes, and there’s still no phone call.

Me: Jamie, please. I need you to call me.

Then I call again. Maybe he can’t hear his phone. “Please call me back. I need to talk to you.”

Panic sets in when more time passes with no phone calls or texts from him. Every text has been delivered, so I know he has service.

Me: Where are you?

Me: I need to talk to you.

Me: Please answer.

I call again, but nothing.

Me: Answer your phone!

I sink to the floor and call again, almost screaming when I get his voicemail again.

Dropping my phone on the floor next to me, I pull my knees up to my chest. This is my worst fear come to life.

There’s a knock on the door as it swings open. “Hey, Mands. I’m supposed to grab you for a late dinner. There’s a surprise… guest. What’s wrong?”

Mackie kneels in front of me, wrapping her hands around my arms.

“Jamie—Jamie’s not answering. It’s been almost two hours, and he won’t answer. He won’t?—”

“Take a deep breath,” Mackie instructs.

But I shake my head. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t miss a beat. She pulls her phone from her back pocket and types something out. Then a few moments later, my door opens wider and the girls stream in. Rae, Sarah, Chelsea… and Hyla.

“Surprise,” she whispers as she sits down next to me and takes my hand.

“What happened?” Chelsea asks.

I don’t know how to answer that. They know things have been tough, but this is the lowest I’ve felt.

“I might be pregnant. And I’ve spent almost two hours calling Jamie, but he hasn’t answered.”

“Do you want one of us to get you a pregnancy test?” Sarah asks.

“No. I want to wait until I can at least get him on the phone to take one,” I sniff.

“Then we’ll wait with you,” Rae says.

And of course, they do so much more than that. They bring food upstairs. Mackie specifically brings me a buttered plain bagel, while Hyla tells us stories from her flight attendant life to distract us.

I keep calling Jamie, but no matter how many times I call or what I text, he doesn’t answer.

My stomach is burning with fear as my chest clenches in pain .

When it’s nearly four hours after his game, the panic sets in, and I can barely breathe.

Please answer. Please, please answer.

It goes to voicemail again, and I’m in full hysterics.

“Why isn’t he answering?!” I am the perfectly broken picture of an ugly-crying train wreck as I throw my phone across the room. I swore I’d never be this girl. This pathetic mess of heartbreak. I’d never do it again. Then Jamie Henderson walked into my life, melted my walls, and made me believe I was worth something. Worth everything.

Mackenzie sweeps some hair from my face. “Maybe he had something with the team.”

“No,” I rasp. “The game was over hours ago. And even if he went out with the team, that’s no excuse for him not answering.”

I look around the room at my best friends. The women who chose me when I felt like I wasn’t worth choosing. Mackenzie, Hyla, Rae, Sarah, and Chelsea. All five of them stopped what they were doing and surrounded me with love the second I needed them. Of course they’re here. Ride or die. We always show up for each other.

But as much as I love them, they aren’t the ones I need right now.

Everything is spiraling out of control, and it’s supposed to be Jamie who’s walking through this with me.

This can’t be happening .

Not now. Not like this.

More tears stain my cheeks as my best friends move in closer, forming a circle of love around me.

“He promised he’d always show up when I needed him,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself.

But that was before.

Before he achieved his dream. Before he was a major league baseball player.

He convinced me I was his dream too.

And maybe I was until he got what he really wanted .

Maybe I was an idiot to believe there was room for me and baseball in his life.

Maybe I was a desperate, pathetic girl for believing I meant more than the game he built his life around.

I know I’m desperate now because all I want to do is call him again. I want to believe I’m not in this alone.

“Oh, shit,” Hyla mutters, blinking at her phone.

“What?” I ask, my chest tightening. Panic overtakes me. What if he was in a car accident? What if he’s dead?

Oh God.

“Is he okay?” I cry.

“He’s… okay.”

Hyla glances at Chelsea, who looks at the screen and bites her lip.

“Just tell me!” I yell.

Slowly, Hyla crawls over to me, taking my hand as she flips her phone screen toward me.

My blood runs cold, and I’m hit with a new level of agony as my world crashes around me. Because staring back at me is a photo of Jamie—his face clearly visible—with his arm slung around some girl as they walk into our apartment building.

No. God fucking no. Not this.

“Do you want Aaron to call him?” Rae asks me.

Breathing is hard, let alone speaking right now.

Never in a million years did I ever think Jamie would cheat on me. It was hard to trust when we were first doing distance, but he showed me over and over that he only had eyes for me. The only thing I’ve felt I was in competition with was baseball. Am I that stupid?

I keep staring at the photo, not wanting to believe it.

I’m not sure I do. After that one instance having lunch with Mark, I know how things can get twisted. But who is he with, and why would they be going into our apartment? With his arm around her?

I’ve always given him my complete trust. But this …

I don’t know what to believe. And when he’s not answering me, what other option do I have to believe? Am I the most naive person on the planet to believe there must be another reason for this?

Aaron walks into the room and looks at everyone. “What’s going on?” Rae must’ve asked him to come up here when I didn’t respond.

She shoves her phone in Aaron’s face. “Call him and figure out what’s going on.”

Aaron curses under his breath, and pulls his phone out, hovering by the door as he calls Jamie. I don’t know if I want him to answer or not. But it doesn’t matter.

“Jame, you need to answer your fucking phone and call your girlfriend back,” Aaron growls at Jamie’s voicemail. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I swear to God, I’m going to kick his ass. Do you want me to drive down there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I mutter. “It’s done.”

“We’ll keep you updated. Let us know if you hear anything,” Rae says.

Aaron nods and walks out of the room.

“It might not be true,” Hyla says gently.

“It doesn’t matter. He isn’t answering. He isn’t going to be here for me the way I need him to.” I look around at my best friends. “Can someone get me a pregnancy test?”

Mackie immediately stands up. “On it.”

She kisses the side of my head and walks out of the room.

The girls close the circle around me, wrapping me in a cocoon of love and support while I wait to find out my fate.

Jamie

A faint buzzing tickles my brain.

What is life?

I roll my tongue around my mouth. Did I swallow a bunch of cotton balls last night?

What the fuck happened?

I remember the game. I remember Beau and a few of the guys from the team handing me shots.

The buzzing starts again, and it takes a second to realize it’s not in my head.

I turn and reach for my bedside table, groaning in pain when I move my head.

I’m guessing this is what a monstrosity of a hangover feels like.

I shove the phone to my ear without looking at the screen.

“Hello?”

“He lives!” Aaron’s voice is not playful. He sounds downright murderous. “Tell me you woke up alone this morning.”

I grunt as I push myself up to sitting. “Of course I’m alone. Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?”

He laughs bitterly. “Oh, you have no idea what kind of shit storm you’re in, do you?”

“No. I just woke up.”

“Who is she?”

“Who is who?”

“The girl you had your arm around as you walked into your building last night.”

Confusion drenches me. “What—how?—”

“So help me God, if you cheated on Amanda, I will help the girls string you up by your balls.”

“Me too!” a voice calls from the background. Trevor. That tracks.

“I didn’t cheat on her. I… Give me two seconds.” My mind is fuzzy, and I’m still trying to make sense of what he’s saying as I make my way out to the kitchen, fill a glass with water, and down it all. “Okay, I’m back.”

“Get to the point a lot faster.”

“What point? ”

“Who was she? Where did she sleep? Why was your arm around her?”

“Relax. It was just the reporter who’s doing a piece on me. My dumb ass got drunk last night before we were supposed to meet. She was pissed, but she took pity on me and made sure I got home. She went as far as my apartment door, then she left.”

“Then why the fuck weren’t you answering your phone last night?”

I squint for a second. Was I not answering? My phone… well, it’s in my hand now. I pulled it out of my bag when I stumbled into the apartment because I needed to set my alarm—I glance at the clock—which didn’t go off.

Sitting down at the counter, I take a few deep breaths. “It was in my bag. I didn’t realize…” Everything finally slams together in my mind. “How did you know about the reporter helping me home?”

“You’re all over the tabloids and gossip sites.”

I stumble to my feet, horror slicing through me. “Amanda. Amanda?”

“Oh, she saw it. But that’s not the worst of it. She needed to talk to you before any of that happened. She called you a billion times last night.”

“Fuck!”

“That’s more like it. Call her. Right. Now. And you better fall to your knees and apologize.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

I hang up, and though I’m about to press Amanda’s number, I pause to look through the literal hundreds of missed calls I have from her, the guys, my parents, my agent, and the Metros PR team.

I quickly open my browser and search my own name. What comes up is a grainy picture of me, arm around Emily as she helps me inside. No one can see her face, but even from behind she looks nothing like Amanda, and my face is completely visible .

I scramble to call Amanda as I realize how colossally I’ve screwed up.

“Are you alive?” Amanda’s icy voice fills my ear.

“Yes. And I’m sorry. I’m so?—”

“We need to talk. In person.”

“Uh, can?—”

“Meet me at our apartment in Ida at one.”

What can I say to that besides yes?

“I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“Amanda—”

“We’ll talk later.”

Then she hangs up.

My head is pounding almost as loud as my heart as I drop my phone on the kitchen counter. Then I pick it right back up again and call for a car to take me to Ida, so I can spend the ride figuring out how badly I’ve messed up everything else.

I’m sitting at the kitchen counter of our apartment back home. The one I surprised Amanda with three months ago. I’ll never forget how happy she was. I thought this was going to be the place we started the next chapter of our lives. I’ve missed the comforting feeling of home it gives.

The door clicks open and I jump up, desperate to have my eyes on her.

She walks in, face ashen, and eyes as cold as ice.

“Hi,” I say lamely.

“Hi. So, did you cheat on me?”

Just like that. I shouldn’t expect anything else from her.

“No. I would never, ever cheat on you.”

Her eyes shimmer with tears. “And I should believe you why? ”

“Because I’ve shown you over and over again who I am. We’ve built years’ worth of trust.”

“The funny thing about trust is it takes a long time to build, but only seconds to destroy. You may have shown me who you are—or who you’re supposed to be—but you showed the world something else with those photos.”

“It was Emily. I was supposed to have an interview with her, but after the game some of the guys wanted to take me out, so we went to the restaurant where I was meeting her, and I might’ve let them get me rip-roaring drunk. I’m not proud of it. When Emily showed up, she was pissed at me for wasting her time—which is more than fair. She’s a decent person, though, and helped get me home. She came into the building but never into our apartment. It was less than five minutes. I have the tapes from security?—”

“I don’t need the security tapes. Maybe it’s stupid, but I never really believed you would cheat on me.”

For the first time, I feel a bit of relief. Until she continues talking.

“The thing is, the rest of the world doesn’t care what the truth is or what I believe. All they care is what a picture says, and that picture makes you look bad and me look stupid. Do you have any idea how many phone calls and texts I’ve gotten from my family asking about it? Do you have any idea how those articles ripped me apart? The person you’re supposed to love and protect.”

I avoided reading the articles, and I stupidly didn’t think they would say anything about her.

“ With the way his girl looks, it’s no wonder he had to cheat. Let’s see, then there were the people who decided that I must’ve been having an affair with Mark Abbott after all, and that’s why you cheated on me. But I think the best one was she’s stupid if she thinks she can compete with the ball bunnies or the women in his social circles now. She’s a one and he should have a ten. ”

I fucking hate people.

“I’m sorry?—”

“For which part?” She steps up to me and shoves my shoulder. “ For getting drunk and being irresponsible, for making us tabloid fodder, or for ignoring my phone calls when I was breaking down and needed you the most.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you. My phone was in my bag?—”

“I don’t care!” she yells, tears cresting in her eyes. “Do you even want to know why I was calling you? Because it started hours before that fucking picture.”

“Why?” I whisper, wanting nothing more than to grab her and hold her close, but I know that’ll only get me slapped.

“While you were out getting drunk with your teammates, I realized I might be pregnant.”

My stomach drops and my blood goes cold.

Pregnant?

How would we deal with that? Are we ready for a child right now? Where would we live?

“Are you panicking right now?” she asks, almost smug. “Is your life flashing before your eyes while you try to figure out what this would mean and how we’d manage it?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Well, that’s how I felt last night, only you weren’t standing mere feet from me. You weren’t answering your phone at all. I stupidly wanted to wait to take a test while I was on the phone with you because I thought you’d want that. Because I needed you! But you weren’t there. So after waiting and stressing for hours, I took one with the girls there to support me.”

I swallow hard, staring, waiting for her to continue. “And?”

“Don’t worry. It was a false alarm. You don’t have to worry about the burden of having a child with me.”

This time I can’t stop myself. I grab her, trying to pull her close. “It wouldn’t be a burden.”

She shoves me off her and steps back, tears spilling down her cheeks. “How can you say that when you’ve made me feel like a burden for weeks? I haven’t asked for much. I’ve supported you. I’ve gone on as many road trips as I could. I wasn’t in the same town for longer than three days at a time most of the summer. I exhausted myself, ran myself ragged, and did everything for you, and all I have asked for all summer is for you to give me a shred of that in return! But when I needed you the most, you couldn’t even pick up a goddamn phone. You couldn’t do one simple thing for me.”

She covers her mouth as if it’ll keep me from seeing the sobs that rack her body.

Tears well in my eyes as I watch her, pure hatred rushing through me at how much pain I’ve caused her.

Slowly, I walk over to her and rest my hands on her arms, waiting to see if she’ll shove me away again. She doesn’t, but she takes half a step back, putting more distance between us.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I know that’s not enough—tell me what to say. Tell me how to fix it. Please.”

“It’s not my job to tell you how to fix this.” She lets out a shaky breath. “I need space, Jamie.”

“No. Please… we can?—”

“Stop. I need you to hear me right now. This summer has been more difficult a transition than either of us were expecting, but over the last few weeks, I’ve realized something. You knew—generally, at least—what this life looked like, and you signed up for it. But I didn’t. And now I need to take some time and figure out if this life is what I want. If I can manage it.”

My heart plummets. My chest tightens. That sounds a lot more like a breakup than it does space.

“No. I—don’t leave me. I… I’ll quit. I’ll quit baseball, but I don’t want to lose you.”

“This isn’t a breakup or an ultimatum. If you ever make the choice to leave baseball, it can’t be for me. Or all you’ll do is resent me. And you’ve missed the point if you think I’d ever want you to give up on your dream.” She gently rests her hand on my cheek. “All I’ve ever wanted is to mean as much as baseball, so sometimes you’d be willing to make me your first choice. And I thought I was, but…” She swallows down her tears. “A lot has happened. Now I need time and space to figure out wh at I need. You need to do the same. Let’s take a couple of weeks, then we can talk and figure out… where we can go from here.”

Tears fall down my cheeks as she steps back.

I grab her arm, not willing to let her go. I can’t let her go.

“Please. Don’t leave. I love you.”

She stares at me for a long, painfully silent moment. “Do you love me? Or am I just a comfort blanket you’re afraid to let go of?”

Shock burns through me that she could ever think that. “Amanda…”

Her lip trembles, but she steadies herself, then leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “We’ll talk in a couple of weeks.”

With a lingering look, she walks out the door.

I stare at the closed door until my eyes are blurry with tears, then I fall to my knees, sobbing.

I can handle losing a lot of things. My best game, my sense of normalcy, the daily support of my friends. I think I could even handle losing baseball. But losing Amanda?

There’d be no coming back from that.

She’s my person. My best friend. The love of my life.

And I broke her. Now I have to face the consequences, and pray there’s still a chance we can find our way back from this, even if the hope in my heart is cracking and fading away.