Page 24 of The Future Play (Ida Heartthrobs #3)

22

FIX YOUR SH*T

Amanda

I don’t know why I’m at my parents’ house. They’re not home. I should’ve just gone back to school. I wanted somewhere that felt less lonely. But nothing helps with the loneliness in my heart.

Pushing the front door open, I’m surprisingly met with the smell of lemon and garlic.

“Hello?” I call.

A moment later, Pete appears. “Hey, little sis. Come on. Food’s almost ready.”

My brow furrows. “Food?”

Pete drags me to the kitchen where he and Josh are cooking.

“Shrimp scampi?” I ask.

“It’s what you ordered every time we went out for dinner anywhere that wasn’t sushi,” Josh said. “We figured you’d need something comforting right now.”

He walks over and pulls me into a hug. I’m so surprised and overwhelmed that I burst into tears.

“How did you… know? ”

“We saw the headlines,” Pete says. “Then Rae called and gave us a heads up on what was happening.”

Of course she did.

“Shouldn’t you both be at work?”

“Well, I work for Rae’s dad, and he’s understanding,” Pete says.

“I just called out,” Josh says with a shrug as he steps back.

“Thank you,” I sniff.

Pete sighs. “Look, I know there was a time—a good chunk—where we didn’t do the best job of taking care of you.”

“Especially me,” Josh says.

“But we’re your brothers. We’ve got you.”

I wipe at my eyes and nose, then sit down at the table.

“I’ll take it.”

Pete brings over plates and they both sit down.

After I’ve had a few bites, Josh asks, “So, what really happened?”

“He didn’t cheat on me,” I say quickly. Even in the midst of all this, I still want to protect him.

“We figured. We’ve known him almost as long as you, and he’s never looked at you with anything but adoration.”

That makes me choke up again.

But after another bite of pasta to strengthen myself, I tell them everything that happened this summer.

“So what happens now?” Pete asks when I’m finished explaining.

I shrug. “We take some time and figure out what we both want from our relationship. Then we can decide where it goes from there.”

“We’ll have your back, whatever you need,” Josh says.

My face pulls into a grimace. “It’s weird that you’re being so nice to me.”

He laughs. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an asshole.”

Pete snorts at that, and Josh punches him in the arm .

“I’m not. Not totally. Yes, I can be a dick sometimes, but you’re my sister. I love you.”

“I love you too.” I take another bite of pasta and shrimp, savoring the delicious garlicky flavor. “Can I ask you guys a question?”

They both meet my eyes.

“Sure,” Pete says.

“Do you… do you think people can suddenly fall out of love?”

“I don’t know the answer to that, but I know what you’re asking me,” Josh says. “And I can tell you I didn’t fall out of love with Jace. As much as I wanted to be, I was never in love with her to begin with. So don’t use that as an example.”

“Looking around at the people in our lives, I believe that love can last,” Pete says. “But it can also fade if you don’t take care of it. You have to be willing to fight. Look at Mom and Dad.”

I scrunch up my face. “What do you mean?”

“You’re probably too little to remember, but they fought all the time when we were kids. It wasn’t until I was a lot older that I asked Mom why that stopped. She said they started going to counseling and prioritizing their relationship again,” Pete says.

“Wow.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think the love between you and Jamie is fading, but it needs some TLC,” Josh says.

“Look at you being wise,” I tease, trying to cover the achiness in my voice.

“After all these years, I was due.”

“Thank you both for being here for me. It means a lot.”

“We’re dumbasses like ninety-seven percent of the time, but we’re here to help if we can,” Pete says.

I go back to eating my pasta, something like relief settling in my chest. Nothing fixes heartache, but pasta and having the support from my family that I’ve wanted for so many years helps a little bit .

Jamie

Everything is fucked.

My agent and the Metros PR team handled the photos of me, making it clear it was just a friend helping me home, and I issued an apology for underage drinking and promised to set a better example in the future.

I also had the pleasure of my dad going up one side of me and down the other while my mom reminded me that drinking only worsens mental health.

Yet here I am, staring at a glass of whiskey at ten in the morning.

How the fuck was it only yesterday that Amanda said she needed space and walked away from me? I have to play a game today, but how the hell do I do that when everything else is a mess?

I reach for the glass, but before I can pick it up, a hand swipes it from me. I have a full jump-scare moment wondering who the fuck is in my apartment and how they got in here, but then I look up and see Aaron.

I still don’t know how he got in here, but at least he’s not here to kill me.

Most likely.

“That’s a bad idea,” he says as he dumps the alcohol down the drain. “This cocky, pain-in-the-ass seventeen-year-old told me once that alcohol doesn’t solve problems.”

I grunt at that. “How did you get in here?”

“You have me on the approved list. I told them I was here to surprise you and they unlocked the door for me.”

I rub my hand over my forehead, and he leans against the counter, staring at me.

“So, why are you drinking at ten in the morning?”

“Because everything is fucked.”

“So why not fuck it up more?”

I shrug. Because everything feels worthless at this point .

Next thing I know, Aaron is standing in front of me, shaking me by the shoulders.

“You know, someone told me once that you can’t just let life happen and give up. You have to fight. For baseball. For your girl. For yourself.”

I remember the words so clearly. I didn’t say them exactly like that because it was framed by Aaron’s experience and how he’d been acting, but that was the sentiment. It was the morning after the Christmas party where I met Amanda. Aaron had been drinking at the party, and I remember thinking I never wanted to be the guy who used alcohol to drown my pain. Glancing at the glass in the sink, I realize how deeply I’ve failed and how unimpressed the younger version of me would be—hell, even the version of me from earlier this summer would hate who I’ve been lately.

“I wasn’t in the mood to listen that morning, but your words still struck a chord, so let me remind you of the most important ones. Get your shit together, Jame. You’re better than this.”

He’s right. Past me was right.

This is not who I am or who I want to be.

“Where do I go from here?”

He clamps his hand on my shoulder. “Start with the baseball stadium. Stop trying to fix everything at once and focus on one thing. Since you’ve got to pitch in six hours, I’d recommend that be baseball.”

I let out a pathetic laugh. “Thanks for coming down here.”

“We show up for each other. We always have. Plus, I wasn’t going to miss a chance to call you on your shit.”

This time my laugh is fuller. “I’m glad you’re here. You staying for the game?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

I blow out a breath. I’m a mess, but I have to start somewhere if I’m going to clean it up. As much as I want to wave a magic wand and fix things with Amanda, there’ s work I need to do on myself before I’m ready to show up for her and be the man she deserves.

I knock on Marc Demoda’s door, ready to eat yet another slice of humble pie.

“Come in.”

I walk in, expecting to be on the receiving end of a snarky comment or maybe a smack to the back of the head.

“Jamie. How are you?”

I stop wincing and look at him. He’s standing next to his desk looking genuinely concerned.

“Honestly, not great. It’s been a rough few days, but that’s my own doing. I wanted to apologize to you personally for my behavior lately, both on and off the field. I didn’t cheat on Amanda. I—just got drunk and acted like an idiot.”

He… laughs. “Welcome to major league baseball. You’ve had your first scandal. It’s a rite of passage.”

“You’re not mad?”

Again, he laughs. “You’ve never looked me up, have you? Let’s just say I’m no stranger to bad press.”

“So… I don’t need to be worried?”

“Worried about what?”

“My place on the team. Being traded or sent back down to the minors?”

He squints at me in disbelief. “Wait. Have you been worried about that this whole time?”

“Uh, a little.”

“Jamie, you’re in your first year in the majors and we’ve won half the games you’ve played. You’re not perfect, but we’re not looking to get rid of you. You’re a part of our talent and we want to build on that. Trust me, there’s only one person on this team we’d like to get rid of, and it’s not you. Is that why you’ve been struggling so much?”

“Not entirely. A lot of it is not measuring up to my own standards.”

“Well, give yourself a break, because you’re doing fine. AAA and the majors are two entirely different things. As much as you might want to, walking in here and rocking it your first season is unrealistic. Be patient. You’ll get there, but you have to get out of your own way.”

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I nod. “Yeah. Uh, to that end, is there any chance I can get in with the sports psychologist today or in the next few days?”

“I’ll make it happen.”

“Thank you.”

He claps me on the shoulder, and I let out a long breath. Despite the fear and uncertainties about my relationship, I finally feel some peace about my game, like I’m moving in the right direction, and after months of feeling completely out of sorts, I’ll take it.

The air on the mound is clearer today. Or maybe that’s my head.

Why does it take almost losing everything to realize how fucked up things are?

Is it just me?

Given how many times I’ve watched my friends do this exact shit, I know it’s not. Probably that whole it’s always darkest before the dawn thing.

Although for me it felt more like I was drowning, then I realized I was face down in a stream and all I had to do was stand up.

Not my proudest moment, but it’s been a whole summer of that .

Breathing in the fresh air, I refocus. Now isn’t the time for that.

Marc sent me right to the sports psychologist after I went to see him this morning. It was almost like he was waiting for me to say I needed it. I wouldn’t put it past him. That’s what good coaches do, right? See what their players need.

The psychologist said something that I’ve used as my focus all game.

Only focus on what I can control, especially in this moment. Combined with Aaron’s reminder to focus on one thing at a time, I’ve been in a better space all game. Which must be how I made it to the top of the seventh inning for a change. I know this will be my last inning. Though we have a decent lead, I know we could still lose the game.

But I can’t control that.

All I can control is how the ball leaves my hand and crosses the plate.

There’s a runner on second and two outs.

One last batter is all it will take for me to finish my part of this game strong.

One thing at a time. One pitch at a time.

The first pitch is a strike. The second is fouled off. The third is a ball. The fourth is fouled off.

My catcher gives me the sign for the next pitch, but it’s not the one I want to throw.

I can’t control that.

All I can do is control how I throw it. So I lock in and focus.

The ball whizzes across the plate.

“Strike.”

Pride fills my chest as the batter walks away.

I fucking did it. I closed out seven innings with our team on top.

Glancing over at the stands, I find Aaron, who nods at me while clapping.

A couple of my teammates smack me on the back as we head for the dugout.

That success was not an omen of good things to come. It was proof of what can happen when I get out of my own head. I’m still going to have bad games, but my goal from here will be to make this my normal—the default I can return to after the bad ones.

That’s one thing down. Now I just have to figure out the rest of my life.