Page 136 of Left on Base

Want to know the worst part? Part of me wants to fall into his arms and let him fix it. But that part’s an idiot who hasn’t learned a thing.

So I turn away. One foot in front of the other.

Behind me, I hear his shaky breath. I don’t look back. Can’t. If I do, I’ll see that look on his face and my heart will try to overrule my brain.

Let me give you some advice. Your heart is the worst in a crisis. Like letting your drunk friend pick the DD. Don’t.

Students stream around me as I head for the doors, parting like water. My key card shakes in my hand as I swipe. The reader beeps. I pause.

I don’t look back.

I push through the door, let it click shut. The lobby is empty. I make it to the elevator before my legs give out.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is walk away. Even when it feels like your heart’s being ripped out. Even when every cell in you is screaming to turn around. Even when you know someone you love is hurting just as much.

Because sometimes space isn’t what you need—it’s what you deserve.

The elevator doors close. I finally let myself cry.

Some rules are hard to follow. Especially when your heart refuses to listen. But here’s another fucking rule for you: Nevertake your eye off the ball. Never trust anyone. Just because they say you can trust them doesn’t mean it’s true.

CHAPTER 25

UGLY FINDER

CAMDYN

A hard-hit ball that hits or nearly hits someone, especially a line-drive foul ball hit into a dugout.

Ican’t sleep. The blue light outside is that strange, glowing-before-dawn kind—soft, almost otherworldly.

Even before I open my eyes, the hurt slams into me. Jaxon. The blog post. My worst day out there for everyone to see. Existing now is like muscle memory. A twisted routine that’s supposed to be automatic and now feels like something I have to force, step by step.

I inhale slowly, carefully, through my nose and look out the window. It’s raining. Sadness and frustration make the air burn, but I keep breathing it in anyway, a little more each time.

Slow. Steady.

My eyelids sting. There’s a heavy, harsh ache behind them that comes from trusting someone and having them stab you in the back. My chest tightens with panic and a kind of desperate longing, but I keep focusing on my breath.

That’s all I let myself do.

I don’t let myself think about how I wish I wasn’t breathing alone, or how the air in this room still holds traces of betrayal and what used to be love. I don’t let myself wonder about the blog. I don’t even let myself worry if he’s okay, because I can’t.

Right now, I have to remember how to breathe—again, and again, and again.

I push off the blankets and sit on the edge of the bed, swallowing down the sadness. Resentment rises with the sun, rubbing salt in everything that still hurts. I try to bury the bitterness and blame myself for letting any of this happen.

When I look over, Callie’s awake, arms out. She hugs me when I crawl in next to her, or when I steal half the tangled blankets or curl up with her pillow. She’s safe—my best friend, and the closest thing I’ve got to what I need right now.

“I got you, babes,” she says.

Resentment twists in my gut, tight and sour, and my whole body aches from trying to keep it together. My heart won’t quit—pounding with hope and dread, like it doesn’t care how pointless it is. I miss him so much it hurts, and there’s no world where I get what I want. So I shove it all down, pretend I’m fine, and it’s exhausting.

The world keeps moving,even when I don’t want it to. I watch the ceiling, willing the ache to pass, but it never does—it just shifts, settling deeper into my bones. Time blurs. Maybe it’s hours, maybe minutes, before the guilt and the dread finally win. I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll drown in it.

So I force myself up. One slow, clumsy step at a time: out of bed, into sweats, shoes tied with shaking hands. The hallway is cold and bright and smells like detergent. I keep my eyes down and just walk, each door I pass a tiny victory.

By the time I reach the field, I’m hollowed out, barely here. But moving—running—is all that’s left. The rain pelts down, icy and unrelenting, and I start to run, pushing forward because if I stop, I’ll have to feel everything again.

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