Page 14 of Left on Base

Sometimes I think I’m a ticking time bomb, and at any second, one word—or one outcome I’m not prepared for—is going to set me off.

I don’t know what I’m doing. There. I said it.

I don’t know how I feel, what I want, or what anything in my life means. I’m pretty sure most guys in college feel the same way. And if you’re a college athlete, you get it. The NCAA dictates every aspect of your life. The pressure to perform isn’t about baseball anymore; it’s about maintaining that perfect balance between athlete, student, and something resembling a normal twenty-year-old guy.

Our schedule is brutal. We have to be at Husky Ballpark by six every morning, hit the weight room until eight, then sprint across campus to make our 8:30 classes. Your professors don’t give a fuck if you did a two-hour strength session. That financial accounting midterm waits for no one. Then it’s back for evening practice from six until nine, where every pitch, every swing,every throw down to second feels like it could make or break your future. Now that our season’s officially started, game days are even more intense.

We have strict curfews, GPA requirements, mandated study hours at the academic center, meal plans designed by team nutritionists—even our sleep patterns get monitored through these fitness watches they make us wear. If you’re in college as an athlete, the school owns you. There’s no such thing as free time, so any extra pressure just adds to the overwhelm. Maybe that’s why I can’t give Camdyn what she wants right now. It’s not that I don’t want to. It just feels out of reach.

I’d love to say I wasn’t pressured to break up with her, but after what happened last season in the College World Series playoffs, I had a lot of “conversations” about “priorities” with our coaches. They see relationships as a distraction and, honestly, straight up discourage them. You don’t have to listen, but when the guy controlling your playing time suggests something, you pay attention.

Blowing out a breath, I walk through the quad, rain soaking my hoodie and dripping from my hat. Classic Seattle—clouds hanging so low they practically touch the top of Red Square’s brick buildings, wind whipping sheets of water into my face every few steps. The weather matches my mood perfectly: dark, unsettled, and showing no signs of clearing up.

I don’t want to go to class, but I have an essay on business structure I have to finish. Like I said, I have to maintain a minimum GPA that’s even higher than NCAA standards, which means I drag my ass to class even on days like this, when my body aches from morning practice and my mind is somewhere else entirely—somewhere with bright green eyes and a laugh that used to make everything feel lighter.

There’s one class I hate. Well, two. You have compulsory classes you have to survive before you can take anything thatactually matters. Business might as well be designed to torture sleep-deprived athletes.

This particular class on Tuesdays, business economics, I have with Callie Larson. If you don’t know who she is, she’s Camdyn’s best friend. Not just any best friend—they might as well be sisters, and I do not want to see her face today after the whole Inez shit. I know she’s going to drill me on how I could do that to Camdyn.

I’m nowhere near the headspace I need to deal with Callie, or anyone else this morning. Between morning practice, the upcoming road trip to Pittsburgh, and the constant weight of knowing I’m hurting someone I care about, my mind feels like a bat that’s been cracked—holding together, but one solid hit away from splitting apart completely.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see who texted me. My heart pounds when I see who it is.

Inez

Good morninggg

I had fun last night

Fuck me. What am I doing?

I don’t reply to Inez and shove my phone back in my pocket.

Truth? Part of me hoped that message was from Camdyn.

Last night, Inez and I went to Gas Works Park and walked around. The entire time, I thought about Camdyn and how we used to run those trails over the summer, the Seattle skyline glittering across Lake Union like it was putting on a show for us.

Every memory I have of being intimate with someone involves Camdyn, and no matter how hard I try to move on from her, I can’t. It’s impossible. She’s ingrained in every thought, memory, and vision of my past, present, and future—like howshe’d wait for me after, win or lose, with a smile that made everything else fade away.

When I told her I was talking to Inez, it didn’t mean I wanted Camdyn out of my life. I could never imagine her not being in it. I... don’t know what me talking to Inez means. I’m confused, and maybe I made the wrong decision.

Sure enough, the moment I enter Mackenzie Hall for class, Callie confronts me.

“What the fuck?” She jabs her tiny finger into my chest.

“What now?” I play dumb. “Ya forget your calculator again?”

Her eyes scrunch into angry lasers. She’d probably cut off my balls right now if she could. “You know what.”

“Oh, that.” I know exactly what she’s referring to when her big blue eyes narrow in on mine. “Just say what you’re gonna say and get it over with.”

“She’s not in a good place, and you’re making it worse, Jaxon. She’s crying every night, barely talks to anyone, barely eats.”

A wave of sadness hits me. When I told Camdyn I was talking to Inez, I had no idea how much it’d hurt me to see her in pain. It’s been two weeks since that conversation, and honestly, it feels worse than when we broke up. For almost a year now, it hasn’t felt like we broke up. We took away the title and just had fun hooking up all summer.

But now that I’ve been kinda talking to another girl, it feels final, and I hadn’t been prepared for how it’d feel. I’m terrified I’m going to lose her forever, or she’s going to move on. The thought of her with someone else makes my chest tight.

I swallow over the lump in my throat any time Camdyn’s name comes up. “I know she’s sad, Callie. I see it every day. I’m not trying to hurt her.”

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