Page 155 of Left on Base

“Is it?”

The question hangs there, mixing with dish soap and the echo of laughter. I think about Camdyn having pizza with Jameson. Think about how much I miss making her laugh like he probably did.

“I don't know if she wants?—”

“I saw her the other day. I know how that girl looks when your name comes up.” He raises an eyebrow. “She still loves you. Always will.”

From the kitchen, there’s a crash followed by Probie’s muffled “I’m okay!”

Dad shakes his head, smiling. “Listen. I don’t know what happened, and that’s your business. But if you want that girl, you have to forgive yourself for your mistakes and let her in to make plenty more. That’s a relationship. You mess up, you learn, and you grow together.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

He leans in, arms crossed. There’s a coffee stain shaped like Texas between us. I stare at it for a while before I can say anything.

“I messed up,” I say finally. “Bad.”

Dad doesn’t flinch. He’s seen worse—midnight calls, burned-out houses, screaming people. “What happened?”

I swallow. The words feel heavy and sharp. I rub my hands over my face. “She got pregnant. Last year. Then lost the baby, and a week later, days before her World Series game, I broke up with her because I didn’t know how to be there for her and still give what I needed to baseball.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second. The station’s even quieter. I hear the fridge and a dispatcher’s radio.

“Well,” he says, steady and soft. “How are you gonna fix it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think—” My voice cracks. “I don’t think I can.”

Dad lets that settle. He’s always been good at silence.

“I feel like I let her down. I let myself down. I just—” My breath hitches. “I don’t know how to fix anything anymore, but I miss her.”

Dad leans in, voice low. “You can’t fix everything, Jax. Sometimes all you can do is be there. For her. For yourself.”

I nod, but it feels impossible. “I keep thinking if I’d done something different?—”

He cuts me off, gentle but firm. “You loved her. You still do. That’s not nothing.”

“Yeah, but it’s not enough. I hurt her. Over and over.”

“She’s forgiving. She’s a lot like her dad that way, and Dalton is the most loyal man I know. And Camdyn’s spitting image of him.”

He’s right. She is. Everything about her comes from Dalton and her mom. They raised her to put others first, to give grace before greed.

The next morning,I’m still thinking about Jameson having pizza with her. Unfortunately for me, before we head out to South Carolina, Jameson, Ollie, King, and I end up on a sun-baked field behind the rec center, wrangling a herd of seven-year-olds in oversized jerseys.

Jameson’s got the clipboard, King’s handing out neon-orange Gatorade, and Ollie’s in sunglasses so big he looks like he’s hiding from the paparazzi. I don’t know how we got roped into this—something about “giving back” and “character building”—but here we are.

I’ll admit, every time Jameson checks his phone, I worry Camdyn’s texting him. I doubt it, but I’m jealous as fuck.

The kids swarm us, all elbows and shoelaces and a thousand questions at once. Part of me wishes Fork Guy was here.

“Coach Jaxon, can I slide into home if there’s a dog on the field?”

“Coach King, do I have to wear the helmet if it’s itchy?”

Jameson tries to explain the rules, but halfway through, one kid’s picking dandelions at first, another’s got his glove on his head, and Ollie’s corralling a left fielder doing cartwheels.

“Alright, listen up!” Jameson shouts, holding the clipboard like it’ll save him. “No eating dirt, no chasing squirrels, and?—”

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