Page 3 of Left on Base

“We did.” Did he honestly believe us sleeping together all summer wouldn’t result in me feeling confused? And now he’s talking to another girl. What the fuck?

“How can we know if we’re meant to be if we’ve only ever experienced this?” He motions between us, his bright blue eyes catching the weak sunlight trying to break through the clouds.

“I don’t know.” It’s the only answer I have. I shouldn’t have suggested a situationship. The crack of a practice bat makes me jump—someone’s already in the batting cages behind the dugout.

He keeps saying he doesn’t want to hurt me, but he keeps doing it.

I wipe away the tears rolling down my cheeks, my fingers nearly numb from the morning chill. “I’m fine.”

“You’re crying, though. I always make you cry.” His jaw tightens, and he tips his head from one side to the other, as though he can’t believe we’re having this conversation. A gust of wind whips through the stadium, carrying the sharp smell of pine from the trees beyond center field. “Everything I’ve ever said to you and felt for you was real.”

“I know.” I nod. Jaxon may not always tell me everything, but he’s never lied. Not about us. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I know you have a lot going on in your life. We both do. Between sports and school…” I pause, watching his teammates’ breath create little clouds in the cold air as they warm up. “And a long, serious relationship only adds to the pressure. I don’t want to add more stress for you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do, in some ways.” I motion between us, our UW purple and gold gear matching like some cruel joke. “This is stressing us both out.”

“I know, but I know you’re trying to deal with all the shit I keep putting you through.”

At least he knows what he’s doing to me. I can see the concern in his eyes—he cares, I guess—but that doesn’t stop the hurting. The sound of batting practice cuts through the morning air, each swing and crack twisting inside me like a reminder. Every sharp sound is another piece of my world splintering apart. I try to breathe, but all I feel is him slipping away.

“I want to be the person you’re excited to talk to at the end of the day,” I say, my voice shaky. My throat feels tight, and tears gather as I watch a V of geese drift across the sky, gliding toward Union Bay. “Not the one making things harder for you.”

I can feel his gaze even though I’m staring down at my hands. The silence stretches between us. Then, softly, he says, “Cam, you’ve always been that for me.”

“I don’t have you in the ways I want, though.” The tears drop from the creases of my eyes faster than before, and I taste the salt of my sadness on my lips. Behind us, I hear the distinctive sound of cleats on concrete as more players file into the batting cage, out of view from where we’re sitting. “So how is that fair to me?”

“It’s not.”

He looks down at his phone when it lights up in his hand. My heart catches in my throat when I think it’s a message from her. I’m surprised when he tilts his phone toward me and I see it’s a text from Jameson, his best friend and teammate.

Jaxon shoves his phone inside his hoodie. “I’m late for BP.”

I nod. “All right.”

We both stand at the same time, the metal bleachers creaking beneath us. His eyes move from the field to mine, and I watch another group of his teammates jog past, their cleats clicking against the concrete walkway. Purple and gold everywhere I look—even our heartbreak comes in school colors.

I want to hug him and beg for reassurance that someday this won’t hurt so bad. Someday there might be an us again.

Suddenly, he grabs me by my shoulders and pulls me to his chest, as if he too can’t take the distance any longer. His arms wrap tight around my waist and he holds me firmly against him. I breathe in his familiar scent—a mix of leather baseball gloves and the cedar-scented detergent his mom always sends from home.

His lips press to the side of my head. “Don’t hate me.” The concern in his words is easy to hear, as if he’s picked up on what I was thinking. He pulls back and stares at me, the “W” on his cap catching the weak morning light.

I break eye contact because I know what I’m about to say. The ache in my chest is nearly unbearable. “I haven’t yet.”

Is it the truth? Maybe. I guess in some ways, yes. I hate him for not being able to make up his mind. I’ve been unintentionally holding onto him for a year now when all I want to do is let go and let this happen. Maybe it won’t hurt as much if I stop.

I can’t, though. I’ve tried and it always ends in me coming right back to him. I know his reasons, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Jaxon wants time to figure out his life and not have the pressure of a serious relationship in college. I get that. I understand where he’s coming from. We’re both Division 1 athletes, and the pressure to perform at this level is only getting heavier.

That left me waiting. For what, I didn’t know. Maybe for him to decide if he wanted to be with me.

And while I understand his reasons, it broke my heart because I still want to be with him.

You might be wondering how this happened. How’d we get into a situationship, anyway?

Well, my dumb ass suggested it.

Jaxon and I broke up two days before the biggest game of my life, the College World Series playoffs. We’ve been “together” in some way since we broke up in May, but now we’re back to the “let’s try dating other people” conversation. It feels like we’re running the bases, only we never reach home. It’s base after base of hurt, betrayal, and feelings we can’t make go away.

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