Page 3 of That Moment
“Yes,” I almost whisper, even though he has not asked anything yet.
He gives a small, strange smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. The edges of the room blur. My heartbeat is a drum line, but I force my shoulders to relax.
Say something light.Make a joke. Make this manageable.
“Do you want to split dessert?”
“Adrienne,” he says again, fingers tightening on mine. My breath stalls. The script in my head goes blank.
And then, Keegan’s voice wavers. He squeezes my hand once, hard, and my pulse spikes. This is it. The velvet box is about to appear, the table will gasp, and I’ll have to smile through a panic attack in front of a medium-rare filet. But instead, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks. His eyes drop to the white linen.
“We need to break up.”
The words skid across the table and slam into me like a gavel strike. For a second, I just blink, my brain refusing to compute.
Break up? Not propose? Not Mrs. Colorado Baseball?
A laugh bursts out of me, too high, too sharp. “Wait… you’re not proposing?”
Keegan winces. His shoulders hunch, and he shakes his head, looking anywhere but at me as he leans back in his chair.
The laugh dies in my throat, leaving only silence and the ache of humiliation crawling up my neck. All that spiraling, all that panic, and he was never going to ask in the first place. Relief and devastation crash together in my chest, so loud I can barely hear the restaurant noises around me.
I set my wine down carefully. Across from me, Keegan clears his throat, guilt stamped all over his face. He rubs his thumb over my knuckles like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. It only makes the humiliation prickle hotter under my skin.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice low. “You deserve more than… this. Than me gone half the year, trying to text between games and flights, asking you to come to away games just so I can kiss you in a hotel room at midnight before getting up at the crack of dawn a few hours later and do it all over again.”
My mouth moves before my pride can stop it. “You could have done this in private, you know?”
He flinches slightly, then leans forward. “I—see what I mean?” He laughs and shakes his head, “I even screwed up our breakup. I’m so sorry.”
I want to be mad, but I end up laughing along with him. I have no real reason to be upset with him, apart from my damaged pride. I don’t actually want a life with Keegan, and he deserves someone who does.
“Adrienne. I like you. Hell, I think I could love you if I had a normal life. But baseball owns me. It takes and takes, and I’m at a point in my career where I can’t afford not to let her. You deserve someone who can show up and be there for you and with you. And so do I.”
“I appreciate the honesty.” For as much as I’m relieved that I didn’t have to reject a public marriage proposal, I can’t help but feel the bitterness of my wounded ego creeping up my throat.
“I kept trying to make it work. And you kept being… you.” His mouth tips like he wants to laugh. “The way you walk into a room and every guy forgets his own name. The way you talk about everything with such conviction. I wanted to be the man who deserved that. The man who could sit back and let you be the one to shine, but?—”
“But you aren’t that guy.” I set the glass down.
“I’m saying it before I hurt you worse. You’ll wake up resenting me. Or I’ll wake up hating myself for choosing another flight over you.”
I swallow hard. God, it burns. It's stupid, really. One second, I’m panicked about getting married too soon, and the next, I’m realizing that once again, I’m actually not the one being chosen.
“So you’re preemptively noble.” I playfully jab.
He huffs a breath. “No. Just honest. You are… a lot.” His eyes soften. “In the best way. You should have a guy who can take you to family dinners and pick you up from the office and sleep beside you more than twice a week.”
A laugh slips out, paper-thin. “My family dinners involve competitive roping stories and three different kinds of potato salad while cousins talk over each other. You would hate it.”
“I wouldn’t.” He smiles, sad. “But I’d miss most of it.”
Silence stretches, soft jazz twining through the ache. I straighten my napkin mindlessly. He reaches for the little black box in his pocket and pulls it out. For a second, my heart stops. Then he flips the lid and shows me simple studs.
“Not a ring,” he says quietly. “I bought them when I thought maybe I could figure this out. Keep them anyway. Or don’t.” He swallows. “You looked so happy at the game last week. I wanted to give you something that felt… good.”
I stare at the earrings, at the shadow of the life I invented in my head. “They’re beautiful.”
