“If anything, it’s a new way to torture our athletes.” He smiles wickedly and then nods at my folders. “What do you have for us, Milly? What’s this all about?”

  Here we go.

  I spend the next hour going over my proposed plan, holding my composure—barely—whenever I recalled Carson’s response when he saw it. I wish he was here. I show them my plans for their facility, the expansion they can make if they purchase the empty warehouse next to the building, and the profit margin from creating a new branch to their business. I give them my investment plans and my idea of not wanting to rent space, but wanting to be a partner.

  I explain my dreams, how I want to coach but also want to offer a new wave of coaching to athletes, a one-stop shop for baseball. I even worked out a plan for a shop on the premises as well, where we would get discounts from sponsors to carry their equipment, but we’d only take brands we’re confident stamping our names on. I clarify that this wouldn’t be an event space, a place to swing a bat because you want to go to the batting cages. This would be a coach and player relationship facility where you work closely on an individualized training plan. Chicago is the perfect place to start the indoor facility, because not only will players be able to train year round and avoid being chapped in the ass from the winds off Lake Michigan, but why not take advantage of the fact that baseball is a huge aspect of the city, and families move here just so their children have a chance to train with some of the best.

  I included a list of names of coaches who would join the co-op and rent out cages to practice in with their players, as long as we have a good quality space, which I promise we would, because if anything the Potters are always meticulous with the quality we provide.

  Once I finish explaining everything, I sit back and watch as both my brothers talk quietly together, looking over the picture renderings and growth charts. It feels like ten minutes goes by before they set the folders down and smile brightly at me.

  “I think I speak for both of us when I say, we’re fucking excited you’re our sister,” Rian says. “This is goddamn brilliant, and I’m not just saying that because you’re family. If you were a random person who came off the street with this idea, I’d be saying the same damn thing.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Sean says, flipping to the financials. “But your investment?” He shakes his head, and my heart drops. “This isn’t necessary.”

  “I agree. We don’t need your money.”

  “That’s not negotiable.” I straighten my shoulders. “If you want my idea, you take my money with it. I want us to be partners.”

  “You don’t need to invest to be partners, Milly.”

  “If I wasn’t your sister, you’d want an investor, so set aside the family card and see what I’m offering you. A chance to expand but not spend all your money. I want a piece of this and I want it fairly.”

  “We built this from the ground up,” Sean says, with a smile. “You want to step in and become a partner all of a sudden? Who do you think you are? A strong, passionate woman with some of the best ideas I’ve ever seen?”

  I can’t help it, I crack and smile. “Only because I’ve had the best support system growing up, telling me I can do anything I want and be anything I want.”

  “And you lived up to that.” Rian stands and pulls me up by the arm, then wraps his arms around me and brings me into a big hug. Sean comes up from behind and sandwiches me in.

  “This isn’t very businesslike,” I say, my mouth smooshed against Rian’s chest.

  They both laugh and back away. Rian lends out his hand and says, “I think we’re in business, sis.”

  “Yeah?” I take his hand and shake it. “You really want to work with me?”

  “We do.” Sean takes my hand next and gives it a squeeze. “We always thought it would be neat to expand, but never put together a plan, so it’s like you reached into our heads, pulled out our random ideas, and put it on paper. This is killer, Milly.”

  “Thank you.” I clap because, hell, I can’t contain it anymore, everything seems to be falling in place. “When do we get started?”

  “How about when we get back from the expo in a week, does that sound good? It gives you some time with Carson, to help him out, and then we can hit the ground running.”

  “Sounds great. Thank you so much.”

  “No, thank you,” Sean says. “Now, go get your guy.”

  Joy filling me, I get into my car with one thing on my mind: getting to Carson.

  * * *

  The boys are making their way through tournament play right now, so thankfully I asked Jason for the code to the loft, which he gave me, making me promise to let him know how Carson is when I get to Kansas. I have a lot of people to inform once I get there.

  Not even bothering to change since my flight is in two hours, I quickly rush to the loft, run up the stairs, and unlock the door with the keypad. The loft is eerily quiet as I make my way through the living room and back toward the bedrooms. I haven’t spent much time in the loft, we were usually at my place to get away from all the prying eyes, but I do have a few memories in this testosterone-filled space, especially when the boys made me stand on a chair and announce my favorite pickle flavor.

  Smiling to myself, I reach Carson’s room just as a tall figure opens the door, scaring a scream right from my lips. Backing up, hand to the chest, I startle as Carson’s face comes into view. He’s carrying a duffle bag in one hand, his bat bag in the other, and he’s wearing a frown when his eyes connect with mine.

  “Carson,” I say breathlessly, trying to gather my wits.

  He looks me up and down and then asks, “What are you doing here?” His tone is rough, borderline angry.

  “I . . . I was going to . . .” I swallow hard. God, when was the last time I stuttered around this man? It feels like a few months ago, when he positively scared me. I take a deep breath and say, “I was coming to get you more clothes. I have a flight to Topeka in a few hours.”

  “Why?”

  Uh . . . am I missing something?

  “To visit you. To be with you.”

  “Cancel it,” he says, moving past me without even a second glance.

  “Wait.” I snag his arm. “Carson, what’s going on? Aren’t you even going to say hi? Talk to me? I’ve been worried sick about you. Everyone has.”

  “Tell them I’m headed to Phoenix for training.”

  I try to look past the brick wall he’s stacking between us, but it feels like I’m sinking with each glance. There’s no possible chance that I can relate to him right now because I’ve never lost a parent, let alone two, but I want to understand, I want to be there to help him.

  “Okay, do you want me to go with you? Do you have an apartment there? I can help you get set up, settled in.”

  “Nah, I’m good.” He checks his watch on his wrist. It’s old and a little big on him. I’ve never seen it before so I’m going to assume it was his dad’s. Just seeing the worn-out scratches on it, the wear and tear, it brings tears to my eyes. It must be a piece of his dad he’s carrying with him, but I can’t be sure.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “A few hours.”

  “Okay,” I say, taking a step forward. “Then let me take you to the airport. We can talk, maybe pick up some food together before your flight.”

  He shakes his head. “You clearly have somewhere to be.”

  “What?” I look at my outfit and then back at him. “No, I haven’t changed. I just finished my meeting with my brothers about the facility, then I was headed to you.”

  His eyes seem dead, like the fun and vibrant guy I got to know is no longer there and instead, a machine going through the motions has taken his place.

  And for a second, a brief moment, I think he’s going to ask me how the meeting went, that he’s going to drop the anger he’s wearing and be the man I know him to be. But instead, he says, “I’m out.”

  Shocked, I watch him start to walk away but not before I run in front of him and trip over the area rug in the living room, not used to my heels. I crash to the floor, my hands breaking the fall so I don’t smack my face on the concrete floor.

  “Jesus,” he mutters as he helps me up, his hand to my arm. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Straightening out my blouse, I answer, “Trying to t-talk to you.” Embarrassment from the fall consumes me and my emotions from not talking to him for two weeks come tumbling out when I say on a broken voice, “You’re my boyfriend, Carson. I thought talking was a normal thing in a relationship. Or do we not have that anymore?”

  He looks away and that right there, that avoidance, the stiffness in his shoulders . . . I realize what he’s about to do. What he’s been avoiding.

  “Carson.”

  He doesn’t look at me so I step forward and grab his head, forcing him to look me in the eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He licks his lips, his jaw shifting. It’s odd, because this is the same face I’ve been staring at for the last few months, but the soul inside is something I don’t recognize.

  “You’re going to make me late.”

  “No,” I say, my voice cracking. “You’re not leaving here without talking to me. What you must be going through is a lot, and I wish I could understand—”

  “You can’t,” he snaps. “You can’t come close to understanding what I’m feeling. You have a family, a mom and a dad, so you would have no fucking clue how to even come close to relating to me.”

  The blow hits me hard but I stand tall, not letting him bowl me over with words. “I know, Carson, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try to help you, to hold your hand, to be there for you. You lost your dad—”

  “I don’t have time for this bullshit. I have to get to Phoenix to train.”

  This bullshit? When has our relationship ever been bullshit? Ever since we got together, he’s treated me with respect, with kindness, like I’m the most important thing that’s ever happened to him, and within two weeks that’s all washed away? How?

  He starts to walk away but I catch up to him again, blocking the loft door. He towers over me and has at least eighty pounds of muscle over me, but I’m going to give it my best shot to keep him here, to talk to me.

  “So is that it? You’re just going to walk away? After everything we’ve been through, you’re going to throw in the towel without talking about it?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “There sure as hell is. You at least owe it to me to tell me to my face that this is over, if that’s what you want. It’s not what I want though, furthest thing from it. I want to work through this with you, be by your side. I want to be your backbone, your cheering section, the person you lean on when days on the road are hard. It might be from a distance at times, but we talked about this, we can make it work. We’re committed to making it work.”

  He looks off to the side and sighs. Keeping his voice low, he says, “I’m not.”

  My pulse pauses, the heaviness in my chest growing with each attempt at a breath. My skin starts to prickle and a foreboding, sickening feeling starts to twist and turn within me. This isn’t happening, is it? Please tell me I’m losing my mind, that this is a bad dream, but when Carson looks me in the eyes and once again all I see is a broken man with nothing but emptiness in his hollow eyes, I realize, this isn’t a dream. This is very much reality. I’m about to have my heart stomped on.

  “You’re . . . y-you’re not what?” My lip trembles and I bite down on it to stop the quivering.

  He straightens his shoulders. “I’m not committed to this, to us.”

  My teeth chatter, my pulse rings through my ears, and I can feel my body sway to the side.

  “Why?” I ask, my voice meager, my strong façade disappearing.

  “I don’t have time for this, for you, for a relationship.” He’s talking, but it sounds robotic. There is no feeling behind his words. “I need to train. I need to focus on baseball, so a relationship is not an option.”

  “I can help—”

  “What are you not understanding? I don’t want to be with you anymore,” he snaps so harshly that I’m forced to take a step backward.

  His words hang heavy in the air as a small tear floats down my cheek. “Carson,” I whisper.

  But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he moves past me, bumping me in the shoulder on the way out. His heavy footsteps carry down the stairs, his departure swift. It isn’t until I hear the slamming of the door that connects to the loft building that I fall to the ground, head in my hands, and sob.

  I cry for our loss, for the loss of what we had.

  I cry for my broken and bleeding heart.

  But most importantly, I cry for the shell of a man I used to know, the man who just walked out of the loft—my life—without a backward glance.

  * * *

  “Hello?” I answer my phone, my voice a distant mess.

  “Mills, what’s going on?”

  That’s all it takes, the combination of Cory’s concern and the one question that can tear someone apart when they’re on the brink of an emotional breakdown.

  Unable to stop, I disintegrate into a heap of sobs. I sent a text to Cory, letting him know I canceled my flight to Topeka and that I would pay him back. Instead of texting, he called.

  “Hey, talk to me. Is everything okay? Did the boys not like the proposal? I will seriously kill them.”

  “No.” I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “They loved it. They agreed to everything, even making me a partner in their business. The meeting was perfect.”

  “Okay, so that leaves one more factor: Carson. Did he finally call you back?”

  “No. I ran into him at the loft when I was going to get him some more clothes.”

  “What? And he didn’t tell you?”

  “No. I had no idea he was back in town. If I didn’t run into him, I don’t think he would have told me.” Actually, I know he wouldn’t have told me. I honestly think he would have ghosted me, like he’s ghosted everyone else.

  “You know what? I need to hear this in person. Get to the airport, you’re coming out to Baltimore for a week and spending some time with your big brother.”

  “Cory, I don’t want to—”

  “I sent a text to Cheryl. She’s already buying you a ticket. Get your ass here, sis, and we’ll talk. Don’t tell me you have anything else to do because that would be a lie and you don’t lie to your brother, right?”

  I sigh and say, “I hope you don’t mind crying, it seems to be my new thing.”

  “Bring it on.”

  * * *

  He didn’t have to fly me first class.

  He also didn’t have to have Cheryl pick me up.

  And he didn’t have to have my favorite crab cakes delivered to his apartment the minute I stepped through the door.

  But he did, because he’s the best brother in the entire world.

  The game is over and from his text, I know he’ll be here any minute.

  His high-rise apartment that overlooks the bay is a dream. Decorated with a homey feel rather than the clean lines you usually see, his walls are full of pictures of him and our family and all the friends he’s made along the journey of his career. His couches are plush and comfortable, his colors soothing and earth tones. I’ve been to his apartment many times and each time, it feels like I’m welcomed back home.

  How he doesn’t have a girlfriend is a complete mystery to me.

  And as we all learned, it’s not Cheryl.

  The door rattles, and I don’t have to turn my head away from the skyline view to know it’s Cory. He went two for four tonight with a diving double play at first, super impressive. It was on replay forever, the announcers talking about the amazing wingspan and length Cory has as a lefty over at first base.

  Cory blows through the door, sets his bag on the floor, and comes straight to the couch where he sits next to me with a cake box and two forks. I would recognize that cake box from anywhere and without lifting the lid, I know it’s a ten-layer chocolate cake from Smith Island Baking Company. On my first visit to Baltimore, Cory took me there on a whim, not really knowing anything about it until we walked in and took a big whiff. We were hooked. For special occasions and especially on my birthday, he’s had cakes shipped to me.

  He hands me a fork and flips the lid open. An entire cake, just for us. Things are about to get serious.

  “What happened?”

  “You don’t want to talk about your game first?” I ask, avoiding his question and prolonging the inevitable.

  “You know I don’t. Spill it, Mills.”

  I scoop up an entire bite and let the double chocolate flavor dance on my taste buds before answering.

  Remembering the look in Carson’s eyes, I say, “He seemed so dead inside, like he was just going through the motions. He kept saying he needed to get to Phoenix to train.”

  “He doesn’t have to report yet.”

  “I know, so I was confused, but I thought maybe he was called in early or something. I have no idea. And when he kept trying to leave, I stopped him, begging him to talk to me. That’s when he said it was over and that’s putting it nicely.”

  “What do you mean putting it nicely?” Cory asks, his eyes sharpening.

  “Basically, he said he didn’t have time for this bullshit, for us, for me. He ended it in a few short words with zero regret crossing his face. Honestly, there was no emotion coming from him whatsoever and when I tried to talk about his dad, he shut me down.”

  Cory thinks it over, chocolate cake swirling in his mouth when he says, “He’s hurting and pushing away everyone and everything.”

  “But to sneak in and not say anything to me? Cory, he was dead set on making us happen. How could he possibly just end things like that? Without batting an eyelash?”

  “When you’re in a grieving state like he is, nothing makes sense. Cheryl told me when she was with her husband in their early years, he suffered a devastating loss of losing his parents as well. I turned to her for advice, knowing this and she said her husband did the same thing as Carson, pulled away, put himself in his own little bubble, and focused on his work and nothing else. She just had to wait it out with him. Eventually he came around.”