Catch me later, as if we’re not going to say goodbye to each other today.

  As if my entire thought process is being thrown into a mixer and being scrambled.

  Besides despite the maybe tear I saw last night, she seems unaffected, and that’s more concerning than anything, because all I can wonder is . . . will she miss me?

  Growing impatient, I open my contacts and call Scarlett. She answers on the second ring.

  “Hey Lincoln.” That doesn’t sound like a very good greeting.

  “Is she coming?”

  “Linc, man . . .” My heart falls, and I sit down on the front steps of my house.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  After everything we’ve been through. All the ups and downs. She’s not going to fucking show up?

  She’s not going to say bye to me?

  I push my hand through my hair, my anger spiking, just as I see a bright red Mazda come around the corner.

  Christ.

  “Never mind. She just pulled up,” I say, keeping my eyes on her the entire time.

  “Thank God,” Scarlett mutters, and I hang up, not bothering to dive into her response. I stay seated on the steps and watch as Indie puts the car in park and then sits there for a few moments, staring out the windshield.

  Eventually, her car door opens and she steps out. I watch her wipe at her eyes and when she turns to face me, I see it—the same agony I’m feeling.

  The air seems to still as time passes by us—our eyes connected, our collective sorrow coming together . . . finally.

  I stand, meet her by the passenger side, and pull her into a hug. A sob escapes her as she clutches my shirt. I bury my head in her hair, trying to commit the subtle scent to memory.

  Her body shudders against mine, as her tears seep through my shirt. I suck in a deep breath. Tears of my own form.

  Hartley was right. Or more to the point, I was wrong. Very wrong.

  This isn’t just painful, like he suggested all those months ago. I had no idea that hugging Indie this last time would feel as though I’m ripping my heart out of my chest. I said goodbye to my parents, knowing it was simply a natural part of life. But this? It doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel natural at all.

  “Shh,” I say on a shaky breath.

  “I . . . don’t know how to say bye to you, Lincoln. I don’t know how to let you go.” She pulls away and looks up at me. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Then don’t,” I say out of desperation. “Don’t say it. We can work this out, Indie. We can figure it out.”

  She shakes her head. “I think we both know that’s a lie, Lincoln.”

  And even though I don’t want to believe it, I’m pretty sure she’s right.

  I haven’t known of many guys who’ve been able to work things out with their girls after college. When I was a freshman, I heard about the brutal breakups that Knox Gentry and Carson Stone went through. Do I want to do that with Indie? Go through something so devastating that there’s no possible chance we could make things right?

  Or do I want to savor this moment, end things on a good note, where the door might always be open?

  Looking down at her, I realize—I think—that’s the only option. Even though I don’t want to admit it, I don’t think Indie is ready for anything long-distance. I could see it falling apart quickly, and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take, not where she’s concerned. Which means I have to say goodbye with a hope in the back of my head, that our paths will connect again.

  “Fuck,” I breathe out heavily, as her hands climb up my chest and then grip my cheeks.

  When I meet her gaze, my heart shatters right there in the gravel of the driveway.

  “You’re going to do great things, Mayhem,” I say, feeling the finality of this moment. “You’re bound to do amazing things. I can feel it on my bones.” Her lip trembles. “And I know, one day, despite what you say, I’m going to turn on SportsCenter, and you’re going to be on the screen, looking hot as shit in a white shirt and white shorts, playing for Team USA. I can feel it, babe.”

  More tears spill down her cheeks but she doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure if it’s because she can’t, or if because she won’t. But I need to hear her voice, I need to know she’s going to be okay.

  “Say something, Indie.”

  She opens her mouth, and her voice catches in her throat. Looking away, she wipes at her tear-stained cheeks and then takes a deep breath. Meeting my eyes again, she says, “Thank you for everything, Lincoln. You made this last year at school feel easy. You made it fun. You showed me what true friendship is, and I’ll never forget it.”

  “Indie,” I say, choking back my emotions, which hit me harder after her last sentence. “This isn’t goodbye forever.”

  She softly smiles and then takes a step back.

  “Indie.” I grab her hand. “This isn’t a forever goodbye.”

  “Then what is it, Lincoln? A promise to see each other later? When? You and I both know this is not a catch you later. This is where our road splits—where you go one way and I go the other.”

  “Are you saying you’re never going to call me? Answer my texts? Come to one of my games when I make the big leagues? Are you saying you’re never going to see me again? Because that’s bullshit.” Anger bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “And you were ten minutes late. Is that because you weren’t going to show up at all?”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t do this, Lincoln. Don’t fight with me, not right now.”

  “Well fuck, Indie.” I pull on my hair. “What the hell do you expect me to do? You’re my goddamn best friend and you’re just going to cut all ties as if I don’t matter?”

  “But you do matter.” She pokes me in the chest. “You matter too much. I don’t know how to do this, to give you up without cutting all ties with you.”

  “You don’t give me up. That’s what you’re not getting. You don’t give up on us. You make promises to meet up in the future. You make promises to call me. To text me back. You don’t just cut me off. That’s not what friends do.”

  She bites her bottom lip. “I’m not sure I’d be strong enough to say goodbye to you again, Lincoln. To see you, talk to you, know that you’re so far away, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Well, this isn’t just about you, Indie,” I yell. “This isn’t just about your feelings. Ever consider that I might need you? That I’ll need to hear your voice, to watch movies with you through FaceTime, to text you when I need a second to take a breath? I’m about to embark on one of the hardest journeys of my life, and I’ll never make it if you cut me off. If you take away my best friend.” I choke on a sob and bury my hand in my hair. “Please don’t fucking do that to me . . . please.”

  Her chest rises and falls, her eyes search mine, and even though they’re full of vulnerability, they’re also laced with understanding.

  Taking a step forward, she smooths her hands up my chest and says, “I’m sorry.” Waves of nausea hit me. This is it. What I say doesn’t matter. She’s still going to cut me off.

  But then, she stands on her toes and places a soft kiss to my lips. “I’m so sorry, Lincoln. I was thinking about myself, not you.” Her hand grips the back of my neck and she connects our foreheads. “I won’t let you go.”

  A harsh exhale comes out of me. “Promise me, Indie. Promise me you won’t let me go.”

  Her teary eyes look into mine. “I promise you, Lincoln. As long as you want me as a friend, I’m yours.”

  * * *

  “Thanks for letting me stay here,” I say, setting my bags down in a small living room.

  “Had the extra room,” my new roommate says, as he lounges on the tiniest couch I’ve ever seen with a sketchbook on his lap, his hand scribbling across the paper.

  “Is this place close to the field?”

  “Pretty close, yeah.” Maddox pauses his drawing and looks up at me. “Coach thinks we’re going to be friends because we’re both pitchers. He’s a dumbass. We’re both vying for a spot in the big leagues and only a few pitching spots open up on a team, if any.”

  “You’re telling me this will be a very uncomfortable living situation and that I should watch my back and not attempt to talk to you, because you’ve been here longer and have better things to do than play Mario Kart with your competition?”

  He sits up on the couch, sets his book down, and clasps his hands together. The guy screams Rebel with his tattooed sleeves, intense gaze, and messy hair that dips over his forehead. When I heard I could stay with Maddox Paige, I was relieved I’d have a roommate. Now I’m second-guessing that.

  “You’re telling me you have a Nintendo Wii in your bags? Not an Xbox or PlayStation?”

  I shrug. “Guilty. I have two moms and they were obsessed with Mario, which transferred over to me.”

  He stands and walks over to me, inches away from my face, his intimidating persona making me wilt. He looks me up and down and then in a low voice, he says, “Set it up. You’re going down, Castle.” With a smirk, he continues, “Want some Cheetos?”

  I take a deep breath. Jesus Christ.

  When I look over at him, he’s smiling, leaning against the counter. “Dude, relax, I was only kidding. It’s cool you’re here. I’ll show you the ropes. Now, Cheetos?”

  I chuckle. “Uh, yeah. Cheetos.”

  “Cool.”

  Relieved and still slightly frightened, I start setting up the Wii. I hand Maddox a remote with a wheel and then sit next to him. Our shoulders bump from the lack of size of the couch and Maddox says, “No accidentally bumping someone’s shoulder while driving. I play fair.”

  “Surprising, given the way you greeted me.”

  “Did you want a hug and kiss?”

  “Wouldn’t have hurt. That’s how my moms greet me. You would have made it feel like home.”

  “Two moms, huh? Would that make you adopted?”

  “Yup,” I say as the Wii warms up.

  “Badass, man. Your moms cool?”

  “Well.” I push my hand through my hair. “They’ve become famous for their website design for two porn sites and just started on their third. Revolutionizing the industry.”

  “No shit.” Maddox laughs. “Does that make it hard to look at porn, knowing your moms had a hand—no pun intended—in creating it?”

  “Up until yesterday, I didn’t have to worry about seeking porn . . .”

  “Ah, you leave a girl behind?”

  “Something like that,” I say, working my way through the menu of Mario Kart. When Maddox picks Princess Peach as his driver, I look at him, questions written all over my face.

  “What? I like to pretend her tits jiggle when driving.”

  I let out a roar of a laugh and nod. “Okay, fair.” I don’t mention that Peach is who Indie drives. It sends a jolt of sadness through me.

  “So, were you dating?”

  And here I thought this guy wasn’t much of a talker. I guess I should never judge a book by its cover.

  “Best friends . . . with benefits.”

  “I see.” I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t turn to look at him. I select the Mushroom Cup and lean back on the couch, my attention entirely on the TV.

  Later that night, when Maddox and I separate to our rooms, I lie down on my twin-sized bed and pick up my phone. I debate not calling her—giving her time after I left—but before I know it, the phone’s pressed to my ear.

  She answers on the third ring and I relax into my bed.

  “Hey you,” she says, her voice sleepy but also aware.

  “Hey Mayhem,” I sigh into the phone. “Met my roommate.”

  “Yeah? I did some Internet stalking on Maddox Paige. Seems funny that the real-life Ken doll is rooming with a true Rebel. You two could not look any more different.”

  I chuckle. “I thought the same thing when I walked into the apartment. And frankly, he was intimidating at first, but he’s actually a really nice guy. But I have a confession to make.”

  “Oh? So early on? You just got there.” Her voice is laced with humor and it puts me at ease.

  “I move fast.”

  “Apparently. Lay it on me, Castle.”

  I make a dramatic sigh and then quickly say, “We played Mario Kart together and he was Princess Peach, and every time Peach squeaked, my cock tightened thinking of you.” I wince, waiting . . .

  And then Indie bursts into laughter. The sound is so perfect and just what I needed. “Oh my God, what is wrong with you?”

  “I honestly couldn’t tell you.” I chuckle.

  “So you had a halfie while playing Mario Kart with your new roommate?”

  “I mean . . . it was half a halfie.”

  “Don’t try to make it sound better, you were turned on. Did you take care of it in the shower, your half a halfie?” Her teasing makes me smile.

  “Why do I tell you things?”

  “Because you can’t seem to help it.” I hear her shift around. “If you’re looking for forgiveness, I’m afraid I can’t give that to you. Sorry.”

  “Are you saying . . . I cheated on you?”

  She chuckles. “Yup, and that hurts, Lincoln. You couldn’t even keep the Wii remote off for one day before your relationship ran cold.”

  “The dude made me nervous. I panicked and gave in to his intense stare.”

  “You’re weak, Castle. That is not the boy I raised with the suckling of my breasts and the milking of my vagina.”

  “Oh my God.” I laugh too loud, hopefully not disturbing Maddox. “Now look who’s the demented one.”

  “Are you telling me that my vagina and breasts didn’t assist in helping you reach ninety-five on the gun?”

  “I mean . . .” I scratch the side of my face. “Kind of believed it was all those squats, but if you want to say it was your tits and pussy, sure.”

  “It was.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “Then you have some magical tits and pussy, babe.”

  “Don’t I know it. Maybe I should put them on Craigslist as a service.”

  I know she’s joking, but a bolt of jealousy still hits me hard.

  “Try it. See what happens,” I answer.

  “Too lazy to take naked pictures of myself.”

  I perk up. “I can do it. FaceTime me, and I’ll take some screenshots.”

  “In your dreams, Castle.” She laughs. “Nice try.”

  “Guess I’ll just have to live with my memories.”

  “So you didn’t take any secret naked pictures of me while I was sleeping? I have at least twelve of you; five of them are close-ups of your penis.”

  “Do you pretend to stick your phone in your mouth, acting as if you’re sucking me off?”

  “And it just got weird.”

  “And your comment about creepy naked pics while I’m sleeping didn’t take it too far?” I laugh.

  “Nope.”

  I chuckle. “Unbelievable, Mayhem.”

  “Even from far away, I can still rock your world.”

  Pretty sure she’s going to rock my world for a very long time.

  * * *

  Indie: How did you do?

  Lincoln: You already know if you’re texting me rather than calling.

  Indie: *Winces* I saw the scores online. I’m sorry, Linc.

  Lincoln: First game as a professional baseball player, and I’m taken out in the fourth inning after allowing five earned runs. Not how I envisioned things.

  Indie: I know you expected more, but you’re still adjusting.

  Lincoln: Everything felt wrong. I wasn’t comfortable on the mound. I kept forgetting the signs. I was lobbing shit in there. I was a goddamn mess, and I’m pretty sure the organization is regretting putting so much faith in me.

  Indie: Or . . . they realize it was your first game and there’s a learning curve. You’re just getting settled. I know you, Lincoln. From now until your next game, you’re going to make sure you find your equilibrium.

  Lincoln: You’re right.

  Indie: Now is not the time to sulk. Now is the time to address what went wrong and make those adjustments. People who sulk are the people who continue to fail, and you didn’t work this hard to fail.

  Lincoln: Damn, Mayhem. You’re pumping me up.

  Indie: Good, now get to work.

  * * *

  I’ve just placed my precooked meal in the microwave to heat up as my phone rings, and Indie’s face comes through on FaceTime.

  God, she’s beautiful.

  “There he is, ladies and gentleman, Mr. Seven Inning Shutout.” She cups her hands around her mouth and speaks loudly.

  Laughing, I say, “Hey babe.”

  “Hey to you. How pumped are you right now? Is your dick hard?”

  “Whoa, she gets right to the point,” Maddox says, coming up behind me.

  “Is that the intimidating roommate?” Indie asks, getting closer to the phone.

  Maddox puts himself in view and says, “He said I’m intimidating? Good to know.”

  “Can you not blow me up?” I ask Indie, who’s laughing at my expense.

  She waves and says, “Hey Maddox, I’m Indie.”

  Maddox looks at me and shakes his head. “She’s too hot for you, man.” Then he turns back to the phone and says, “What’s up, Indie? This guy talks about you all the time.”

  “He better.” She moves a little closer and says, “I have a bone to pick with you, Paige. Are you driving my girl, Peach?”

  “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

  “Uh, she’s mine.”

  He shrugs. “You’re not here to claim her, therefore, she’s mine.”

  Maddox winks and then takes off while Indie shouts to him, “Stay away. Peach is my bitch.” But Maddox’s door shuts behind him, closing off the conversation. “He went to his room, didn’t he?”

  “Afraid so.” The microwave beeps and I pull out my food.

  “Are you having a microwave meal after the amazing game you pitched?”

  I move my fork around the chicken and almond pasta dish that’s packed with protein. “Yeah. We don’t make a ton of money, so going out to eat isn’t an option like it was at Brentwood. To be honest, it’s fucking weird going from Brentwood athletics with state-of-the art facilities to Double-A where they use soup cans as hand weights.”