“Dude, your veins in your forehead are dancing. Maybe take a chill pill.”

  “Fuck this.” I stand and take off to my room, needing time away from everything.

  * * *

  Milly: You were called up. That’s so exciting.

  Milly: What did it feel like? Were you beside yourself?

  I stare at her text, my anger boiling over. Why the fuck is she doing this? I should have blocked her fucking number before now.

  Carson: Lose this number and get a hint. I don’t want to fucking talk to you.

  I drop my phone on my mattress and push my hands through my hair, instant regret hitting me. Fuck, I haven’t talked to her in almost a year and that’s what I say to her?

  Maybe I should apologize. I go to reach for my phone when something stops me.

  No, I should leave it at that because maybe this will help her realize that she needs to move on. That she needs to stop, that she needs to let go. I’m not the same man she once knew.

  I briefly think of her and see her beauty, and her perfect dimples—

  Stop. He deserves your complete focus. This is for him.

  I’m not the same man she once knew.

  What’s done is fucking done.

  * * *

  JUNE

  Smack.

  Crack—smack.

  Wipe brow, replace ball.

  Crack—smack.

  “How long are you going to be in here?” Knox says, coming up to the cage.

  “As long as it takes for me to get out of this slump.”

  “Ever think you need a fucking break?”

  “Can’t take a break.”

  He lifts the nets just as I take another swing. I reach for another ball but he kicks the bucket to the side, scattering them across the cages.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Stop. Just fucking stop for a goddamn second and take a breath,” he yells. “Look at your goddamn hands. They’re bleeding. You have dark circles under your eyes, and you’re so fatigued that you can’t focus when you’re up to bat. You’re driving yourself to an early grave and straight back to Double-A, where you’ll have a hell of a time climbing back up the ladder.”

  Exhausted, I let out a sigh and toss my bat to the side before taking a seat on the ground. “I don’t fucking get it. Why do they keep calling me up but not playing me? Stop fucking with me.”

  “Dude, we’ve been a part of this sport for so long, we’ve watched the yo-yo effect of being in Triple-A. That’s the nature of the beast. They use you as a pinch runner here and there, but until Rivera goes down, your time belongs here, which means when you’re here you need to give yourself a break. Coach said he’s benching you tomorrow so you can gather your head.”

  “The fuck he is. I can’t take a break. I need to play,” I say frantically. “I’m fine. I just . . . I just need some sleep.”

  “You’re not fine. You’re a fucking mess.” Knox takes a seat next to me and says, “It’s been a year. Don’t you think it’s time you finally talk about whatever it is that’s driving you down this one-track-mind road?”

  “I have goals.”

  “Bullshit. You had goals in college but it was never like this. And what about fucking Milly? Jason told me you broke her heart a couple months ago. What the fuck did you say to her?”

  “He said that?” I ask, looking at Knox.

  “Yeah. He was checking up on her and asked how things were between you two. You told her to lose your number?”

  Guilt consumes me.

  “What the fuck did she ever do to you to deserve that kind of treatment?”

  “Why is Jason checking up on her?” I ask, my anger coming back in full force. “Does he like her or something?”

  “As if it would matter. You never answered her. Wasn’t she the girl who stole your heart? Isn’t that what you told me? So why did you set out to break her spirit?”

  “Because . . .” I pause, wiping my hands on my shorts, the broken blisters leaving a trace of blood. “It was too much. I need to focus on my goal. I need to make it to the majors by next year, solidly, a position player, a starter.”

  “Why by next year?” Knox asks, his irritation with me growing. “Why does it matter?”

  “Because I made a goddamn promise to my dad on his deathbed,” I yell, as a wave of pain bursts past my façade. A sob escapes my lips, and I press my face into my shirtsleeve.

  Knox puts his arm around me. Physical contact. Something I haven’t felt since we left his mom’s.

  And a switch is flipped.

  It’s too much.

  The loss of my father.

  The loss of a family.

  The loss of a dream.

  The loss of her.

  “It was because of me,” I say. My voice is nothing but a distraught breath.

  “What was?”

  “His death,” I answer, choking on my own words.

  “What do you mean?”

  Wiping my eyes with the corner of my shirt, I take a deep breath. “His work ethic, his constant long days, it was because of me. All the medical bills from my mom and my baseball expenses piled up over time. He took out a loan to pay for it. The loan apparently was shitty and the interest was insane. He was in debt and worked tirelessly, trying to pay it off. I didn’t know until my aunt Carol told me. He sent me money, fun money, he got me everything I wanted. It was because—”

  “Because he loved you,” Knox says. “He worked hard because he loved you. He didn’t die because of you; he died because it was his time. I don’t think anything would have changed his work ethic, because he was the kind of man who provided, and would do that until his last breath.”

  Another wave of tears hit me hard and Knox brings me in closer.

  “You can’t possibly blame yourself for his death, Carson. Shit happens to the people we love every day. We can’t avoid it. But what we can do is remember them the best way we can. I talked to your dad on the phone a few times, and I wish I’d known him better, but what I do know is he would not be happy with the way you’ve been living. Pushing people away, working tirelessly until your body gives out. He would have lectured you on taking care of yourself.”

  “He was one to speak. He should have taken care of himself.”

  “But that’s not the kind of man he was. I never told you this, but when he dropped you off at our dorm and you were in the bathroom, he pulled me to the side and said he made a promise to your mom that he would always take care of you. That he’d make sure you had everything you needed in life to make your dreams come true. Since he couldn’t be in Chicago with you, he asked if I would watch over you and he would make sure you were provided for.”

  “He said that?”

  Knox nods. “He did, and I told him I would. Why do you think I’ve stuck around your moody ass this past year? Because I made a promise as well. You’re my family, Carson, and even though you’ve been a bastard, no matter how much you piss me off, I’m never going to stop watching over you.” He clutches me tighter. “We’re in this together, man.”

  Something inside me breaks. I don’t know if it’s my wall, my understanding, or my eagerness to make my promise to my dad a reality, but the tension in my body eases and I’m able to take a full breath.

  In this together? Hardly. But that’s on me.

  Fuck, that’s on me.

  “You’ve made me so proud, Carson. Not just as a baseballer, but as a man. And the way you speak of your girl, Milly, reminds me of your mom. She pushes you, so she’s the girl for you. You may not have baseball forever, as our bodies can only sustain us for so long. But your girl . . . always work as hard at that relationship as you do in baseball. Never give up.” How had I forgotten those words that my dad spoke to me in one of our last phone calls? How had I somehow twisted his love and sacrifices for me as something he’d resented? He never told me about his debt, but not because he was ashamed. He did everything he did with pride. Fuck. He’d hate this version of me. And Milly . . . that beautiful and bright soul. “What the fuck did she ever do to you to deserve that kind of treatment?” Nothing. All she did was love, support, and push me.

  I’m such an asshole.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I’ve really fucked everything up.”

  “Nah, you’ve just muddied the water. Time to filter out the shit and make it clean again.”

  I glance at Knox, a cock to my brow. “Is that some Texas saying?”

  “You should know, you spent a few months there.” He smiles. “Come on, let’s get you better first, and then we can mend everything else.”

  * * *

  JULY

  Feeling a little more human, a little less angry, and slightly more optimistic, I stretch out on my bed after a solid win and performance and pick up my phone.

  It’s been a few months since I’ve “spoken” to her, but like Knox said, I’ll never know until I try.

  There’s no denying I still think about Milly every day. Even when I didn’t want to, I thought about her. She was constantly on my mind. Every time I was in the cages, I swear I heard her voice bounce off the walls, reminding me to keep my hands high. When I would stare at my glove before every game, listening to my pre-game music, I would see her face when she handed me my glove back after tightening it. And when the lights turned off at the stadium, I’d imagine the night I asked her to meet me in the dugout, the first time I told her how I felt.

  Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t extract her from my season, even when I said some of the worst things to her.

  And now that I’m feeling more like my old self, I want to reach out to her, let her know how sorry I am.

  Pulling up a text message, I type up a quick text.

  Carson: Hey Milly, how are you? Was hoping maybe we could talk today? Let me know if you have time.

  I hit send as nerves crash down on me. Worst-case scenario, she tells me to eat my own shit. Best-case scenario, she hears me out.

  As I wait for her response, I stare at the last text I sent her . . .

  Lose this number and get a hint. I don’t want to fucking talk to you.

  Jesus Christ, I was horrible. I want to say I was in a bad place, but that’s no excuse. She kept talking to me after I pushed her away, never once holding that against me . . . and I snapped at her, took out all my anger on her. She didn’t deserve that, and I hate that it’s taken me this long to realize it.

  I just hope she—

  My phone vibrates as a text box pops up on my phone. My eyes focus and I read the text, my mind whirling.

  Milly: Who’s this?

  It’s like an ice pick to the heart.

  I told her to lose my number . . . and she did.

  She followed through. I should be proud of her, for dropping a loser like me and moving on, but fuck does it hurt knowing she really did.

  I contemplate writing her back, telling her it’s the asshole she tried to contact for almost a year, that I’m sorry and beg her to talk to me, but set my phone down instead. I told her to lose my number, she lost it, and she’s . . . well, I guess she’s moved on.

  Why fuck with her life now?

  I drape my arm over my eyes and try to steady my racing heart, wondering what the fuck I should do. The promise I made to my dad comes to mind, making it to the majors within three years. It’s a strong promise, one I know I can make happen, but when I get there, who the fuck is going to be in the stands cheering for me?

  It was supposed to be Milly. The girl I was meant to work just as hard for as I have at baseball. Now, once again, no one will be there. And it’s all my own damn fault.

  * * *

  “Soo . . . did you text her?” Knox asks, flinging himself on my bed.

  “I did.”

  He rubs his hands together. “How did it go?”

  I glance at him and then back at the ceiling. “Read the room, man.”

  “She told you to fuck off?”

  “I probably would have preferred that, as at least I’d know there was still some emotion left inside of her when it comes to me.”

  Knox shifts and sits up. “What do you mean?”

  Hands linked together and resting on my stomach, I keep my gaze toward the ceiling when I say, “I told her to lose my number and she did. She had no idea who was texting her.”

  Knox hisses an ouch sound and then chuckles.

  Fucking chuckles.

  I snap in his direction. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

  “Because, you are in deep, man. You have quite the hole to climb out of and it’s going to take a whole lot of fucking time to convince that girl that she should give you a second chance.”

  He’s right about that, but should I bother? Would she give me a second chance after ignoring her for so long and then pulling an asshole stunt like I did? Do I even deserve a second chance?

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You love her, right?” He pokes my side and I nod carefully, not able to say the words out loud. He chuckles again and it makes me want to drive my fist right through his throat.

  “So glad my downfall is funny to you.”

  “Lighten up, bro. You remember how to have a good time, right? Be light and fun like you used to? Maybe start there and something will come to you. I mean . . . what’s her soft spot?”

  “Her brother, baseball . . . teaching kids.”

  And just like that, an idea starts to brew.

  “Ah, I see the wheels turning.”

  “They are.”

  “Just remember,” Knox says, getting off my bed, “this isn’t an overnight fix. This is something that’s going to take some time.”

  “I know,” I answer, sitting up and grabbing my phone. “This is going to take a long fucking time, but hopefully I can put the right things into action now.”

  I don’t deserve Milly after what I put her through, but fuck do I hope she’ll wait for me. And even though with every fiber of my being I want Milly back, my actions need to be about her happiness. Her future. Her dreams. Her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  MILLY

  OVER A YEAR AND A HALF LATER

  “Thank you, Coach Milly.”

  “You’re welcome, killer. Keep this up and you’re going to lead the team in batting average.”

  “You think so?”

  I ruffle Dennis’s hat and nod. “No doubt.” I give his mom a wink. They head toward the concession stand where he always gets a red Powerade so he can stock up on electrolytes, as he likes to say.

  Dennis has really come along in the three years I’ve been working with him and he’s joined a travel ball team. Still an outfielder, he’s grown into his clothes and can really put power behind the ball. And he’s quick, really freaking quick. We’ve been working on his left-handed batting, turning him into a little bit of an Ichiro with a slight slap and run to his hitting. Apparently, his opposing teams don’t quite know what to do with him yet.

  Rian and Sean have also been training him, putting him through quick burst-like exercises to increase his speed, and it shows. He’s a hard worker and by far my favorite student.

  I know I shouldn’t have favorites, but I can’t help it.

  “Hey, you ready?” Shane asks, walking up to my cage. He’s been patiently waiting for me to finish before we go to dinner.

  It’s my treat this go-around, so he can wait.

  “Yeah, let me store my stuff quickly and then I’m ready.”

  I gather my coaching equipment, lock it up in my special closet so the other coaches can’t get their grabby hands on it, and meet Shane at the front, who’s wearing a finely tailored suit and a smile on his face.

  When I reach him, he drapes his arm over my shoulder and presses a kiss to my head. “How was your day?”

  “It was good.” We walk out to his car and I hop in, familiar with the fresh leather scent. “I had a new student come in looking for help.”

  “Yeah? How did the assessment go?”

  I chuckle and say, “Let’s just say he won’t be working with me.”

  Shane laughs out loud. “Seriously? Was he a dick?”

  “Little punk wouldn’t listen to me. I could tell he was pissed I had boobs.”

  “A teenage boy should never be pissed about boobs.”

  “Not true, a boy who might be gay would be pissed about them.”

  Shane points at me. “You got me there, but seriously, was he pissed that you were a girl coach?”

  “Totally. He wasn’t taking direction well and when I was giving him slight adjustments, he half-heartedly put effort into listening. He was obnoxious. His dad was eager to see if I would take him on, so I told him I would let him know, but it’s going to be a big fat no.”

  “Oh shit, that dad is going to be so pissed, because I’m sure he came to you knowing you’re changing the swings around Chicago.”

  I shrug. “Not my fault his kid’s a punk. Don’t take me seriously, I won’t work with you.” It’s true, in the past year and a half, the influx of students who’ve come flocking to me has been incredible. I have a full roster right now, but I’m always willing to take a look at a new batter.

  “That’s what I love about you, Mills, you don’t take shit from anyone.”

  I smile and look out the window. “I have to have standards.”

  “So how was the training camp last weekend?”

  Our third training camp with Brentwood increased our business by tenfold. We can barely keep up, so much that we’re already considering a third facility. Crazy, I know, but with the addition of Brentwood coming in for their community service, it’s changed everything.

  And it was weird how it happened.

  I finished up a training session with one of my regulars when Coach Disik came into the facility. I paused, stunned for a second seeing the coaching legend in our building, but when he spotted me and made a direct beeline to talk to me, I froze. It was mildly embarrassing as I stumbled through my words, explaining to him how our training facility and process works. He asked if we have a progression timeline for training or plan on offering baseball camps. I gave him pamphlets and smiled way too fanatically. From there, he’s worked closely with us, impressed with not only our mission, but with my teaching techniques, even picking up on some of my video studies. I never thought I’d see the day when Coach Disik actually learned from me, especially given I watched all his instructional videos growing up.