“Lincoln. I don’t want to fuck other guys, I’m just . . . saying it’s okay to do what you want to do.”

  “Do you really think I’m that desperate to get my dick wet?”

  I put my pants on, quickly shrug my shirt over my head, then pick up my shoes. Indie wraps herself in a blanket and says, “Don’t do this. Don’t leave like this, please.”

  I finish tying my shoes and grab my phone off her desk. Don’t leave like this. What? Pissed off? Like I cannot be here another minute while I still have her taste and scent on my lips? And she wants to free me up to fuck other girls. Just great.

  “I’ve got to go. Early flight.”

  “Lincoln,” she calls out on a sob, and when I turn to see tears streaming down her face, I block it off and grip her doorknob. “I’ll talk to you later, Indie.”

  “Please,” she cries out. “Please don’t leave, Lincoln.”

  I trot down her stairs and walk out the front door, the sound of her desperate voice playing on replay in my head, but I’m too angry to pause.

  The entire drive back to the boys’ house, I try to dissect why I’m so angry, why I shot off like a rocket from her suggestion.

  She wasn’t wrong.

  Everything she said was completely accurate, and yet, it stung like a motherfucker and put me in a mental headspace I don’t want to be in. One that is not settling easily.

  One that I know I’ll regret later on down the road.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  LINCOLN

  ONE YEAR AFTER INDIE’S SENIOR YEAR

  “Think this is your year?” one of the rookies on the Triple-A team asks as he swings his arms back and forth.

  “Not sure,” I say, stretching my right leg with a band.

  “I think I have a good chance.”

  Pfft. Okay, buddy.

  The average time a player spends in the minors is three years. I’m starting year three right now, so if anyone has a chance at getting the call, it will be me.

  But the way I pitched last year, I’ll be lucky to even get looked at. Honestly, at this point, I know my time with the Rebels is going to be short. Guaranteed, by the trade deadline this year, I’ll be used as a pawn to make a move. I can feel it in my bones.

  I spent my entire off-season working out at home and training with my pitching coach from high school. I went back to the basics, focused on my mental fitness, and made sure to block out all distractions, which meant when the holidays rolled around, I didn’t contact Indie to see her.

  Even though she sent me a few texts.

  I spent the entire last season trying to get my head on straight. After I left her place, I texted her the next morning, apologizing, asking her to forgive me for walking out like that. She met me at the airport, gave me a kiss goodbye, and then we went our own ways. Things haven’t been the same since. I maybe talk to her once a month. I checked up on her when her season started, wanting to make sure she had a good first game, but other than that, I follow her more on social media than actually talking to her.

  And the whole fuck-someone-else debacle? Yeah, I’ve taken a few girls home, and it’s felt wrong every goddamn time.

  It’s never truly satisfied me and there was always something missing, so I haven’t had sex since September.

  I’m fucking blue balls-ing it so hard. I’m tense. And I just want to fucking see her. Although, I do not want to know if she’s fucked other guys.

  It’s been a goddamn year, and I haven’t seen her. No FaceTime, no visits. Just phone calls and texts.

  And it’s driven me to a breaking point.

  “All right, boys, that’s it for the day,” our coach says. “Get some sleep and don’t get yourself into any trouble.”

  I finish stretching and then hand off the band to one of the trainers. I take a quick shower, give the guys a few fist bumps, and then head to my hotel room that I thankfully have to myself this year.

  With a to-go box on my lap, I pull up my phone and look at her name in my contact list. I debate turning on the TV to avoid falling into a pit of should I or shouldn’t I?, but when I click on the button for FaceTime, I realize my heart needs something else right now. Apparently.

  I hold my breath as I stare at myself in the screen, waiting for her to pick up. It rings far too long, and I’m just about to cancel the call when she answers. “Lincoln, hey.”

  I nearly choke on my words when I see her. Her hair is swept to the side and has a wave to it. Her makeup is done, and from what I can see, she’s wearing a low-cut shirt, showing off a good portion of her cleavage—cleavage I’ve buried my mouth in on multiple occasions.

  Jealousy pricks at the back of my neck, and I instantly regret calling her but it’s not like I can hang up now.

  “Hey, Indie.”

  There’s some cheering in the background but it quickly fades as Indie shuts a door behind her. She turns on a light.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” I grip the back of my neck. “Sorry, I can go if you’re busy.”

  “No, we’re just getting ready to go out, waiting on a few girls to meet up at the house.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I look to the side and then back at her. “I, uh, I like your hair.”

  “Oh, thanks,” she replies, biting the corner of her lip and looking so uncomfortable that it’s painful.

  “Sorry about not meeting up over the holidays. Things were hectic.”

  “It’s fine.” She shrugs. “Not a big deal.”

  “Did you have a good holiday?”

  “It was okay. Mom and Joe got married. Taught Priscilla a few soccer tricks, my mom’s worst nightmare.”

  I chuckle. “And your dad?”

  “Broke up with Rochelle. But he started seeing someone he knew back in high school. Of course, my mom felt spiteful about it because it’s a girl my mom never got along with. She seems to be over it, especially since Joe gave her a vacation to Hawaii for the new year. Joe in a Speedo, not the type of pictures you want from your mom.”

  “Yeah, I guess not.” I rub the side of my cheek. “Hairy?”

  “So much hair.” She laughs, and I let out sigh of relief. “Is Mama still working on her porn sites?”

  “Nah, she’s graduated,” I say. “They’re now working with a company that makes compost bins.”

  “Well, that’s a change. Porn to compost.”

  “Mama seems to enjoy it, and she’s now fascinated by the worms. I think she just likes long, wiggly things.”

  Indie tilts her head back and laughs out loud. “Only your moms.”

  “Yeah, they’re something special.”

  She stares at me for a few seconds, a smile on her face. “I’ve missed you, Linc.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Mayhem.”

  “Maybe we don’t go so long next time, not seeing each other?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry, that’s on me.”

  “It’s okay.” I hear someone in the background, and she says, “Be right there.” Turning back to me, she gives me a sad smile. “I have to go. Call me some other time? I want to catch up.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Bye, Lincoln.” She cutely waves.

  “Bye, Indie.”

  * * *

  TWO YEARS AFTER INDIE’S SENIOR YEAR

  “I’m so proud of you,” Mom says, grabbing me by the cheeks and planting a kiss right on my lips. “My big boy is a star.”

  “Settle down.” I chuckle. “It was one game. We have an entire season to go.”

  “It wasn’t just one game; it was your major league debut,” Mama says. “And you won. It’s your first win. One of many.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be here without you two,” I say, as I put my arms around both my moms and walk them out to my car in the players’ parking lot.

  Just as I predicted last year, I was traded during the All-Star break to Pittsburgh and then was called up after spring training this year and added to the starting rotation. In the five-slot, but hell, better than riding the bench, or being back in the minors. My contract isn’t huge, but it’s enough to be comfortable. I have free agency after this year, which means I could go anywhere if I’m not happy in Pittsburgh. When I felt depressed about being traded from the Rebels, I talked to my moms, and they told me to use it as experience, to work hard, and when my free agency comes up, maybe I’ll have some pull in where I go.

  And that’s what I’ve been doing.

  After a debut like that, I think I’m on the right track.

  “Thanks for flying out here by the way; it means a lot to me.”

  “Are you kidding? No compost bin would hold me back from seeing our boy play today,” Mama says. “Did your mom tell you we started a veggie garden in the backyard? Not just flowers anymore. We’re composting and loving it, all because of the website.”

  “Well, I’m glad you were inspired by this website, and not the porn ones. I can only imagine you two wanting to shoot your own porn flick.”

  “Who’s to say we haven’t?” Mom says, wiggling her eyebrows just as my phone rings in my pocket.

  I pull it out to silence it but when I see Indie’s name come across the screen, I answer, excusing myself for a second.

  “Hey Indie.”

  “Ahhh, is this the star pitcher for the Pittsburgh Steel?”

  “Not you too.” I chuckle.

  “First things first, your moms being interviewed on TV while you pitched has got to be the best thing I’ve ever seen. Mama standing in the stands, pelvic thrusting when you struck someone out literally made my year.”

  “Oh Jesus, she didn’t,” I say, looking over at my moms who are holding hands and talking quietly.

  “She did, and I took a boomerang of it. I’ll text it. Also, wearing your socks high is a good look on you.”

  “Yeah, the team requires it. Felt weird, but I think it might be good luck, you know? Superstitions and all.”

  “Naturally. And thirdly, you killed it, Lincoln. Oh my God, at one point I was crying I was so happy for you.”

  “You watched the whole game?”

  “Of course I did. I’m just sad I wasn’t there in person.” She sighs. “You did it, Castle. You made it. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Indie, that means a lot.” I toe the ground and ask, “Uh, how are you? I saw that you led your team in goals last season. That’s pretty badass.”

  “Have we not talked since then?”

  “Yeah.” I pull on the back of my neck. “Things keep seeming to get crazy between us.”

  “As long as you still pick up the phone when I call, that’s all that matters.”

  “Always.” I glance over at my moms as they wait. “Hey, my moms are here, waiting on me.”

  “Sure, yeah. I’ll let you go. Just wanted to congratulate you. I’m really proud of you, Lincoln. All that hard work is paying off.”

  “Yours too, Mayhem. Keep hustling, babe.”

  “Always. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Lincoln.”

  “Bye.” I hang up and stare at the phone for a few seconds, my mind starting to wander down memory lane. Her face flashes through my mind, her smile, her throaty laugh. Hell, I miss her. It would have been fucking amazing if she was here today. I considered calling her, seeing if she could fly in quickly and fly back out. I would have paid for everything, but I knew that would be asking too much, so I didn’t, especially since I haven’t spoken to her in months.

  Different lives.

  Separate lives. That’s what we’re living.

  I pocket my phone and walk back to my moms, who welcome me with open arms and we head out to a celebratory dinner.

  * * *

  THREE AND A HALF YEARS AFTER INDIE’S SENIOR YEAR

  Bzzz. Bzz. Bzz.

  My eyes flit open and I look at the clock on my nightstand.

  Two in the morning.

  What the hell?

  I glance at my phone that’s buzzing and see Indie’s face cross the screen. Rubbing my eye with my palm, I sit up and answer, my voice sounding groggy.

  “Hello?”

  “Linc?” Indie’s voice sounds meek . . . scared.

  “Indie? Is everything okay?”

  “Linc . . . I need you.”

  “What’s up? What’s going on?”

  “Can you come back home?”

  * * *

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask Indie, as I place the last of the dishes in the sink of her dad’s house.

  She shakes her head as she sits on the counter, dressed in all black, staring at the ground. “No.”

  I walk up to her, grateful my manager gave me the day off so I could fly to Michigan to be with Indie. When she told me that her dad had died suddenly of a heart attack—alone—I knew I had to be here. Her sobs . . .

  I haven’t seen her in a few years, so when I walked into her dad’s house this morning, seeing her sunken eyes, full of despair, my heart broke.

  I walk up to her and place one hand on her thigh, push her hair back from her face with the other, and then cup her cheek. “Come on. It’s been a long day, let’s get you into bed.”

  She doesn’t say anything, so I pull her off the counter and walk her back to the guest room where she let me change when I arrived straight from the airport. I fly out early tomorrow morning to make my game. I wish I could stay longer but unfortunately, it’s the life of a professional athlete.

  When we reach the room, I set her on the bed and say, “What are you going to sleep in? An old tee?”

  She shakes her head and then connects her eyes with me. “Please, would you just hold me, Lincoln? Hold me like you used to back in college?”

  Unable to deny her anything, I lie down on the bed and pull her into my chest. She rests her head and grips the fabric of my shirt. She sniffs, and my shirt grows wet from her tears. I grip her tighter, letting her know I’m here for her.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say quietly. “I know you had a rough relationship with him, but—”

  Indie tilts her head up and kisses my jaw.

  I still.

  She kisses me again and then sits up and moves her mouth to mine, pressing a kiss against my lips.

  “Indie, I’m not sure—”

  “I need to get lost. I need to forget. Please help me do that.”

  Her hand travels down my stomach to the waistband of my dress pants. She unbuckles my belt and pants, as I try to determine what the right decision in this situation is.

  “Please,” she says again as her hand slips inside my pants and cups me.

  Fuck.

  Fucking hell.

  Even if I tried, I don’t think I could deny this girl, not when she’s happy, and especially when she’s sad. If she wants me, I want her. It’s as simple as that.

  This might be stupid, and she might be using me, but I do still crave her. After all this time, no sexual experience has come close to the ecstasy of sex with Indie. The way she knows my body. The way I know hers. Her heart. Her soul. Even seeing her lost in grief, the minute I walked through the door, that burning need for her erupted.

  “Please,” she repeats, pressing another light kiss across my lips.

  I groan and move her to her back. I unbutton my shirt and toss it to the floor. Her eyes widen, taking me in, and then she smiles very lightly.

  “Jesus, Lincoln.” Her eyes roam my body, running over each contour, taking in every difference from the last time she saw me. The intensity of my workouts has changed drastically since I last saw her and from her heated—dizzying—perusal, she’s impressed by the difference.

  I lift her cotton dress up and over her head and peel off her bra, while she kicks off her underwear. I stare down at her naked body, a million flashbacks racing through my head followed by an onslaught of emotions.

  Happiness.

  Weariness.

  Guilt . . .

  “Are you sure?” I ask her, feeling like a tool who’s taking advantage of her.

  “I need this, please, Lincoln.”

  Her hands travel up my chest to the back of my neck where she brings my mouth down to hers. She places a light kiss across my lips and then another. They’re little pecks that make me grow harder each time. Just having a taste of her mouth again twists my stomach in knots and before I can stop myself, those knots turn into heated yearning, and my mouth crashes down on hers.

  She groans against me, her back arches, and she pushes me to my back, climbing on top of me, taking charge. And I let her.

  Because even though I want this—want her . . . probably always will—she needs this more than me.

  * * *

  Indie: Thank you for last night. I’m really thankful you came.

  Lincoln: You don’t need to thank me, Indie. I’m glad I was there for you.

  Indie: In more ways than one. Thank you.

  Lincoln: If you need anything, don’t be hesitant to call.

  Indie: I won’t. Have a safe trip.

  * * *

  FOUR YEARS AFTER INDIE’S SENIOR YEAR

  “Dude, are there two of you?” I ask Maddox, patting his face.

  “Just one, man.” He laughs while unlocking the door to my apartment. My apartment that doesn’t have any furniture in it but a bed. “Nice place, man.”

  “Thanks,” I say, stumbling behind him. I sit on the floor and then lie across it where I make snow angels against the freshly waxed floors. “Join me. Just like old times.”

  “We never did that,” Maddox says and then picks up my feet and drags me across the floor to my bedroom.

  “Wee,” I call out, letting my arms float above my head. “Again, Daddy. Again.”

  “Dude, there are so many things wrong with what’s happening right now, you calling me Daddy being one of them. I know you’re excited to be a Rebel again in one hell of an epic trade, but this is your third night celebrating. We need to calm it down.”