* * *

  “Good, just like that, bud.” I stand from my kneeling position and look at Dennis. I see him twice, sometimes three times a week and it’s really starting to show. “You’re killing it today.”

  “Thank you.” He blushes and then glances toward the back of the cage for the hundredth time today.

  “You’re lucky you’re doing good today,” I say, putting the last ball on the tee. “Your head has been rubbernecking all practice.”

  He scrunches his nose up. “Rubbernecking, what does that mean?” He chokes up, stares at the ball, steps, and swings through.

  I clap and lean over for a high-five. He slaps my hand hard and then sets his bat and helmet down to help me pick up the balls. We hit off the tee today, did some machine work, and then back on the tee to nail out any final mechanics.

  “Rubbernecking is when you keep looking backward or anywhere but where you’re supposed to be looking,” I explain just as the cage door opens.

  “Oh, it’s because—” Dennis pauses, gasps, and then runs toward the end of the cage where he wraps his arms around a strong pair of legs.

  I stand up straight, toss a ball in the bucket, and then nearly fall right over as my eyes focus on who belongs to the strong pair of legs.

  “Hey buddy, you looked amazing in there.”

  “You were watching? I didn’t see you.”

  “You shouldn’t have been looking.” Carson . . . yes, Carson Stone, ruffles Dennis’s head, as if they’ve been the best of friends for years. “Rule number one when it comes to baseball. All your mental focus needs to be on the game, forget the crowd, the fans, the pretty girls in the stands, you need to focus on the game and what you’re doing, because the minute you don’t focus, is the moment you make an error.”

  Dennis stares up at Carson, bright eyed and in awe. “Yes, of course. Won’t happen again.” Smiling big, he turns to me and says, “Coach Milly, did you see Carson Stone is here?”

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat and walk over to him, one of my hands pushing up my glasses. “I can see that. What brings you here?”

  “Told Dennis here when I was back in town, I’d catch one of his practices.”

  “Huh, I had no idea you guys were friends.”

  “Oh yeah,” Dennis says, standing next to Carson and giving him a fist bump. “We’ve been friends since he was at Brentwood. We’re pen pals.”

  I nearly choke on my own saliva.

  “You’re pen pals?”

  “Yup, he dropped the ball for a bit, but Mom said he was going through a tough time, so I forgave him once I got another letter from him, catching me up on what it was like in the minors.”

  My mind reels as I think about when that could have been. Maybe around the same time he text me and I asked who the number belonged to . . . that would make sense. Was he trying to change his life around then? And I didn’t give him a chance?

  No . . . this is not my fault. This is his.

  Swallowing my stubbornness of wanting to be a complete ass to the man, I say, “That was very nice of him.” And as my mind starts considering the timeline and piecing things together, about a year ago was when Dennis really started to pick up his practicing and getting better. Was Carson a part of that? “Was Carson giving you tips?”

  “Yup, but he told me to make sure I was listening to you because if anyone could get me to the big leagues, it was you.”

  Okay, okay . . . breathe.

  That’s a nice compliment.

  It’s super cute and adorable and touches my heart in all the best ways that Carson has been pen pals with Dennis.

  But it’s not going to change how I feel about Carson. I’m still mad. He hurt me, he hurt us. He threw us away.

  “Well.” I stick my hands in my pockets. “I have a small break between students, so I’m going to grab something quick to eat. I’ll see you in a few days, Dennis.” I glance at Carson. “Good seeing you, Carson.”

  I walk away, but not fast enough because I can hear Dennis say in a not-so subtle way, “What are you doing? You told me you love her. Aren’t you going to go give her a kiss?”

  Even though my feet keep moving forward, everything else in my body stops working. My heart doesn’t beat, my lungs don’t beg for more air, and it seems like everything around me stills as I quickly make my way to the office where I take a seat on the leather couch and attempt to take deep breaths.

  He doesn’t love me.

  No.

  If he did, he never would have put us through hell. He never would have ignored me. He wouldn’t have told me to get a hint.

  People in love don’t say those things, don’t emotionally hurt each other like that.

  And yes . . . Dennis said Carson loves me, but . . .

  Sean comes popping through the door and scans the room, spotting me. He observes me for a few seconds before saying, “So from the ghost-like look on your face, I’m going to guess you saw Stone out there.”

  “Saw him the other day too, when he came to my apartment to apologize.”

  “Cory told us.” Sean takes a seat at his desk and holds his arms over his stomach. “I’m going to guess you’re not taking it well.”

  “Would you? If the person you loved suddenly came back into your life, apologizes one of the most heartfelt apologies you’ve ever heard, then you find out he’s been a pen pal with your favorite student ever, and then that student just bursts out saying the person you loved actually loves you back?” I throw my arms up in the air and fall back on the couch. “Holy. Fuck.” I breathe out.

  Sean opens up the drawer to his attached filing cabinet and pulls out a file folder thick with paper. “Then I guess you don’t want to see this.” He rolls his chair over to me and sets the folder on the coffee table.

  “What is that?”

  “Why don’t you see for yourself?” Sean stands and walks to the door, hand on the knob. “He might have physically left your life, but he never forgot about you, Milly. He might have been lost for a bit, but once he found his head again, he found you.”

  Sean gives me a wink and then exits the office, leaving me alone with the folder that’s calling out, begging to be opened. But I know, the moment I flip open the folder is the moment I open my heart to heartbreak. I can feel it weighing heavily on me.

  The decision so palpable I can taste it.

  Do I want to know what he’s been doing behind the scenes?

  I press my hand to my forehead, going over the timeline again, when the facility started to really pick up with business, Coach Disik coming to us, the many camps we’ve had since then, the press . . . did Carson have anything to do with that?

  My fingers itch to open the folder, to find out, but before I can make the decision, the door to the office opens again but instead of one of my brothers walking through, Carson does.

  So not what I needed.

  Especially since he’s looking better than ever in a pair of navy-blue chino shorts and a white and blue striped polo shirt.

  “Hey,” he says, standing close to the closed door. “I’m sorry if I surprised you. I should have let you know what I promised Dennis. Are you, uh. . . are you okay?”

  “No,” I say before I can stop myself and just like that, the waterworks start. I bring my feet up to the couch and cover my face with my hands where I let the tears flow.

  “Milly,” I hear him say, his feet approaching until he sits on the coffee table in front of me. “Please talk to me.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I ask, anger in my voice but sorrow on my face. “I thought you were done with me. I was finally starting to get over the loss of you and then like a ghost from the past, you remerge as if you didn’t flip my world upside down when you told me to get a hint. I . . . I was tr-trying to help you,” I say on a sob.

  He grips my ankles and leans forward. “I know, Milly, and I’m so fucking sorry for treating you the way I did. There’s no excuse for my behavior, and all I can say is I’m sorry. I wish I handled things differently, but at the time, I had no other choice. It was like the walls were falling in on me and I was just trying to grasp at any emotion to help me survive. It was stupid and I’ll always regret it.”

  “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was that you lost your dad. I wanted to hold you, tell you everything was going to be okay, that I was there for you. I wanted to be able to hold your hand at your dad’s funeral and to give you the comfort you needed to get through a difficult time. I wasn’t asking for eternity. I was asking for you to let me in, to let me be the girlfriend you asked me to be.”

  “I know.” He nods and drags his hand over his face, letting out a large sigh. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Milly. I really am.”

  Not able to look him in the eye, I say, “What do you want from me, Carson? Why are you really here?”

  He sits back but doesn’t answer right away.

  He doesn’t answer at all actually as he stands and pulls on the back of his neck, a look of disbelief on his face.

  Slowly, looking confused, he makes his way back to the door and places his hand on the knob. Before leaving, he says, “I don’t know what I want, Milly. I’m sorry.”

  And once again, he leaves.

  Tears well in my eyes as I stare at the closed door, wondering how I’m supposed to pull myself together in the next twenty minutes before my next lesson shows up. I glance down and spot the untouched folder and this time, it’s calling even louder.

  I drop my feet to the floor and flip open the folder with one finger before I can stop myself. Pages full of Carson’s handwriting flutter and my heart flies up to my throat. I piece through them, all handwritten, all to my brothers. I bring one closer and read it.

  Sean and Rian,

  Spoke with Coach Disik today, told him about the facilities and the coaching staff you have. Told him about Milly and how she turned my senior season around, preparing me for professional baseball. He was impressed and will be stopping by next week. It’s not much, but it’s the least I can do.

  Hope all is well and take care of Milly for me—I’m sure you are.

  Carson

  Tears spilling down my cheeks, I take a deep breath as my lip trembles.

  He told Disik about me? About the facility?

  I quickly rifle through the rest, all letters about different programs he spoke to, different coaches around the area, travel ball teams, and even some minor league guys looking to gain that extra inch. At least fifty different letters in here of every outreach he made for the business . . . for me.

  He’s always believed in me, encouraged me, but this, this is something I never would have expected, for him to go out of his way and make connections so I can succeed, just how I helped him succeed.

  No wonder Sean and Rian kept these to themselves, because if I knew Carson was doing this all along, I never would have been able to attempt to let him go, or let my heart grow as time between us grew apart.

  Now the question is, what the hell am I going to do with this knowledge?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  CARSON

  “This is really stupid,” I whisper to Knox over the phone. “I need to turn around and leave. Tell me to turn around.”

  “Don’t be a goddamn pussy; walk yourself up to her door and get the job done. We planned this out, it’s been a year in the making . . . if you don’t close I’m going to have the biggest case of emotional blue balls.”

  “I don’t like how invested you are in this.”

  “You gave me no fucking choice. You owe this to me, after being a bastard to live with for so long. You are one step away, just fucking do it already. Christ.”

  “Your encouragement is award worthy.”

  “Some might say I could be a motivational speaker.”

  “Stick to baseball,” I deadpan, staring at her apartment door from the end of the hallway. “You should have seen her face today, dude. She was destroyed. I did that to her.”

  “Yeah, and you’re putting everything back together now. Trust me, she’s not over you, Jason told me she’s not. Trust your instincts and finish what you started.”

  “You know, instead of focusing on me so much, maybe you should probably try to work things out with Emory?”

  He sarcastically laughs. “Okay, completely different. It’s hard to go after someone who doesn’t want you. Milly wants you, so you need to show her you’re not going to be a dumbass anymore. I’m hanging up. Don’t call me until the deed is done.”

  The phone goes dead.

  The ass really hung up on me. I consider calling him back, but he’ll just yell at me some more and honestly, I’m not in the mood. Instead, I pocket my phone, rub my sweaty hands on my shorts, and close the distance between Milly’s apartment and me.

  This is it, everything I’ve been working toward the past year.

  One question is all I have to ask, and her answer will speak volumes.

  On a deep breath, I knock. The TV is muted before her feet pad across the floor. I prepare myself to set my eyes on her countless freckles and endearing eyes, but when she opens the door, I’m not ready for what I see on the other end.

  She’s . . . fuck, she’s so goddamn beautiful.

  In the years we’ve been a part, she hasn’t changed much. Her glasses are different, black-rimmed instead of tortoiseshell and a little smaller, but not by much. They frame her eyes more, making them seem almost brighter . . . more defined. And her hair, it barely kisses her shoulders and is parted to the side, silky and beautiful. I want to pass my fingers through it, absorb the texture into my memory.

  Her body, defined and gorgeous as it was before but instead of her baggy clothing, she seems to have tightened everything up, outlining her body for the world to see.

  There’s no denying she’s just as irresistible as she was in college, but now more mature—which makes my heart ache and guilt consume me—because it’s a stark reminder that my idiocy kept us apart.

  “Carson,” she says on a gasp. “What are you doing here?”

  Keep it short and sweet.

  This is the invite. If she accepts, that’s when I lay it all out on the line.

  I grip the doorframe and lean in, carefully taking in the way her eyes widen as they roam my chest. She’s not the only one who’s changed and from every small perusal, I know she’s thinking the same thing.

  Mustering every ounce of courage inside me, I say, “Back at the training facility, you asked me what I wanted from you and I told you I didn’t know.” I pause and connect my eyes with hers. “I was lying.”

  “What do you mean, you lied?” she asks, clutching her Bobbies tank at the collar, her eyes wavering between mine.

  Here it goes. The invite. The end to this journey.

  Swallowing hard, I say, “Tomorrow night, meet me in the dugout. Our dugout.”

  “What?” she asks, caught off guard.

  “Eight.” I smile. “Don’t be late.”

  I begin to walk away but she steps out into the hallway halting me while holding the door open with her foot. “What if I don’t show up?”

  Nerves churn in my stomach as she directly calls out my worst fear. What if she doesn’t show up? Then I try to swallow the biggest mistake I ever made.

  “Then I’ll take that as my cue to get a hint . . . and leave you alone,” I say softly, recycling the same words I told her over a year ago.

  Without turning back around, I leave, not physically able to take in her reaction. I don’t have it in me to see what she’s truly thinking. Even though the wait will be torturous and undeniably long, I will prolong hearing her answer—learning what my fate is—because at least right now, I know there’s at least a chance.

  * * *

  Knox: Is she there? Are you holding hands? Kissing? What’s happening?

  Jason: I know, I can’t take the anticipation. I’m going to throw up in my shoes. I need to know what’s happening.

  Romeo: I don’t know why you dipshits are nervous. He has this in the bag. Have you seen the guy’s forearms lately? #deadly

  Knox: Thanks to me. I taught him everything he knows in the weight room.

  Scoffing, I type back, trying to keep myself distracted from the fact that Milly is five minutes late.

  Carson: You taught me jack shit.

  Knox: Noooo. You answered. Does that mean she’s late?

  Jason: Do you really think he would be texting us if she was there?

  Holt: What is going on? Why am I always on the outside of these conversations? Is it because I’m on the West Coast? Don’t hate.

  Knox: Carson is confessing his love to Milly. We’re on tenterhooks here, waiting to see if she shows up.

  Jason: As of now, she’s six minutes late.

  Carson: Thanks for the reminder.

  Romeo: Don’t get your balls all curdled. Flash her one nipple and she’s yours. I saw your pecs this past winter, they be poppin’, bro.

  Holt: Maybe you should let Romeo confess his love for you. Seems like you have a good shot at making a match with him.

  Romeo: Hey, love is love. Come to Daddy, big boy.

  Carson: Jesus Christ. Stop texting me. I’ll let you know what happens later.

  I pocket my phone and steeple my hands together, resting my chin on my fingers as I pace the length of the tiny dugout. Standing here, by myself, I can’t avoid the flashbacks of the many hours I spent with Milly on this sacred field. The first time she schooled me in how long you have to pick up a baseball. The dinners we shared on the bench, facing each other and laughing uncontrollably. The many games of bucket ball we played, her winning every single time.

  The coy smiles.

  The hearty laughs.

  The hidden glances.

  The joy from her saying yes to me.

  The first taste of her beautiful lips.

  The start of us.

  A relationship was built on this field, a foundation of something incredibly amazing. It’s why I’m here again, to spring off that foundation and hopefully continue to build and develop what we have.

  I glance at my watch, seven minutes late.