The Dugout(109)

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.