The Locker Room(78)

Mustering every ounce of courage I have left in my bones, I wipe his tears away and say, “I want you forever too, but I know when forever has to change.” I cup both his cheeks and stare him in the eyes. “You are bound for wonderfully epic things, and I can’t wait to see you accomplish everything you deserve. And I will be there, Knox. I will be the girl cheering for you on the sidelines, but in a different capacity, as your friend. The way we started.”

“I want more. I want you.”

I press a light kiss across his lips one last time, unable to stop myself. “I want you too, but I know what it’s like to get lost in someone else and forget about everything you worked for. I won’t let that happen to you. I refuse.” Tears run down both of our faces. “You’re going to be amazing, Knox Gentry, absolutely amazing. And later on, down the road, when we’re thirty and unable to handle a hangover anymore, I hope we’re still friends, still cheering one another on, still in each other’s lives, because you mean so much to me.” I love you. I love you. I love you.

Friends forever.

That’s what we promised each other.

But sometimes promises are made to be broken . . .





Chapter Twenty-Nine





KNOX





“Gentry, my office, now,” Coach Disik shouts into the locker room and then quickly disappears.

I groan and throw a shirt on over my head, my hair still wet from my shower, my muscles aching from the one-hundred-plus pushups we were forced to do at practice . . . because of me.

My head is not in the fucking game, because it’s back at Emory’s dorm room, along with my heart. Two days ago, she tore my world apart. I understand what she was saying, her reasoning, but what I don’t get was why she wouldn’t at least fucking try to keep us. I just want her to try.

She doesn’t want me to get lost in her, well, too fucking late for that. I’m pretty sure I got lost in her the minute I drunkenly held her boob in my hand and passed out.

“Coach is going to rip you a new one,” Carson points out. “It looked like he wanted to shove his bat up your ass during practice.”

“Give him a break,” Holt says from the side. “He’s hurting.”

“Because of a girl, and that’s why Coach is going to kill him.”

I came home that night, without Emory, and went straight to my room. Thanks to Carson being a nosey motherfucker . . . and because my mom asked him to check on me, I ended up having a heart-to-heart with him and Holt about what happened. Carson, the dickhead, agreed with Emory, saying she had made really good points, but Holt felt for me, saying if his girl did that he wouldn’t know what to do with his life, especially since he took her to the locker room after the game and sealed the goddamn deal.

Maybe I should have done that, even though I don’t believe in the legend. Maybe I should have given it a shot. If I did, Emory and I might still be together.

What the hell am I thinking? No locker room bullshit is going to change Emory’s way of thinking. The minute she made up her mind, there was nothing I could say or do to change it.

And she wants to be fucking friends.

Yeah, that sounds like a whole bunch of fucking fun. I want to be friends with the girl I love rather than be the man who gets to kiss her when she’s sad, or hug her when she’s happy. Sure, friends, what a great idea, so much fucking better than being able to take her naked beneath me and watch as I make her come over and over again.

Yup, friends is way better.

I stand and slip my hat over my head. “Mom is making everyone dinner before she leaves tomorrow. She’s serving at seven, prepare to eat.”

I take off toward Coach’s office, knowing I’m about to be roasted like I deserve. The boys will head back to the loft for my mom’s going-away party. When I spoke with her last night and told her what happened, she blamed herself. I told her no matter how Emory found out, she still would have had the same reaction. Emory thinks she’s saving me, helping me, but in the long run, she’s hurting me, because I need her. She takes all the stress away. She wants baseball to be my obsession, I get that, but baseball has been my obsession ever since I can remember. But I now truly understand what Holt meant about his girl. Emory’s been my retreat, my place where I can step back and recharge. I know my game was more on point because I wasn’t eating, sleeping, and drinking baseball. She gave me a broader perspective. She gave me a chance to breathe, but now she’s let me go and that’s been taken away.

I don’t bother knocking on the partially open door of Coach’s office, but walk through and take a seat in front of him, knowing exactly what he’s going to say.

“It’s the girl, isn’t it?” he asks, not sugarcoating anything.

“Yup.” I stick my hands in my hoodie pocket and slouch in the chair.

“Do I want to know?”

“You don’t need to worry about anything, because she broke things off with me so I can focus on baseball.”

“Smart girl.” He leans back, holding a pen in his hand, occasionally clicking it, the sound grating on my nerves. “You need to focus, Gentry. You’ve come too far to throw it all away now.”

“I’m not throwing it away,” I say, being assertive for the first time in front of Coach.