The Trade(110)

“Might have,” Nate says from the side.

“Worry about yourself, Nate,” I yell, unable to stop myself. “Houston is riding on your heels and if you don’t start putting in the time, you’re going to lose your spot.”

“Fuck you,” he says with venom. “That spot has been mine for years.”

“And don’t think it won’t be taken away. Loyalty only goes so far, trust me.” Nate winces when he gets what I’m talking about. “And for the rest of you”—I shout, since I have the attention of everyone—“I’m going to say this fucking once. I’m on this team for a reason. To contribute to winning a goddamn championship. That’s why the Rebels acquired me. It’s why they acquired Jason. They saw a weakness, and they filled it. They’re going for the ring, and I have the same mindset. You can count on me for three things: giving my goddamn all on the field, showing up every day, and being a leader on and off the field. If you don’t like it, then fuck you. I’m a Rebel. Ever since I slipped on that black and red jersey, I’ve been a Rebel, so leave me the fuck alone and let me do my goddamn job.”

With that, I pick up my bag, shove past Jason, and walk out of the locker room.

And for the first time in my life, I’m the first to leave.





The hotel room is silent and dark besides one lamp in the bedroom. I set my gear down on the floor, not even caring at this point what happens to it, and lean against the door, taking a deep breath.

This day was one of the worst I’ve had in a long fucking time. I’m exhausted, mentally torn apart, and I’m worried that by going off at my team, I’ve dug my own damn grave, will sit in it, and start pouring dirt over myself.

Jason called me on my way home and apologized for attacking me. He hates the entire situation too and that Natalie is involved. He’s protective of her, which I understand. If the same thing happened to Milly, I’d be climbing up the stands as well. We ended the call on a good note, but when I pulled into the hotel garage, I turned off the ignition and sat in my car for a while, staring at the steering wheel, my mind running a mile a minute.

Natalie could have been harmed today. It could have been so much worse than what it was and yet, the look on her face, the pure terror, it’s imprinted on my brain. I never want to be the cause of that look, or the cause of her unhappiness, and nor do I want to put her in danger.

But I don’t want to be without her either.

I want to be able to fix this, and after sitting in my car for a decent amount of time, mulling it over, I don’t have any other choice than what I came up with.

Pushing off the door, shoulders slumped, exhaustion eating away at me, I make my way to the bedroom where Natalie is curled up on the bed under the covers, looking at her phone. When she sees me approach, she sits up and sets her phone on the nightstand.

Her eyes are red-rimmed and her makeup is completely gone, leaving her cheeks tear-stained. There’s defeat in her body language and regret . . . lots of fucking regret.

I take a seat next to her and lace our hands together. She looks up at me, tears welling in her eyes as she whispers, “I’m so sorry, Cory.”

“I know.”

She moves in closer, her body heat tugging on my heart. I want to get wrapped up in it, lost in the feel of her. “I wanted to support you. I went there to cheer you on, even if I was the only one. I can’t stand seeing you this . . . defeated.”

I push my hand through my hair, fear and uncertainty clouding my brain. “You could have been hurt.” It’s all I can muster as my eyes meet hers. In despair. “Really fucking hurt.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that. I wanted you to feel like you’re not alone out there.”

“Well, I am.” I stand from the bed and drive both hands through my hair now. “I’ve been alone ever since I was traded to the Rebels. Having you in the stands is not going to change that.”

“Cory,” she says with shock, “I was trying to help.”

“But you didn’t,” I say, my voice going soft. “It just made it worse. So much fucking worse.”

Everything is so fucked right now. I yelled at my teammates. I don’t fucking yell. I don’t tell people to fuck off. I lost my cool in the locker room, something I never do. I almost got struck in the face with a baseball from turning my attention to the crowd, another thing I never do.

The media is hounding me.

The front office is watching every damn move I make.

And I’m pretty sure I’ve lost the respect of my coach as well.

My head starts to pound with anxiety over my imploding career, confusion over how to handle Natalie, and unease over what’s to become of me and my teammates. It pounds so hard that everything around me sinks into an abyss, rocking me back on my heels until I fall into the chair behind me. I bury my face in my hands as it all comes crashing down me.

The stress.

The exhaustion.

The exertion I’ve put myself through to be the best.

The effort to be taken seriously.

I look up at a concerned Natalie and say, “We need to take a break.”

I see her breath catch in her chest as her eyes widen in shock. “Wh-what?”

“A break. We need to take a break.”

“From . . . each other?”