The Trade(118)

Ignoring me, she says, “Have you even talked to Jason?”

“No. I’m not making him the middleman.”

“Maybe you should,” Milly says, alluding to something.

“Why?” I ask, not quite ready to storm out when there seems to be a nugget of information my sister is harboring.

“Because—” She looks away, probably contemplating if she should say anything. After a moment, she says, “She’s . . . well, she’s starting to date.”

It feels as if someone just swung a pickax straight into my chest and is twisting it relentlessly to get it out. Twisting and pulling and yanking so hard I can feel my heart ache, my lungs burn.

She’s starting to date?

Well, of course she is. It’s not like she’s waiting around for me, after I fucking told her she wasn’t important enough to stay in my life, after I haven’t contacted her since, after I practically dismissed her with one look in the dugout.

I was so fucking stunned to see her there, I had no idea how to react. I froze, my heart tumbling within my chest as I took in just how beautiful she looked. Her blonder hair made her eyes stand out even more, and its length made me want to tug on it, grip her from behind, and hold her in place while I claimed what I so foolishly let go. It gutted me being so close and not being able to reach out and touch her, kiss her, hold her close against my chest where I would whisper in her ear over and over how much I love her, how sorry I am, how I will never take her for granted ever again . . . how she’s the most important thing in my goddamn life.

“From the scowl in your brow, I can tell that’s not something you’re happy with,” Milly says, seeming far too happy with her knowledge, probably because she thinks it’s going to light a fire under my ass to get her back. Little does she know, that ship has sailed. Natalie was right. I’m not the man she deserves. Maybe I was once, but I’m certainly not now. She deserves happiness, the ability to wear whatever fucking shirt she wants when kissing her boyfriend in public, and a man who will run into a fight to protect her. Not the man who blames her for everything and doesn’t have the stones to apologize and admit he was wrong. Because I was. I haven’t got my shit together. Nothing’s changed on that front. The media still hates me, so nothing new there. No, she was right to leave, and it’s right I stay back while she finds her life. Her happiness.

“It’s Natalie’s life; she can do what she wants,” I say and start to walk away, leaving my half-eaten dinner on the table.

“Cory,” Milly calls out, and I stop at the door, keeping my back toward her. “This closed-off persona you have going on, it’s not you, but it’s driven by you. The only person who can make things better . . . is you.”

I bend my head forward, take a deep breath, and say, “Been there, done that. No one fucking cares. I’ll catch you later, Mills.” I take off, only hearing the click of her apartment door echo in the hallway as I retreat.





June





The fans practically shake the stadium with their distaste for me as I enter the dugout after hitting a single homerun. With every boo, it’s like a breath of air, reminding me to shove it down the fans’ throats with how fucking good I am. They’re begging me to fail, counting on me to strikeout, to commit an error, do something . . . anything to prove their perception about me.

Too bad I’m on a hot streak and with every crack of my bat, I show them up. I wish I could enjoy it more, but I’d be lying if I said the booing didn’t bother me.

Because it does.

Because I’ve always been the player who thrives off positivity. It feels wrong that I thrive off negativity now.

I fucking hate it.

I hate everything about my life right now.

I hate my team, the fans, the coaches, the front office that keeps telling me everything will clear out, don’t worry.

Bullshitters.

I hate this game I have to play. I hate studying it, training, and traveling.

But most importantly, I hate myself. I loathe myself, every last inch of me. Looking in a mirror is painful. Seeing my moronic reflection just reminds me how I ruined my life with the simple statement: we should take a break.

I miss her, desperately. I think about her every goddamn minute. She’s the first person I think about when I wake up, the first person I want to text when I need someone to talk to, and when I can’t sleep at night, she’s the person I think of.

Foolishly I let her go, and that’s a mistake I’ll live with for the rest of my life.

“Fucking smashed that,” Jason says, coming up next to me on the bench. “And hey, I really think the fans are starting to figure out the whole collective booing thing so it sounds more uniform, almost like a foghorn. So, there’s something.”

There is one thing I need to be grateful for and that’s Jason. He has this uncanny knack of making someone feel better with a stupid comment. He’s constantly pulling at least one smirk from me every game, and it usually has to do with my demise. I see what he’s trying to do, make light of all the shit being flung my way, and I appreciate him for it.

I also appreciate the fact that he has never once mentioned Natalie. He has separated the two of us, and that’s the reason I occasionally lean on him when I need to.

Marcus walks by and pats me on the knee. “Good hit, boss.”