Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Keene
I’m still in disbelief as I look back up at the picture of Aspen and me from a few weeks ago, when we took the trip to the coast.
The one from that rare weekend away from school, practice, games. Just the two of us, enjoying the ocean and each other.
When we were free to just be us.
My heart aches more because the image on the screen…fuck, it’s my favorite one we’ve ever taken, and over the years, we’ve taken thousands.
Aspen’s in my arms, my hands cupping his ass as he wraps his legs around me. He basically looks like a monkey climbing a damn tree, but it’s the smile on his face as he kisses me that sends my heart into overdrive.
Anyone with eyes and half a brain can tell that I’m head over fucking heels for him. They don’t need this picture for proof, they only need to catch the way I look at him.
But in this picture…I swear, I can see that same emotion written on his face.
Love.
It’s not the kind of love two best friends have for each other, either. It’s the deeper kind. The complete infatuation. The get-married-and-grow-old-together kind of love.
Two-halves-of-a-whole love.
And…my other half just bolted from the stadium like his life depends on it.
Which is more than enough to send me after him.
I tear off the field and into the dugout, whipping my helmet off and slamming it against the concrete wall.
“Waters!” Coach shouts from his spot out by the third base line, but I shake my head at him and storm through the door leading to the locker room, practically ripping the thing off its hinges.
Not bothering to undress or even remove my cleats, I grab my bag and rush toward the exit.
A million thoughts race through my head, most of them surrounding where Aspen would’ve gone. Back to the dorm? Back home? I honestly don’t know, and all that does is send fear zinging through my body.
If I need to run there—wherever there might be—to get to him, I will.
I don’t even have it in me to be pissed at Avery for that stunt he pulled.
I might not have proof it was him who somehow got that picture on the scoreboard, but I know it was that fucker.
It has to be. He’s the only one on the damn team who’s ever made any sort of comment about my sexuality to begin with, and he’s the only person to sink to this low of a level.
But, right now, Avery doesn’t matter.
The look on Aspen’s face as he stared up at the screen in the outfield? That most definitely does. The panic as his eyes met mine from his seat...it made me sick. More sick than realizing it was that picture blasted for everyone to see, or the connotation behind it.
And while the game wasn’t being televised, this is the twenty-first century.
I’m willing to bet my future in baseball that this little outing will end up getting posted online.
Maybe even going viral, because people these days have a disgusting ability to find entertainment in watching someone else’s pain and embarrassment.
It takes no time at all to get out of the stadium since the game is still going on, and while my panic is rising by the second, it comes to a grinding halt when I find Aspen waiting at the Impala in the player’s lot.
Pissed off and pacing, but at least he’s still here.
Probably because he knew I’d come running after him. Just like I’ve proven time and time again, I’d chase him just about anywhere.
My heart hammers against my rib cage as I come to a halt a few feet away from him. He doesn’t bother to stop his movements though, barely casting a glance as he continues to wear down the rubber of his shoes on the concrete.
Sweat streaks down the side of my face, surely smearing the eyeblack across my cheekbones, but I don’t care.
I don’t care that I’m trampling over concrete on steel cleats either, nor that I just walked off the field in the middle of a major game—the latter being something I’ll probably take some serious heat for tomorrow.
I just care about him. Making sure he’s okay. Because as much as I was prepared to come out to my family in due time, I have no idea where Pen was with it. Which makes this shit all the worse.
Blazing eyes flash to me with a quick glance, and he continues to pace.
God, he’s furious.
“Pen,” I whisper, inching toward him some more. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”
When he doesn’t answer, I do the dumbest thing I can do at the moment.
I push for more, grabbing his arm to halt his movements.
It works, but when he yanks his arm from my grasp, a small piece of me dies inside.
I don’t even have to look into his eyes to know they’ll only kill me more, because I can’t stand to see his anger or his pain. Not now, not ever.
“Are you okay?” I ask again, my voice impossibly softer.
“What do you fucking think, Kee?” he snaps, combing his fingers through his hair a few times.
I do my best not to wince at the venom in his tone, but it’s hard not to. Part of me worries he thinks I was the one who publicly outed us. Still, I have to say it. Just in case.
“I didn’t—”
“I know.” A sharp breath slides past his lips in a huff. “If what you’ve told me about how things have been going this season is any indication, I have a pretty good idea who had this brilliant idea.”
I simply nod in response, thankful we’re on the same page about something with this whole mess.
But the sheer amount of panic on his face when he turned and bolted from the stadium—away from me—spoke volumes.
As mortifying as it was to look up and see my personal business put on display for thousands of strangers to see, without my consent no less, at least he was there.
At least I had him with me. We’d go through it together, because every emotion he was feeling in that moment, I was feeling too.
The only difference is he’s too blinded by fear and rage to see that this doesn’t have to be the end of the world.
That I have his back, just like I know he has mine. No matter what’s thrown at us.
Only, that’s the way it used to be. And when two words leave his lips—the last ones I was expecting to hear—I realize that was then.
Before.
“I’m sorry.”
I open my mouth to ask…something. Anything. Why? or How come? being a couple that come to my mind first. But what’s the point?
He doesn’t have to say another word aloud for me to know everything he’s thinking. It’s written all over his face, his body language. It was crystal fucking clear the moment he bolted from the stands, even when I called his name.
This thing between us…is over.
I just didn’t want to believe it.
You should have, though, a tiny piece inside me taunts. You should have known this would happen if you got too attached. Just like you should have stopped it; ended things and ran when you still had the chance to get out of this with your heart intact.
My jaw ticks, and I glance away from him to regain my bearing over my emotions. An effort that feels futile the second I make it. “So that’s just it, then?”
His fingers continue raking through his onyx hair from my peripheral. “What do you want me to say, Kee? Things weren’t supposed to end up here.”
“Just because people know doesn’t mean…” I search for the words. “We were going to both come out eventually, right? I mean, it might not have been the way—”
“Don’t do that,” he warns, his tone low and serious, and when I look back to him, I find more contempt in his eyes.
“What?”
“Pretend like this is just gonna be okay.”
I blink at him, at a complete loss. “But…it is. Look, Pen, if you’re worried about your—”
“God, how don’t you get it? I don’t give two shits about me.
What matters is how this might affect you for the rest of your life.
” He bites out a curse, now pacing again.
Meanwhile, I’m left in shock at his declaration.
“This could follow you everywhere, Keene. For the rest of your life. It might not be as bad as a sex tape, but it’s still fucking bad.
It could be the reason scouts don’t come to recruit you or—”
“Then I’ll deal!” I shout before I can think better of it, tossing my hands out to the side. “This isn’t the end of the world, Pen. If it means I can’t go pro, then—”
“I’m not gonna be the reason your entire future falls apart!”
I open my mouth, ready to disagree. But then I close it, internalizing the best way to respond to that.
Because…really? Does he really think I’m stupid? Or that I don’t remember the day he cracked his chest open a little wider for me to see all his fears about us? About my future? About not being able to protect me?
I remember every damn word that came out of his mouth that day, just like I memorized the shape of his lips as he said them.
But it’s all a bunch of bullshit. Layers and layers of it, heaped up in a mountain that he’s hoping might be high enough I won’t want to attempt climbing it. The problem is, I know him too well. I can see that there’s something else going on here. There has to be.
“By doing this,” I whisper, “you’re making sure it does. You’re taking everything we have the chance to be and throwing it away without even trying.”
He shakes his head, halting before me. “We don’t have the chance to be anything, Keene. We never have.”
The words are a punch to the gut, and I’m left slightly breathless. “How can you say that?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
A scoff leaves me. “Right.”
He glowers. “Don’t fuck with me about this.”
“Why not? We both know it’s bullshit.”
“It’s not!” he snaps right back. “It’s not, because I can’t be what you need me to be, Keene!”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to scream at him, shout from the top of my lungs that he already is everything I need. Every want and desire and craving and wish I have all leads straight back to him.
If only he wasn’t too fucking blind to see it.