Trevor
“All right. Cooper, you’ll be working with the pitchers as usual. With the newbies, technique is going to be important.”
We’re in Coach M’s office in the midst of a coaching planning meeting ahead of our first practice and team building day next Sunday.
“Matteny, what’s your strong suit?”
“Third base?”
Coach rolls his eyes because obviously . I played third base.
“Infield,” Aaron says. “You know how infield dynamics work and how important good teamwork is.”
Coach glances at me like he’s asking if that’s true.
“Yeah. Sorry. Still transitioning out of thinking like a player. But if you want someone working on how the infield is gelling together, which players need more work on building trust—or skill—I’ve got that. We had a seamless infield in high school, and I carried what I learned from that with me.”
“Good,” Coach M says. “Now, we still need a good option for team building. We’ve done ropes courses and escape rooms. They encourage team building but remove the baseball aspect. I want to tie it all together.”
“What if we put a twist on baseball? Make it fun, but not as practice-y. But we can still get a read on what’s working and what’s not?”
“You have a suggestion on how to do that?” Coach asks.
Aaron lets out a silent laugh, knowing where I’m going with this. God knows we played it enough in Joel’s backyard.
“Wiffle ball. Divide the roster—and maybe the coaching staff too—into two teams and make a five-inning game out of it. It takes the pressure off and lets everyone have fun, but they’re still in the baseball spirit.”
The other coaches in the room nod in agreement.
“You sure you aren’t interested in coaching? You’ve got a good sense for it.”
I laugh at that. “Nah. I’m just still five years old inside and want to play wiffle ball with my friends.”
“Those were the days,” Aaron says with a laugh.
“I’ll get to work on the full plan and send out emails on Monday. For now, get out of here. Enjoy your weekend.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
I’m energized leaving the meeting. I like feeling helpful and like I might actually be on the right path. I’m in a good mood. Until I check my phone. And there are still no texts from Chelsea.
I don’t want to seem like some needy psychopath, but it’s weird. Normally, we text all day. Some flirty, some silly, some sweet—but it’s always something. I’ve only sent a few at random times, but it sets off something inside me. So, I quickly send one more.
Me: Are you okay?
I hit the send button and that’s when I notice it only says sent. Not received like usual. Which only makes me worry more. What if something’s wrong? What if her phone died, and I need to chill out?
Aaron claps me on the shoulder. “You okay?”
I turn to look at him. I didn’t even realize he was still there.
“Yeah, just debating if I’m being stupid.”
“Obviously, you are. So let’s move on from that existential crisis to whatever’s bothering you.”
He’s got that warm, disarming counselor smile on. He hasn’t even graduated yet, and he’s already got the therapist vibes down. I hate it. Especially when he sees right through my bullshit.
“Chelsea and I usually talk throughout the day, but she hasn’t answered me at all today. And I just realized my texts aren’t going through.”
“And you’re worried?”
“Wouldn’t you be if it was Rae?”
Maybe an over-the-top comparison since they’ve been in love since they were like five years old, but the way I care about Chelsea…
“Of course I’d be worried. Have you tried calling her? Sometimes messaging apps get weird.”
“No. I guess I can do that. I don’t want to come off as too pushy if she purposely hasn’t answered.”
He squints at me in question.
“We’re going slow. She’s been hurt—or something—before. I haven’t even been inside her apartment yet. So I don’t want to scare her if she just doesn’t want to talk.”
“Well, from experience, that might be when she needs you the most—needs you to reach out. Sometimes people need space. Ideally, they should tell the people they care about if they’re going to stop communicating, but let’s face it, good communication is rarely born. It’s something you have to work at. It’s impossible to know exactly what she needs, so all you can do is try to figure it out without seeming like a psycho stalker. Don’t try to break her door down, but check in.”
I snort. “Brilliant.”
“I know. I’m so smart. That’s what happens when you fuck up your relationship for years. I know I’m super awesome, but try not to be too much like me.”
He winks at me, then smacks me on the shoulder before continuing down the path toward the parking lot.
I give him a lame-ass wave while staring at my phone.
Just call.
Worst case, she doesn’t answer.
Because something’s wrong?
She doesn’t want to talk?
Which makes me worried all the same.
I hit the call button next to her name, but it goes directly to voicemail. Which means she didn’t deny my call. Her phone is off.
Or dead.
Am I reading too much into this?
Fuck.
And then my feet are moving, and I don’t realize what the fuck I’m doing until I’m in my car, leaving campus from the opposite exit as usual.
I guess I’m going to see Chelsea.
She said her apartment is on the third floor, so when I get there, I go inside and take the stairs two at a time, heart beating in my ears.
What am I doing?
What if she thinks I’m crazy?
What if something’s wrong?
That’s the one that keeps my feet moving.
Not at all the idea of losing her before I’ve even had a chance to fully fall for her.
When I get to her apartment door, I pause, only for a moment.
You’re here because you care, not because you’re a psycho stalker .
Fuck.
I run a hand through my hair, then knock.
It takes a second, but then I hear footsteps.
My stomach churns, and I brace myself. I’m not sure for what.
God, I’m pathetic .
The door swings open, and the second Chelsea sees me, her eyes fly wide.
At least she’s physically okay.
“Trevor. What are you…” She trails off and looks over her shoulder, then winces. “Shit.”
“Sorry. I should go. You weren’t answering my texts, and I was worried about you, but you’re clearly okay, and if you need space—”
“Whoa, slow down.” Again, she looks over her shoulder. “How many times have you texted me today?”
“Only a few,” I sputter. “And I called once.”
“I’m sorry. I had a moment earlier and turned my phone off, then forgot about it. I was going to call you once I was done making some hot cocoa.” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and fuck, now I want to kiss her. Maybe I should’ve left that roller coaster emoji next to her name in my phone. “Do you want to come in?”
I stare at her for a moment. So far, that’s one thing she hasn’t been comfortable with.
“I want to, but are you sure? I don’t want to push your boundaries.”
She lets out a weak laugh, and for a second, she looks like she might cry.
“I want you to come in.” Her voice is a little raw, and now I’m on edge again. What happened today? Something that upset her? Someone? Because I’d be happy to put the fear of God into whoever it was. She shakes off the emotion and smiles at me. “Come on. We should talk—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
When I walk inside, I’m still worried but also feeling like an idiot. Maybe I should’ve waited for her to reach out to me. I don’t want her to think I came here just to get her to let me in.
But she seems okay? She’s smiling softly as she gestures to the living area.
“Well, this is it… not huge, but it’s home.” She spins around the small living room that gives off all the cozy vibes I’d expect from her. There’s a fully loaded bookcase in the corner next to a window. Under the window is a table full of plants. There’s also a small couch, a chair, a coffee table, and a TV stand with a TV that’s nearly too big for it.
“It’s perfectly you.”
She smiles brightly at that. “Thanks.” She throws her thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen—which butts up against the living room. “I was just going to make some hot chocolate. Want some?”
“Yeah, sounds great. Can I help?”
“Hm. I don’t know. Can I trust you with my super secret recipe?”
I follow her into the small kitchen area and lift the package of hot cocoa off the counter. “Boxed hot cocoa mix?”
She opens the fridge, then peers over her shoulder at me. “That’s just the beginning.”
“Well, I promise if you share your super secret recipe, it’ll stay safe with me.”
She sets milk, canned whipped cream, and chocolate syrup on the counter, before spinning around and returning with chocolate chips, vanilla extract, and sprinkles.
“Getting fancy,” I say.
“And this is just my base recipe. Wait till you try the caramel version. Or peanut butter. Ooh and one time I added raspberry jam. So good. You like raspberry stuff, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” Did I tell her that? “How did you know?”
“You ordered a raspberry cheesecake latte on our date.”
Something mushy and romantic swells in my stomach. She was paying attention. And now I feel like an asshole for thinking she was ghosting me. Maybe she’s not the only one who has to learn to trust.
“Yeah. Raspberry and chocolate go great together.”
“Agreed. I don’t have any raspberry jam right now, but I’ll put it on the list.”
She bops around the kitchen, warming milk and then assembling the fancy—and delicious smelling—hot chocolate.
With a mug in each hand, she nods toward the living room. “Let’s sit.”
We take seats at opposite ends of the couch, and Chels hands me my mug. She opens her mouth, but then grabs her phone and turns it on.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but her voice sounds over mine, saying the same words.
Then we both laugh.
“Why are you sorry?” she asks.
“I know you said it’s okay, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to have me here. Respecting your boundaries is important to me.”
Again, she smiles, but this time there’s something brighter with more mischief in it.
“You don’t need to apologize. Despite what happened the night we met, I am capable of knowing what I need and making my own decisions. I didn’t mean to scare you that first night, but I didn’t really know you then. Now that I do, I see all the ways you respect me and my boundaries, and I’m grateful. So I need you to trust that if I say I’m okay with something, I am.”
I nod. “Got it.”
“Anyway, I’m sorry I turned my phone off and worried you. I appreciate that you were worried. That you came to check on me.”
“I’ll always come check on you, and if you need me, don’t ever hesitate to call me. I’m happy to be here for you, even if it’s just to sit in the silence.”
She takes a sip of her drink. “I did a lot of that today.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m doing better now. I had a moment today where something triggered me, and it hit me so hard I was overwhelmed, almost had a panic attack, went a little catatonic, and it took a call with my therapist to get me out of that space. Then I desperately needed a shower, and… here we are.”
“Can I help? Do you want to talk about… whatever it is?”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “Not yet. It’s heavy, and while I don’t doubt you’d listen and handle it well, I don’t want that heaviness hanging over us yet. I want us to enjoy getting to know each other better and letting this grow.”
“I understand that.”
She takes a deep breath, then looks at me, eyes serious. “That said, I’m grateful that you’re always open to me talking about anything, and I want you to know it goes both ways.”
“I appreciate that. And… fuck, I got a little scared when you didn’t respond to any of my texts. I could say that it’s just because I was worried about you, but there’s more to it than that. You’ve become an important part of my life, and I’m scared to lose that. Lose you. And it’s terrifying to admit just how crushed I’d be if this ends.”
She’s trying and failing to bite back a smile. “Good to know. I don’t want this to end either. As usual, you’re adorable. And your vulnerability means a lot to me. It makes me feel safer to be open with you. But I actually said all that for a different reason.”
Oh.
“Rae and I were talking today,” she continues. “And she mentioned Aaron having surgery, and then the huge impact baseball had on his life, and the rest of the guys too—including you. She didn’t tell me anything more, but she alluded to something happening with baseball for you. Anyway, you don’t have to tell me about any of it right now if you don’t want to, but it’s important to me that you know I’m here if you do.”
Fuuuuck.
That’s so not where I saw this conversation going.
“Like I said, you don’t have to talk about it,” she says, when I don’t answer.
“No, I… I’m ready to talk about it. Ready for you to know. Part of me wanted to tell you sooner. It was actually hard not telling you about baseball sometimes, but…” I blow out a breath.
“It’s okay,” she says gently, but I shake my head.
“The only reason I didn’t tell you sooner—well, I guess there are kind of two reasons, but they go together—is that I liked getting to know you without you knowing about that part of me. Baseball has always been a part of my life—a big part—but lately it’s been a sad part too, and it’s been something I’ve struggled with. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago when I played with the guys that I felt okay about it again. And I realize I’m telling you all this backward.”
“You can tell me in whatever order you want.” Her voice is gentle and encouraging.
“My dad is why I love baseball. He instilled that love in me. It was something we did together and shared. Like every little kid who loved a sport, I dreamed of going pro, but for a while thought it was a pipe dream. But I had a great coach in high school, and I was recruited by a couple of schools, but Syracuse was by far the biggest. I still wasn’t sure where it would lead me, but my coach there saw something in me, and he was working with me to get me on track for the draft this year. Until winter break last year when I went snowboarding with my best friend Nick, bounced off a few trees, and ended my baseball career—at least as a player.”
She sets her mug down and moves closer. “Oh my gosh. Wow. That must’ve been terrifying. And awful. I’m so sorry.”
“It was.”
She rests her hand over mine, lazily running her finger in circles over the top.
“Anyway, it sucked, and I had a long recovery. You should probably know that I still struggle physically sometimes. If I do too much, I end up in a lot of pain, particularly in my leg, hip, and lower back. Which is why I can’t play at any serious level anymore. It’s been hard feeling like I left the game behind, and maybe a piece of my dad too. But then I spent a few hours playing with the guys at the stadium, and it made a big difference for me. I realized I haven’t lost it. I’m just gaining a new perspective as I transition to more of a coaching and behind-the-scenes role.”
There’s intensity in her gaze as she looks at me. “I’m glad you found another way to hold on to it. I admit, I don’t fully understand that kind of connection. I loved volleyball, but not at that level.”
“I’m sure there’s something similar for you. Like your family’s campground. If you could never go there again, it would suck, right?”
She takes a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s part of me—like going home.”
“That’s exactly how I feel about baseball. But knowing I can still honor that without playing has helped me.”
“I love that for you. Seriously. It’s healing for you, right?”
“Yeah. It is.”
“I’m glad you’re on that path. And I’m glad you’re here with me.” Something heavy settles over her like clouds on a stormy day.
So I squeeze her hand and drag her attention back to me. “I’m glad I’m here too. Thank you for letting me in.” I mean that in more than just the literal sense. Whether she realizes it or not, opening the door for me today was more than physical. It was handing over a fraction of her trust. I’ll keep doing whatever is needed to earn it.
Again, she moves closer, this time until she’s right next to me, and I can wrap my arm around her.
After a beat, she looks up at me. “Now I feel like I should tell you—”
“You don’t need to,” I say quickly. “If you want to, I’m listening, but don’t do it unless you’re absolutely ready. I was ready to say all that. But I want you to know that vulnerability doesn’t need to be an exchange. Being vulnerable was a choice of mine. Whenever you’re vulnerable with me, even in the smallest ways, I want it to be because you want to, not because you feel like you owe me.”
She stares at me for a moment, blinking like she can’t believe I just said that.
Then her fingers skate over my arms and—
“Ow. Why did you just…”
I trail off when I see her smiling up at me, more than a hint of mischief dancing in her beautiful eyes.
She pinched me. Again.
My little hellion.
“You have to stop pinching me every time I do something you deem book boyfriend worthy. I’ll have welts all over me.”
She laughs, and it’s so vibrant and free, it’s hard to believe she was struggling a couple of hours ago.
She grabs her mug and nestles into my side with a contented sigh.
“Thank you for letting your guard down.” Her voice is soft, like the lull of cascading waves. “Is it okay if I say I’m getting there?”
“It’s perfect.”
We sit together in a silence that’s mostly comfortable, if tinged by the weight of things we’ve talked about—or haven’t yet.
After a few minutes, I finally say, “Maybe I should go.”
But Chelsea instantly grabs my arm, then turns to face me. “No. Stay. The reason I was hesitant to ask you to come in is because I’m not ready for anything sexual to happen yet, and I don’t know when I will be. But you’ve shown me over and over that you’re trustworthy. Letting you in today was me actively trusting you. And now that you’re here, I realize how silly it was to wait. Because somehow you make it cozier. More comfortable. And I want you…” She swallows and meets my gaze, eyes shimmering. “Today’s still a bit raw, and I’d love to snuggle on the couch with you. You always make me feel safe—cared for. I want to feel that.”
“I’m all yours.”
With that, I settle in again, truly relaxing for the first time tonight. She wants me here. I could get used to this feeling.
She grabs the remote control.
“Any preference on what we watch?”
“Nope. Put on whatever you were going to watch.”
“I hadn’t decided yet, but definitely a comfort show. Oh, I was thinking of starting my rewatch of Haven . Have you ever seen it?”
“No. I’ve heard of it, though. Something supernatural-ish right?”
“Yeah. Plus, there’s a great love story at the center.”
“Let’s do it. But the deal is, if I get hooked, you’re not allowed to watch it without me.”
She glances up at me. “Guess that means you’ll have to come over more often.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile if I wanted to. “Guess so.”
She starts the episode, and we watch for a few minutes. Then, she points to the screen.
“The meet cute.”
And it’s a dramatic one. Car teetering on the edge of the cliff.
She points at the police officer on the screen. “That’s Nathan. He is the ultimate love interest. Would sacrifice himself for Audrey. But we’ll get to that.”
I groan dramatically. “Great. More fictional men for me to live up to.”
She pauses the show and spins so she’s sitting on her knees next to me. “I thought I already told you, you’re living up to the expectation. The only difference is, you’re real. Which makes it even better.” She presses her lips to mine and my mind goes fuzzy. I let her take the lead, and she goes for it. Kissing me hard, teasing my lips with her tongue until I part for her, then owning my mouth. My body. Probably other parts I don’t want to think about right now.
Then she climbs onto my lap, and for a moment, I freeze.
We’ve been here before, and it didn’t go well for me.
Hands in the air, I pull back. “Chels…”
But unlike last time, where her eyes were wild with fear, this time they’re hazy. Her body is relaxed. And the smile on her face could kill me.
“Trev…”
My heart stutters in my chest. That’s the first time she’s called me that. I’ll happily let her call me anything she likes, but hearing her say the shortened version of my name is further proof of how much more comfortable she is around me now.
“Are you sure?” I whisper.
“I ran away from you once. I’m not doing it again. This is where I want to be. This is what I want to be doing.” She takes my face in her hands. “Let me kiss you.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe. And then her lips are on mine again. This time I wrap my hands around her back, playing with the strands of her hair and letting her take the lead, giving in to every twist of her tongue, every playful flick, every nip at my lips.
Would saying I’m a goner for her be too dramatic? Because I am. So gone for her. Out in the deep end, lost in the waves. Lost in her.
She kisses me like she never wants to stop, and I hope it’s because she feels safe now. She knows I’ll always be her safe place. It’s clear she’s been through something difficult. Whatever it is broke her ability to trust. The fact that she’s letting me in at all means everything to me, and I’ll keep doing whatever I can to make her feel at ease and care for her. I don’t need labels or anything else. I just need her, and while she’s deciding what she’s ready for, I’ll still be taking care of her in any way she’ll let me.