15. Chapter 12
Jax
Igot her text and something inside me went dark. There was this spark of excitement in the corner of my brain anytime I thought about the possibility of us. It was extinguished the second I read the words on my screen.
She made it crystal clear where she stands when it comes to the idea of us, so I’ll respect it. I don’t like it, but I will respect it. Distance might be the only way I’m able to do it though.
Rumor has it she won’t be here for the next few games anyway, so I breathe a little easier walking through the stands practicing for the game tonight.
Marcus, our newest choreographer, hired after Mare moved, decided that he wants all of us to start the game in the stands, sitting next to fans.
The few other times we’ve done this, we occupied the seats closest to the dugout, so we had easy access to the field.
Tonight, we’ll all be in different sections, from the foul line to the nosebleeds.
“Buttons” by the Pussycat Dolls fills the air, and we all stand from our respective seats, moving to the beat of the music, pausing every few seconds in different poses.
As the music picks up, I grab the beanbags beneath my seat and start juggling as I dance.
It seems simple, entertaining, and cleanly executed, even when I finish it off with a backflip over the wall onto the field, but juggling is a lot harder than it looks.
I land my backflip and look over at my teammates executing various skills, each one of us having a specific talent that secured our spot on the Moonshots, and I can’t wait to see the fans reaction tonight under the lights. I also heard there will be confetti cannons on the field.
Tonight is a rare night game. There is nothing better than playing under the lights.
I watch Rikki take his spot behind the plate in his full catcher’s gear, knowing this rehearsal will roll right into practice.
And as my eyes follow the path of his arm stretching over his head before getting in position, I get a glimpse of the press section where Sloan is usually setting up for the pregame show.
I miss her.
We aren’t even anything significant. We were talking and flirting for a short time, but for those few moments I got to steal seconds with her, and it was everything. She’s everything.
“Wanna go to Ruby’s tonight?” Ozzie asks, blowing out a long breath. “Rikki thinks I need to get out of my head.”
“He’s probably right,” I tell Ozzie. “You look like someone shit in your Cheerios every time Mare gets brought up.
“She moved across the country, and I miss the hell out of her. I don’t know what the hell you all want me to do.”
“Then maybe you should call her and act like an adult instead of pining over her from miles away.”
Maren got a job on Broadway, and when she left, it crushed them both so hard they ended things even though neither of them wanted to.
“I’ll meet you there. I have a few things I need to do, like take a fucking nap. I slept like shit last night,” I say.
“Strike.”
My favorite word.
Rikki throws the ball back to me, and I roll it between my fingers, adjust my grip and get into position.
It’s the last inning, and we’re tied. If I get one more strike, the game’s over.
If not, we have one more chance to bat. It’s my favorite part of the game, anticipation laced with the feel of the unknown.
My nerves are fraying, pricking my skin just below the surface.
I look at Rikki for his sign, but miss it as a flash of blonde seems to fill all the space behind him.
Just behind the plate, Sloan rolls lip gloss over her lips and leans over to talk to her producer, Ali. I know she wasn’t there the entire game. I would have noticed her.
Even though she’s not covering our games, she must have wanted to see it from a fan’s vantage point, given no other games are happening tonight. Football and baseball don’t normally overlap, but Mango Ball seasons are much longer than traditional baseball seasons.
“Calder,” Ozzie yells, breaking my focus.
I blink and throw a bullshit pitch that somehow falls right in the strike zone, causing the batter to foul it off.
I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing my team would have my head if I sent us to the plate on a shitty pitch.
Orbit comes over and hands me the ball, offering me a little encouragement, and then dances away. I squint to narrow my line of sight to the batter and nothing else. For a few seconds I have to pretend she’s not there.
I have been in many high stress situations and thrive in them. Being surprised by a pretty face and a personality that’s bigger than the whole world is nothing. I’ve got this.
Again, I step up to the mound, roll the ball between my fingers and watch for the sign. My windup is great, my extension is perfect, and the speed is exactly where I need it. When the crack of the bat echoes in the air, I turn and watch my team, knowing they’ve also got this.
The fan created rule today is that Orbit’s in play, so when he catches the fly ball— “Out” is the next thing I hear.
Fuck yeah.
The end of the game was a blur of confetti, music, and me looking for Sloan in the stands, but she seemed to disappear as quickly as she appeared.
It almost had me questioning if she was really there at all until I see her talking to Horner in the hallway after I showered and changed.
She looks at me, a smile spreading across her face as we make eye contact, and just like all the times before, she holds my gaze, continuing her conversation with Horner.
As soon as she finishes their conversation, she walks in my direction. I pretend I’m looking for something in my bag, but she knows better.
“Waiting for me?” she asks with a confident tone. Not what I was expecting.
“Should I be?” I try to play it cool, but I’m not even convinced she doesn’t affect me.
“I was hoping we could talk.” Her smile is intoxicating.
“I’m supposed to go to Ruby’s with the guys.”
Her eyes brighten, “I’m supposed to meet Ali there. Maybe we can walk over there together and talk on the way?”
My heart thunders in my chest, and I wonder if she can tell.
“Sure. It’s dark, and I don’t want you walking alone.”
She rolls her eyes, and it’s cute as hell. “Yeah, because Mango Bay is so dangerous.” Her tone is playful and it throws me.
For the first few minutes of our walk, we’re silent. I began to wonder why she asked me to talk if she didn’t have anything to say.
“I’m sorry I was kind of cagey,” she finally says.
“I wouldn’t describe it as cagey… indecisive maybe, confusing… definitely.” My tone is sarcastic enough that it might garner a laugh from her. But she doesn’t.
“You take up a lot of space,” she says with a wince.
“What the hell does that mean?” I try to laugh it off, but I’m slightly offended even though I don’t know what she means by it.
“I have a boss who controls every move I make professionally. Who, by the way,” she stops walking, “is my ex who I used to think was domineering in a sexy way but who really was a cheating shitbag in disguise.”
I stop walking too, surprised someone could cheat on her. She’s perfect.
“He spends all of his time trying to block me from shining, and the fans love you.”
“Ok…” I say, unsure how else to respond. I’m having a hard time connecting the dots here.
“Every single clip of our last interview is cropped. It’s you and my elbow.” She tries to laugh it off, but it’s not funny. She’s hurt.
“And you don’t want someone else to cast a shadow on you,” I finish for her.
She nods her head in agreement, and my heart splinters, chest tightening.
I stop and turn towards her, take her face in my hands and bring her eyes to mine so hopefully she hears me, “The last thing I want is to overshadow you. I want to shine with you. I think you are the most amazing person. You are confident, smart, and so damn driven.”
“And a pretty face, right?” she almost scoffs the words.
I’m taken aback, and the way I shift gives me away. She doesn’t even wait for me to respond.
“Tanner makes it very clear I’m a pretty face, and you have too on occasion.”
I pause—thinking about all of our interactions, trying to find the missing puzzle piece.
“You always comment on my pretty face,” she shakes her head. “Ok. It sounds really stupid now that I hear it out loud. But he’s bruised me in ways I can’t begin to explain, so when you say things about my looks, even as an innocent nickname or a genuine compliment, it makes me pause.”
“I just told you how smar—”
She interrupts me.
“I know, and all I internalize is the way I feel when my looks surface to the top. I told you, it’s stupid.”
I don’t understand how she could ever believe his shit, but I want to beat the shit out of him for it.
“Sloan,” I start, and she looks at me, but I don’t know her well enough to know what she’s thinking.
“My brilliant girl,” I start over and she laughs and retreats a little. “You are more than meets the eye. I knew it the first time I saw you—and I’m not talking about here in person.”
Her eyes perk up at that.
“You captivated me the first time I saw you step onto the field with the Moonshines on TV. You were so confident and determined—a hell of an athlete. I know how much discipline and work that takes. How much you have to sacrifice for this life. I was in awe of you then. I’m still in awe of you.”
“Thank you.” She smiles.
“Don’t thank me. I’m not paying you a compliment. I’m telling you the truth. You are so much more than a pretty face, and I just want the privilege of getting to know you better and see all that this brilliant head of yours has to offer the world.”
I pull her into my chest and hold her—right here in the middle of the sidewalk, and it feels like the most magical place in the world.
“Thank you for telling me the truth.” Her voice is muffled. I kiss her hair and take in the scent of her.
Orange and vanilla.