Chapter 31
Oscar
Two years.
That’s all I hear over and over again. I literally let myself crack wide open with her, against all my inhibitions, only to bleed out all over again.
But the part that guts me the most, is this is worse.
Worse than walking in on who I thought the love of my life was, banging my best friend.
This is worse. All I want to do is ask her to stay.
Ask her to pick me over her dreams. That’s all I want to do, but I won’t, because an even bigger part of my heart wants to see her in her element, wants to see all her dreams come true.
But I can’t do that either, because I’ll be here. Living my dreams, without her.
She’s sleeping on my chest. We decided to put a pin in the conversation because emotions were high, and we were both raw and neither one of us wanted to say something we would regret.
So we came back to bed, cuddled under a blanket, turned on a movie and vowed to spend the entire day wrapped in the sheets, making the best of our time together.
Only, we didn’t do that either.
We cuddled. I rubbed lazy circles on her back until she fell asleep. Now, I’m staring at the wall next to the TV screen wondering what it will be like when she’s in New York, and I’m here.
I lay in the dark thinking about the number one and how much I hate it.
One—it’s my least favorite number now.
One week until she boards a plane. She’s only going to look for an apartment, but still.
One more game where we get to live in this fantasy and spend the entire day together, and then the season is over.
One more chance to see her dance in person before I only get to see it on the screen.
One more fucking heartbreak.
You would think I’d be excited that it’s off season and I could go there with her, help her get settled, and spend the winter season there—but she didn’t even ask. She just crumbled like we are already over.
I’ll bring it up tomorrow.
She stirs on my chest and buries her head in my t-shirt and it calms my brain just enough to fall asleep.
Since Mare officially handed in her resignation, we’ve been way more public about our relationship.
This has caused quite the stir on social media—apparently, people were quietly rooting for us all along.
The fans have been on high alert all day asking questions, posting videos trying to get a shot of us together.
It’s been a lot, so I was glad when the game started.
Right now, we’re up by three in the bottom of the 8th, so the chances of us ending the season on a win are high. Especially because we’re up to bat, and there are no outs with the bases loaded.
Jax is up to bat, and has been on fire tonight.
I lean over the rail of the dugout trying to get a better look at the field, when the crack of his bat fills the air, and I watch the ball fly through the air.
“He’s gonna hit a fucking grand slam right now, lucky bustard!” Rikki yells, jumping up and down while hitting his hand that’s slung over my shoulder against my chest.
I watch it sail through the air, and not only does it clear the wall, it lands right in the glove of a fan in the golden zone.
“No fucking way,” Jax mouths to us as he turns the corner for home.
There are three golden zones in the park, and if a fan catches a ball in that section, the player has to fulfill their wish—within reason of course.
In the past, fans have asked to keep the ball, come down onto the field and do a dance or film a video to post on their social media with the player. They are always in great fun, and for the player that hits the ball, it’s an honor.
I watch Orbit run across the stadium, a camera man hot on his tail to meet the fan in question at the Moonshot lounge to make their request.
Horner is already there introducing the fan when Orbit arrives, and he looks so happy—he loves this shit more than anyone else.
“Alright, Angela, the fans are all waiting on the edge of their seats, what is your Moonshot idea for this game?”
She smiles a devious smile and through grinning teeth she makes her request. “I want Ozzie to dance to ‘Kiss the Girl’ with his girlfriend. The one who choreographs all the dances.”
I look over at Maren, standing in her usual place just before the stairs leading to the tunnel and her eyes are wide, and slightly misty.
Little does this fan, Angela, know, this is how we say goodbye.
Not to each other, but the little life we have built together over the course of the season.
After Mare and Rikki found themselves in a disastrous surprise by a fan's Moonshot idea at a game earlier this season, she taught us all a few partner dances just in case. There haven’t been many since then, but it was good thinking on her part.
Clearly they’re coming in handy right now.
“B,” she mouths to me, like I remember what the hell dance “B” is.
I stare at her blankly, and she rolls her eyes.
“You never pay attention,” she says when I get within ear shot.
“I pay plenty of attention to your ass.” I smile, trying to calm her nerves as I see them building.
“Fuck a tit, Oz.” She says with a playful huff. “We’re going to embarrass ourselves.”
I take her hand and smile at her obnoxious little catch phrase as the song starts. I spin her around before she gives me a mean side eye. “This is not dance B.”
“Are we going to give them a routine, or are we going to give them what they really want?”
I don’t wait for her to answer, as the words kiss the girl fill the speakers, I pull her in close to me and do exactly as the song says.
I crush my lips to hers.
I kiss her too hard, like I’m trying to fuse us together before the world rips us apart. My hands clamp around her jaw, desperate, memorizing her because I know I won’t get to keep her here much longer. She leaves tomorrow. She tastes like everything I’m about to miss, everything I’m about to lose.
There’s heat, and hunger—but underneath it, panic. I’m kissing her like she’s air itself, and like I’m already drowning without her. When I finally pull back, forehead pressed to hers, my chest cracks with the truth I won’t say:
This isn’t just a kiss.
It’s me falling apart.