33. No Regrets
THIRTY-THREE
NO REGRETS
RYAN
I stand at the entrance to the field from the dugout and let out a deep breath, attempting to gather myself and my thoughts before I step back out onto the field.
I should’ve expected the interview. It was my first home game back since the concussion and the internet-breaking photos came out two weeks ago. And our first game of the playoffs.
And of course it’s with Sports24.
I’m already bracing myself, knowing they’re going to want to get a comment even though my agent and publicist continuously answer any and all inquiries on the topic with just that: no comment.
Once I feel like I can go out there and answer some questions without completely losing my cool, I take a step onto the field, letting muscle memory guide me to where the crew is set up.
I can’t help the way my eyes flick to Isa’s typical spot and finding it vacant.
My chest constricts at the sight, missing her.
I shake myself out of that train of thought. Boxing those emotions off in the back of my mind to deal with another time. Another day.
“Hey Jamie,” I greet the floor manager with less enthusiasm than usual. I should be putting on a show. Playing pretend. But I can’t for the life of me find the motivation to fake it.
Jamie turns to greet me, and I see the sympathy in his eyes.
That’s… different? I mean I saw some sympathetic looks after the concussion, but it was also only that.
A concussion. Not to say they aren’t terrible, but it wasn’t a season ending kind of injury.
The looks I’m used to getting are a mix of concern and relief, but not sympathy. His strikes a different chord in me.
“How are you doing, bud?” he asks as if he knows I’m actually barely hanging on right now. Very much not doing well. And not because of my injury and missing out on a week of games as we head into the post-season.
“I’m alright,” I answer with a shrug, not really sure what he’s looking for in my answer.
“How’s Isa doing?” he asks, voice lowered to a near whisper. He coughs uncomfortably before speaking again. “I know the rules, but we sure do miss her around here.”
“Um.” I rub at the back of my neck anxiously. “She’s… I don’t actually know how she’s doing if I’m being completely honest,” I finally force out with a grimace.
His eyes widen, reading between the lines. “Oh, gosh. Sorry I brought her up… I only wanted to be sure she was doing okay after everything.”
I shake my head at him. “No, it’s fine. Really. It’s nice to know someone here is concerned about her enough to check in.” I run my hands down my thighs, trying to wipe off the growing sweat. “Alright, where do you want me?”
Jamie hustles me around, getting me fitted with an earpiece before slotting me into my position at the table with the reporters and handing me a mic.
“Ryan Fletcher!” Annie’s cheery voice cuts through the autopilot I’ve been functioning on.
“First and foremost, let me say on behalf of the fans and our whole team here that we’re relieved your injuries weren’t more serious and that you’ve made a full recovery.
Welcome back to the field! I know we’ve all missed having you playing as the Suns head into their run for the World Series right now. ”
“Thanks, Annie. It’s good to be back,” I say with a forced smile.
“Now before we dive into our chat about the game, I have to ask. You know we don’t typically like to mention things that happen off the field, but…
” She draws out the word, and I know where this is going.
I expected it. And yet, it still causes the pain of my heartbreak to radiate through me.
“We’ve seen the photos that came out following your injury.
Is it true you’re involved with one of our very own?
Was she the one you were changing walk-up songs for?
You never did give us that exclusive,” she tacks on with a wink.
I grit my teeth to bite back my initial knee jerk response from breaking free.
Instead, I clear my throat and give her the publicist approved answer that I plan to regurgitate anytime someone asks.
“I appreciate that you have to ask. I have no comment, and I’d prefer not to discuss my personal life.
” I give her a friendly smile that I hope comes across as less forced than the ones before.
Her eyes flick to Jamie before they come back to me, offering a soft smile and nod. “Of course. Now let’s talk about that game!” I let loose a relieved breath as she rattles off stats and the best plays, swiftly changing the subject.
That worked better than I could’ve expected to dodge the question. If only it would work on my thoughts to dodge bringing up her.
A guy can wish.
I collect my cup from where the small red-headed barista set it down with a smile. I shoot her a small one in thanks, but I already know it doesn’t reach my eyes. Smiles are such hard work nowadays, which is insane for me because I used to throw them around like they were nothing.
I grab a seat at a table tucked into the far corner with my back facing the rest of the shop for some semblance of privacy.
I didn’t want to leave my place at all, but when Cooper texted threatening to drag me out of my place for some fresh air, I didn’t really have a choice.
So, here I am in this little coffee shop around the corner from his new apartment building for ‘a chat.’
He’s not wrong. I did need to get out of my place because at this rate, I’m only leaving for practice and games.
Otherwise, I’m holing up in my apartment—an apartment that holds constant reminders of her—and absolutely, definitely not going back over the last few months with a fine-tooth comb for what I could’ve or should’ve done differently. Not doing that.
Okay, maybe I am doing that.
But I’m not coming up with anything good.
There’s nothing I would change about the last few months with Isa.
Not a damn thing. Okay, well, maybe I would change us getting caught and her losing her job.
Because that fucking sucked. And the breakup.
That’s even worse. But otherwise? I can’t find it in myself to regret a single moment we had together.
I also spend way too much time looking back over the photo that became our downfall. Remembering the way I pressed the silent “I love you” into the top of her head because I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
From the moment I first saw her, she quickly wriggled her way under my skin and the more I got to know her, the more she became one of my best friends.
She’s not afraid of telling me like it is, giving me shit when I deserve it, and humbling the hell out of me.
She mellows out my chaotic energy. She brings out the better in me. She’s my perfect fit.
I feel myself slump further into my seat on a sigh as I raise my cup to take a sip of my latte. A hand claps down on my shoulder as I’m setting the cup back down.
“Dude, you’ve gotta stop moping about,” Cooper says as he drops into the seat across from me.
“Gee, thanks, Coop. I didn’t think to try that!” I say with sarcastic cheeriness interjected into my tone.
He throws up his hands. “Hey man, don’t shoot the messenger.
We all think you need to pull your head out of your ass and get your shit together.
You got dumped. So what?” He shrugs. “We all loved Isa too, but you weren’t even together that long.
Could it really have made such a big impact that you’re locking yourself away for every moment of free time? There’s no fucking way.”
I stare at him for a moment, trying to decide if he seriously thinks this before I let out a sad laugh. “I can’t wait until you’re in my position. I’m going to give you so much shit.” He rolls his eyes, but I continue, “Yeah, I got dumped. But you know what hurts the most about this whole thing?”
“The fact that you were in love with her?”
“I am in love with her. No past tense. Fully present tense in love. But no. That part doesn’t hurt.
Well, not in the way you’re thinking. I wish I could regret this mess we got into.
Regret her. What hurts the most is that I don’t.
Not for a single second. She’s everything I could have ever wanted in a partner.
She’s strong-willed and independent, but she also has her softer side she only lets her friends see.
And me. She doesn’t need me to help her with anything, but she knows I’m there and she can lean on me when she wants it.
What hurts is she knows that, and yet she still felt like this is what we both needed.
Instead of sitting us down and trying to work through this issue together.
It was her knee-jerk reaction. Is this what she actually wanted in the end?
Probably not, but it’s what she decided.
And here we are.” I fall back against my chair and take another sip of my coffee.
Across the shop, the barista calls out “Alex?” and Cooper rises from his seat. I raise an eyebrow at him in question.
He shrugs. “I don’t like using my real name since I come here all the time. Plus, it’s my middle name so it’s technically not a lie.”
“Whatever you say, man.”
As he walks away, I track Cooper’s movements through the shop, because something about the way he straightened up before leaving our table has me on high alert. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about him changed.
I watch as he leans over the counter to speak to the auburn-haired barista from earlier.
I watch as she bites back a smile, and her cheeks start to turn pink.
She says something back that has him running his hand through his hair, mussing it up.
It’s almost like he’s… nervous? But that doesn’t seem right.
Cooper could talk any girl into his bed in sixty seconds flat.
And has. He’s never nervous around a girl.
He grabs his drink from the counter with a smile before he heads back over to our table. His face is tilted to the floor, but I can just barely make out that the tips of his ears are tinged pink.
“Well, that was interesting,” I say with a smirk as I lean back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest.
“What was?” he asks as he slides back into his seat.
“Looks to me like you’ve got a little crush on the barista.”
He scoffs. “I do not.”
“Oh yeah?” I lift a brow.
“Yeah.”
“Certainly didn’t look like it from where I was sitting.”
“Yeah, well I’m in here at least three times a week usually. We’re friendly.”
“So, you’re friends then?”
“No, not friends. Friendly. I’ve only lived around the corner for two months. I don’t even know her. We just have random chats in passing. Super surface level. Nothing like friends.” The more he tries to explain away the interaction, the more flustered he seems and I’m enjoying watching him squirm.
“What do you even talk about in these passing chats?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Stuff. The weather. Her classes.”
“Classes?”
“Yeah, I think she goes to the college nearby. I’ve caught her studying when I’ve been in and the shop is empty.”
“You sure do know an awful lot about someone you’re not friends with,” I tease.
“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles.
“I’m more and more glad that you dragged me out now,” I say with a smile—probably one of the first real ones in weeks—as I drain my drink.