Chapter 29 Small Victories
SMALL VICTORIES
MOLLY
With every day that's passed, I've realized that I was not, in fact, wrong.
Saturday night and Sunday were brutal, miserable, but the week that followed was hell, thick with gossip and shit talk, whispers and stares. The teachers and staff are talking, but thankfully things have been professional at least. But the distance they've put between us is tangible, isolating me.
The worst part is, I haven't had Grey to turn to. I haven't even seen him in a week. Haven't heard from him in five days, our texts trailing off until there was nothing but painful silence.
I grip the steering wheel of my parked car with sweaty hands, staring at the baseball field, the moment I've been dreading all week finally upon me--it's Friday, which means teacher league practice.
The team is already on the field warming up, but Grey is the first person I find. The shape of him is carved into my aching heart.
I can't avoid him tonight.
Maybe I should go home.
People would probably just talk more. Make up more rumors, like the doozies they spun up this week.
My favorite was that I lured him to my house with chicken piccata and relentlessly seduced him until he gave in.
I love that they believe I possess that sort of sexual power.
I mean, my chicken piccata is good, but I'm not sure it could inspire an evolution into a succubus.
It's just an hour. Go throw the ball. Stick with Cass. It'll be fine.
I take a deep breath, get out of my car, and walk toward the field.
My gaze is locked on his back. I don't want it to be, but every time I look away, it snaps right back to him.
His head turns as if he could hear me coming, though it would be impossible at this distance.
And then he turns, his eyes pinning me like steel ties. My stomach drops through the pavement.
He looks like hell.
Shadows ring his eyes, his shoulders and jaw and neck tense. I don't know if he's slept. I get it. I haven't either.
The weight of his gaze is so heavy, I almost trip. I have to tear my eyes away from him, rerouting all my energy to put on my totally fine face, despite the fact that I've never been less fine in my life.
Cass meets me in the dugout. "Hey," she says gently, quietly as I get my things together. When I don't answer, she asks, "Are you okay?"
On goes the totally fine with a nearly audible slap, the cheer in my voice too bright. "Yeah! Great Totally fine. Super duper."
"Convincing. Really."
I avoid her eyes, shoving my hand in my glove.
"I'm impressed, by the way. No one's ever managed to avoid me for a full week. And even at work? That takes commitment."
I flinch. Sigh. Busted.
Her voice is softer now, no edge, no teasing. "Molly. Talk to me."
I glance around, making sure no one's close enough to hear. Still, I hesitate, unsure I can talk about it without crying. And I absolutely cannot cry right now.
Still, I crack a little. "He said it was temporary. Just a break, so everyone could cool off."
Cass waits.
My voice is smaller. "But it doesn't feel like a break, Cass. It feels like a breakup." The last word wobbles dangerously.
Cass's face shifts to sympathy, then concern, but before she can respond, Grey calls everyone in. She squeezes my arm with a look that says We'll talk later.
The thought is comforting. I could really use a hug.
I slap that totally fine smile back on and drag myself onto the field, trying to rally, trying to rah-rah, but really I'm drowning.
And Grey? Grey might look like he's been through hell, but he is all business.
He hasn't met my eyes since he caught me walking up, and for a full fucking hour, he keeps up the good work.
His voice is flat. Clipped. Professional.
He looks even worse up close. Every muscle in his body is tight, his jaw clenched like he's holding something back.
The light in him is just…gone.
I go through the motions, but my focus is shot. All I've done is screw up. Every time I look at him, he's looking away. Every time I look away, I feel his eyes on me.
The distance between us is ten feet and a million miles.
It's excruciating. A dozen times, I come so close to leaving, saying I'm sick, something.
Anything. But eventually, it's over. I'm still trying to get my bag together when people are heading to their cars, calling goodbyes.
I don't want to linger, but I'm just…slow.
Cass hesitates, not wanting to leave me.
Almost everyone's gone, the field empty around us except for Grey and Shelby.
I wave her off. "I'm okay. I'll text you."
"No, it's okay. I don't mind." Cass hardens just as I feel the energy shift behind me, like gravity flipped a switch.
Grey.
Cass is glaring at him, her arms folded.
I'm trying to hurry, but my bag shifts, and several softballs fall out and roll away, and I follow one to his foot, my eyes climbing the mountain of him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are lightning bolts in the shadow of his hat brim.
I can't look away. “It’s okay, Cass--go. I'll text you, I promise."
It might be my only chance to talk to him, I try to tell her.
Her eyes narrow, shifting between us, but in the end, she nods at me, kisses my cheek. "You'd better, or I'm coming over."
I chuckle. It's a hollow sound.
And then she's gone. I find a way to look away, kneeling to collect the balls and deposit them back in my bag, He has the last one, our fingers brushing painfully.
My pulse is noisy as I shove the final ball in, zip the bag, and sling it on my shoulder, trying to collect myself.
Then I turn in his direction, pretending to fool with my bag so I don't have to meet his eyes when.
In a feeble attempt at casual, I say, "Hey. How's your week been?"
When I lift my gaze, I find him there, tall and strong, exhausted. Tortured.
"I've had better."
I swallow the stone in my throat. "Yeah. Same."
Tense silence hangs between us. I can't stand it. So I fill it.
"I…tried to keep busy though. The pipe under the sink was leaking again, but I fixed it like you showed me.
Read a lot. I'm not used to being alone so much anymore, you know?
It's weird." Reel it in. "But! I've been making papier mache trees every night for the library until I drop.
Sleeping like crap though." I laugh. The sound is empty.
He just watches me, saying nothing, the weight of his gaze unbearable.
I realize I've trailed off as another beat of silence passes, the truth bubbling up in me, the need to tell him everything overwhelming, overpowering my will.
"It's been awful, this week, everything, but I think tonight is the worst. I thought I knew how I felt, but now that I'm here, I just…I just miss--"
"Don't." Sharp. Then softer, almost pained, "Please don't finish that sentence. I can't…if you do…".
I blink. There is no air in the whole entire world.
"You said it was temporary," I say, the words shaky and soft. "You said we'd talk, but none of that is true, is it?"
He looks away, jaw tight, voice shredded. "It's better this way. You'll be fine. You were fine before me."
The words land like a punch.
But I push back, quiet, insistent. "What about you? Will you be fine?"
He doesn't answer, won't look at me. Silence stretches between us like a rubber band.
"You should go," he finally says.
Tears prick my eyes, my throat tight, voice unsteady. But I force a smile, bright and fake and awful. "Yeah. Yeah, I probably should. I…I'll see you, coach."
I turn, walk away carefully. If I don't, I'll run. Every step weighs a thousand pounds, every tear a sliver of glass. Somehow I hold it together all the way to my car, and I'm almost out of the parking lot before I break.
Small victories.