25. Killian
KILLIAN
The ice pack on my shoulder does nothing for the ache in my chest.
I stare at the blank wall of the clubhouse, the familiar scent of leather and sweat doing nothing to ground me.
My arm throbs from overworking it, but it’s a welcome distraction from the hollow feeling that’s taken up residence behind my sternum.
Our final game of the season is tomorrow, and I can’t focus on anything except the empty seat where Isla used to sit when she would hang out in here.
“Haynes.” Coach Daniels’ voice cuts through my thoughts. “You’ve been staring at that wall for ten minutes. You gonna tell me what’s going on with you, or should I just assume you’ve developed a sudden interest in drywall?”
I peel the ice pack off my shoulder and toss it into the bin. “Nothing’s wrong. Just tired.”
“Bullshit.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his expression softening. “You haven’t been yourself since you got here this morning. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been in here for two hours already, throwing until your arm’s about to fall off.”
I shrug, wincing as the movement sends a sharp pain through my overworked muscles. “Last game of the season. I’ve got to get us into the playoffs.”
“Right.” Coach Daniels doesn’t sound convinced. “Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that your mood has something to do with your girl?”
The mention of her sends a fresh wave of pain through my body. “What about her?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Haynes.” He pulls up a chair and sits across from me, his expression unreadable. “The whole team’s noticed she hasn’t been around for a few days. And you’ve been a walking ghost ever since.”
I scrub my hand over my face, the stubble rough against my palm. “She has her own life. It was always temporary.”
He chuckles softly and I swear to God I want to punch him in his goddamn face. “Temporary, huh?”
“Yep.”
He folds his arms over his chest, studying me with those sharp eyes that have seen through every lie I’ve ever told. “Then why do you look like someone kicked your dog?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t have a dog.”
“Exactly my point.” He sighs, rubbing his jaw. “Look, I’m not here to pry into your personal life. But I need my ace pitcher focused for tomorrow’s game. The playoffs are on the line, and right now, you’re about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Coach.”
“You want confidence? Earn it, Son.” He stands, clapping a hand on my shoulder, my good shoulder, thankfully. “Get your head straight. Whatever’s going on with Isla, figure it out. Right now, I need you locked in.”
He walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the dull throb in my arm.
I know he’s right. I know I need to focus.
But every time I try to think about pitch sequences or batting lineups, my mind drifts back to Isla.
Back to the moment she looked at me with tears in her eyes and told me she loved me but wouldn’t commit to staying with me.
If she loved me, she would stay.
I grab another ice pack from the bin and press it against my shoulder, the cold biting into my skin. The physical pain is easier to handle than the emotional one. At least I understand why my arm hurts.
“Bro.” Bishop’s voice pulls me from my thoughts as he pushes through the clubhouse door, Carter, Brock, and Alaric walking in behind him. “We need to talk.”
“Not now, Hop,” I mutter, not looking up.
“No. Now,” he demands. “Right fucking now.” Carter shuts the door once they’re all in and they cross the room, dropping into the chairs around the room. “What the hell is going on?”
I press the ice pack harder against my shoulder. “Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I saw Daniels stalk out of here and he is not happy.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Talk to me. What happened?”
I stare at the ice pack on my shoulder, watching a drop of condensation roll down the plastic. “She’s gone, Hop.”
“Who’s gone?” Carter asks.
All I have to do is look at my brother and he knows. “Isla?”
I nod silently.
Alaric mumbles, “What the fuck?”
“No way,” Brock scoffs. “She’d never just leave.”
Carter watches me from his seat. “Gone where, Kill?”
“She got a new assignment,” I say, the words tasting like acid on my tongue. “New York. Starts October 1st.”
Bishop’s eyes widen. “October 1st? That’s like…”
“Day after tomorrow.” I nod. “Her contract ended after our last flight since we don’t need her anymore.”
“So, she’s already gone?” Brock looks around the clubhouse like he expects to find her hiding in a locker.
I shrug. “I assume so. I haven’t seen her since the other morning when she told me her contract was up.”
“Did you ask her to stay?” Bishop leans forward, his catcher’s intuition reading me like a pitch sequence.
“Please, Isla. Stay.”
“All you have to do is stay. Love me. And let me love you.”
Of course I asked her to fucking stay.
His question pisses me off. “What would be the point? If she wanted to stay, she would. If she loved me, she’d choose me.”
Bishop lets out a frustrated breath. “Kill, that’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve heard you say a lot of stupid shit.”
“Thanks, bro. Real supportive.”
“I’m serious.” He kicks my foot with his cleat. “Did you actually ask her to stay, or did you just assume she wouldn’t want to?”
“We had an arrangement alright? The whole thing was fake and now it’s over.”
Bishop leans back in his chair, his jaw hanging open. “Come again?”
I let out a deep sigh. “Look, I needed someone to hang with for the season so the front office wouldn’t trade me.
You all said I needed to find a woman…a…
a fuck buddy…” My stomach rolls at the mere thought of talking about Isla as if she’s meaningless.
“So that’s what I did. And Isla needed someone to be her plus-one to the charity gala so we…
you know, came up with a plan to help each other out.
No strings. No feelings. No…emotional bullshit. ”
Carter shakes his head slowly, his stare piercing me. “You stupid fucking piece of shit.”
I round on my friend, anger flowing through me. “What the fuck, Carter?”
“You fell in love with her,” he states plainly. “You made some stupid ass arrangement with her and then you went and fell for her. You brought on the emotional bullshit. Admit it. We all know you’re in love with her. We’ve known it for a while.”
“He’s right, man,” Brock says with a bob of his head. “What you two had going would’ve been pretty hard to fake.”
“Tell me you don’t love her,” Bishop demands, staring me down. “Tell me she doesn’t mean shit to you and we’ll stop this conversation right fucking now and leave you alone.”
Fucking triplet telepathy. Bishop always knows when I’m not right in the head.
He can read me like a book and has always been able to call me on my bullshit.
I love and super fucking hate that part of him.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the image of Isla’s face when I told her I wouldn’t chase her.
“Fuck! I told her I loved her.” I lower my hands and sulk in my seat, the ice pack falling off my shoulder.
“I gave her a key to my place and I asked her to stay.”
“And what did she say?” Carter asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
I let out a harsh laugh. “She said she loved me too. Then told me she’s leaving anyway. How about that for romantic, huh?”
Bishop shakes his head slowly. “There’s no way that’s the whole story, Kill. Isla isn’t the type to just walk away like that. She loves you. It was very obvious to all of us.”
“Well, she did.” I stand abruptly, the ice pack hitting the floor with a dull thud. “And I told her I wouldn’t chase her, so here we are.”
“You told her you wouldn’t chase her?” Brock’s eyes widen. “What the fuck, man?”
“What was I supposed to do?” I throw my hands up, frustration boiling over. “Beg? I did that! She made her choice.”
“Nope. Back up,” Carter tells me, leaning forward just like Bishop, his elbows on his knees. “You told her you loved her. You gave her a key, and she told you she loved you too. So, what happened between then and her saying she was leaving?”
I shrug, wincing at the pain in my shoulder. “She said she loves me too, but that she’s scared.”
“Scared of what?” Brock asks.
“That if she stays, she’ll lose me eventually anyway. Some injury or accident or something along those lines.”
Alaric shakes his head. “Why would she worry about that?”
“Because she lost her father in a car accident. They rolled down an embankment. She watched him die right in front of her and she hasn’t been the same since.”
The group gets unusually quiet and then Carter nods slowly. “Her limp…”
“Yeah. From the accident. She was in and out of the hospital for a year relearning to walk and all the shit that comes with recovery.”
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“So, she’s running because she’s afraid of losing someone else she loves,” Carter says, his voice surprisingly gentle.
“Exactly,” I mutter, grabbing the ice pack from the floor and pressing it back against my shoulder. “And no matter what I said to her, it didn’t seem to matter. I’m not enough for her.”
“And you just... let her go?” Bishop stops pacing and stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“What was I supposed to do, Hop?” I shout, my emotions getting the best of me. “Tell me what I was supposed to do.”
“Fight for her, you idiot!” Bishop throws his hands up in exasperation. “That’s what you were supposed to do!”
“I did fight for her! I gave her the key. I told her I was in love with her. I begged her to stay. I want her near me every fucking day! I want her in our family! I want her in my bed. I wanted to spend the rest of my goddamn life with her. I still want that! But she…she…”
She doesn’t want me.
“She doesn’t want the same things.”
“Because she’s scared, you big dumbass,” Carter interjects. “Not because she doesn’t want you.”
I laugh bitterly. “Same difference.”