CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE NICK
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
NICK
Anaheim can suck it. Lansing is in the Cactus League now, and the former league toppers are gonna fall, courtesy of us.
That’s what I tell myself when their pitcher gets a second strike past me at the bottom of the eighth.
Come on, Nick. Focus.
Exhibition games technically don’t count, but they matter to me. It’s my first one with the new team, we’re up by a ridiculous amount, and I’m not about to choke in front of everyone—
Swing. Connect. Hit.
Oh, shit, it’s going.
I drop my bat like the wood is on fire and make a break for first base, keeping the soaring ball in my peripheral vision as I smack the bag, turning the corner and heading for second when it lands.
My legs scream as I pound the red, sandy dirt, the ball flies in, the second baseman stretches his arm out…
And I plant myself firmly on second before he even has a chance to make the catch.
“Nice one, Russell,” the second baseman says to me. A peek at his jersey tells me that he’s Kaminski, number thirty-two.
Kaminski. Where have I heard that name before…
Jax is still walking up, so I turn back to my opponent. “Hey, man. Are you related to—”
“Hunter? Yeah, he’s my baby brother.”
An eighteen-year-old baby? And this guy doesn’t look a day over nineteen himself. “Sweet. I trained with him, like, once before Detroit called me up. He’s a good kid.”
The elder Kaminski snorts. “Is he? Maybe he only behaves in public.” He squints at the pitching mound and backhands my shoulder. “Your slowpoke batter’s finally ready. See you around, man.”
God, I love baseball. We’re a nice bunch. Jax is nervous; the poor guy never expected to be drafted in the first place, and he was only in baseball for the scholarship, but he’s got skills, and now he’s in the kinda-big leagues, way out of his element.
The pitcher fires, and Jax smashes the ball right down the middle, and I take off. I fly past third and round the corner toward home, stomping on the plate before seeing where the ball is now.
Jax sent it soaring out of the damn park. What the hell was he thinking, planning to become an actuary when he’s got batting skills like that? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a traditional career, but he’s gonna go far here, and fast.
My teammates swarm me, and then a shaky Jax once he makes it home, too.
We ride the high as we take our positions in the field, and once our godly pitcher strikes out three out of Anaheim's next four batters, that’s the game.
We’re kept on a tight leash, though, so the team keeps the celebrations short and muted before we head home to recover for the night.
There’s practice all day tomorrow, followed by another game the day after.
As soon as I step into my room, the tiredness sets in, and my bones get about ten times heavier.
Jeez, I’m fucking beat. I drag myself to the shower and rinse off the grime that managed to accumulate between leaving the ballpark and arriving at the hotel.
Once I’m done, I set my phone down on the fancy wireless charger Dean bought for me in China and collapse onto the bed.
I’m facing the wrong way—my feet are on the pillow, but I’m not energetic enough to give a damn.
My relaxation lasts for a short minute before my phone vibrates. It’s a struggle to muster up the energy to lift my neck to peer at the screen, but the second I see my boyfriend’s face on the caller ID, I get a surge through my whole body like I stuck a fork into a power socket.
Scrambling to the other end of the bed and messing up the crisp sheets, I grab my phone off the charger and smack the green button to answer Dean’s call.
His tired, handsome face pops up, his eyes relaxed, with rugged stubble defining his jaw. If I wasn’t about to pass out from my own fatigue, I’d make some kind of comment, but I simply sigh and lie down the way Dean is, a heavy duvet drawn up to his chin and making him look so freaking cozy.
What I’d give to be there with him, even though it’s sixty degrees colder in New Hampshire.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask, slurring my words.
He stays casual, keeping his tone light. “Nothing much, I wanted to call before I pass out for the night.”
My heart squeezes. He’s so considerate. “Yeah, I’m about to sleep, too. Training is kicking my ass.”
A gentle chuckle comes through the phone, and my god, Dean’s reactions are always so adorable. He’s so expressive, and his eyebrows always do this funny kind of movement that makes it impossible to tear my eyes away from them.
“You call me because you miss me or something?” I don’t need to ask, do I? He’s been missing me; that much is clear.
“You got it.”
Offering a weak smirk, I decide on giving him more of what he so clearly wants. “Or maybe there’s something else?”
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, chuckling. “I’m way too tired, but maybe later.”
Oh. “Then…what is it?”
Dean pauses, a cheeky grin spreading across his pretty lips. “I…”
Come on, man. Out with it.
“...got into Washtenaw.”
My heart stops, and I grin.
And for some reason, my stomach twists.
“Are you thinking about accepting?”
Dean tilts his head, thinking, or at least pretending to. “Hmm, I don’t know. There might not be enough to keep me here.” He pauses before breaking into a grin. “Of course I’m gonna accept. I wanna stay with you so damn bad.”
Hold up—that can’t be the only reason he’s accepting. He has a dream job back in China, albeit with a shitty salary lag. Right now, all I can think about is how fucking carefree he was back in Hangzhou, and how miserable he was on the flight back.
Him pretending that he lost his passport when we were about to leave for the airport, and his not-so-fake reluctance when he brought it out at customs.
The strained little quip he made about leaving his happy place when we were about to take off.
He’s wanted to go home for years. As much as I like him, keeping him here for my sake is fucking selfish, and I’m a damn idiot for not realizing it sooner.
“This is your choice, so be sure you aren’t making it for my benefit,” I force out.
Dean’s handsome, tired face screws up into a questioning look. “I’m not, but what if I was?” His tone sours. “It’d be my choice, and—” He sucks in a breath and forces it out. “I like you a lot, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t throw it back in my face.”
“I’m scared you’re giving up on something you’ve always wanted just to be with me.”
He blinks a couple of times, and when he doesn’t cuss me out and hang up, I hold my breath.
“Look, Nick. I’m gonna accept my offer, and it’s up to you whether you’re happy for me, or if you’re gonna convince yourself that it’s the wrong decision.
” He glowers into the camera. “Just let me know what you decide in case I need to look for another apartment by myself.”
Fuck.
The thought of losing him drives a knife into my chest, and the very real prospect twists it.
“I don’t want to break up,” I say quickly.
“Good, ‘cause I don’t either.” He sighs, offering me a grimace. “Do you think time to…process this would help?”
“Yeah. Shit, I’m a mess. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” His tone is unconvincing. “I just hope you can see things from my perspective, too. Especially yourself, since I really like you.”
Groaning, I stay determined to keep Dean on the line, because this is a shitty place to end the train wreck of a call I started.
“I know I should be excited, and I am, but my stupid fucking brain is going haywire.” My voice cracks.
“I don’t know why I can’t appreciate you the way I should, and I’m s—”
“Don’t fucking apologize again. Jesus Christ,” he says, bringing the camera closer to his face. “You’re overwhelmed, and I can’t fault you.”
How this guy hasn’t gone running for the hills like everyone else is beyond me.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “Maybe missing you is messing with my head.”
That gets him to smile, even if it’s small. “You aren’t alone in feeling that way. But hey—I’m looking forward to when we don’t have to miss each other like this.”
“Yeah. Same here.” I yawn, and Dean follows a second later.
“Okay, I think this is a sign for us to go to bed now,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “Goodnight.”
We sign off, and I spend too much time staring at the “Call Ended” message on the screen.
What the hell is wrong with me? I go full steam ahead in telling him to doubt why he’s accepting a perfectly good admissions spot in the program he wanted to get into, and now I achily miss him when he hangs up?
If he doesn’t love me back, then this is probably why.
Wait.
Oh, Jesus, I love him.
I laugh dryly for nobody in particular.
I love Dean, and that means I need to get a grip and learn how to fucking show it.
But it’s easier said than done when I don’t deserve him in the first place.