CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO DEAN
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DEAN
What the actual fuck?
You’re giving up on something you’ve always wanted just to be with me.
Just.
He’s out of his damn mind.
If I hadn’t spoken with my parents before Nick, maybe I’d have more doubts, but no. I have none. I’m going to grad school at one of the best universities in the country, and it’s close to Nick’s team.
If Washtenaw U wasn’t close, I’d do a deep dive into his schedule and bust my ass to see him whenever possible, because he’s fucking worth it. To me, insecure guys are usually a turn-off, but I haven’t seen anyone be this insecure over something so trivial.
Although someone being crazy into him isn’t exactly trivial. But it’s also not something anyone is typically insecure about.
I got a little intrusive thought at around three a.m. where I considered breaking things off, and the second-long contemplation made me want to cry.
So yeah, a sweet, sexy baseball player who’s shyer than he lets on has me wrapped around his finger, and I don’t hate it.
I just wish he’d like that I’m obsessed with him.
After a night of tossing and turning, I grumble when muted winter sunlight creeps around my curtains and invades my dry eyeballs—giving up on getting any more sleep, I heave myself out of bed and rinse off to wake up.
That doesn’t do much, so I need a coffee. Or three. After glaring at my reflection for far too long, I shoot a text to Claire and ask her if she’s free to hang out, because if I stay alone in my apartment for much longer, I think I’m gonna actually start clawing at the walls.
And hell if I’m gonna lose my damage deposit.
Still wearing a frown, I lumber into the coffee shop fifteen minutes later and plonk myself across from Claire, who narrows her eyes, jolting back.
“Dude, you look like trash,” she says.
I scoff. “I know. Getting three hours of sleep is gonna do that.”
She sighs. “What happened? If Nick broke up with you, I’ll kill him—”
“He didn’t,” I say quickly, putting a hand up. “He’s just got it in his head that I’m sacrificing my whole life and future to be with him, and now he’s all mopey.”
Claire’s stance softens. “Okay, that’s a little better. But you going to grad school makes sense, even if he wasn’t close by.”
“I know! My god, I don’t know what happened for him to do such a massive one-eighty.”
She doesn’t reply right away, taking a sip of her coffee while I wait for mine to cool down a little. “Do you want me to get his friends to stage an intervention or something?”
Huh? I recoil, making a face. “No?” Then I catch myself. Nick might benefit from a second opinion. One he’d be more willing to accept as not being “biased” or something. “Actually, maybe.”
Claire gives me a dry smile as she pulls her phone out. “Awesome. I’m calling in some reinforcements.”
It only takes around five minutes for Sabrina to show up, her light brown hair trailing behind her as she walks through the doors.
“Hi. I heard Nick’s being a douche?” she says, sitting down.
I shake my head. “Nah. He’s just…I don’t know, beating himself up a little too much.”
When Sabrina tilts her head, I continue, filling her in on what went down.
“So, yeah,” Claire says, “it sounds like someone needs an intervention.”
Sabrina shakes her head. “He isn’t here, so what’s stopping him from moping around and hanging up on us?”
She has a good point.
Turning to me, Sabrina asks, “what does your finals schedule look like?”
“I don’t have one for the next two weeks.” I shrug. “Before yesterday, I was thinking about visiting him, but—”
“Do it,” Claire and Sabrina say at the same time.
“Nick needs something to jolt him out of his funk, and a nice little visit from you would do just the trick,” Sabrina continues. “But only if you can swing it.”
“I was even checking prices yesterday, and they aren’t too high,” I mumble. “But I’m a little concerned about him thinking this is yet another example of me making sacrifices for his sake.”
Sabrina clasps her hands together. “Has he told you about—”
“His parents? Yeah.”
“He hasn’t told me,” Claire says. “I can step out if you need to talk about it.”
“I’ll just be vague,” Sabrina says. “So basically, this poor guy thinks he doesn’t deserve love because his parents blamed him for blowing their marriage up. You can prove he does. Trust me, he’ll respond well, and if he doesn’t…well, he won’t.”
Nodding in agreement, I offer a small smile. “I kind of got that impression. I can book something.”
My fingers race through my phone, pulling up a list of flights to Phoenix. It’s cheaper if I fly out of Manchester with a connection, and it doesn’t cost anything extra if I leave tonight. Hotels aren’t looking too bad, either.
So I book them, throwing my phone on the table once I’m done. The confirmation screen flashes blue for everyone to see.
Claire and Sabrina nod in approval, grinning.
“Attaboy,” Claire says, slapping my shoulder. “We gotta get you packed and out of here, and I’ll drive—” She cuts her sentence short, her face molding into a frown. “Fucking Oscar has the car. I can’t take you to the airport.”
I wave her off. “I can take care of myself.”
“Sure,” Sabrina says, standing up and pulling her phone out. “I’ll see what I can do to get you a ride.”
The three of us part ways, and I dash back to my apartment so I can pack. I have six hours before my first flight leaves, the drive to the Manchester airport takes a little over two hours, and…yeah. I’ll be fine.
My phone pings with a text as I’m halfway through digging my summer clothes out of a box.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
Yo, it’s Nick’s friend Ian.
I smile, adding his contact.
Ian
Sabrina filled me in on the cute lil plan and I’m so down to drive you to the airport.
Omg thank you so much
You sure, though? That’s like a five hour round trip
But it’s for looovvve. And my best friend
Packing doesn’t take long at all, and I spend the next hour or so scarfing down the breakfast I didn’t eat, showering my lack of sleep away, and pacing my apartment.
I’m downstairs and waiting right at the agreed time, and Ian pulls up in his silver car not thirty seconds after I reach the sidewalk.
He jumps out and stuffs my luggage in the trunk before motioning for me to sit in the passenger seat.
This guy’s car is seriously decked out in a quiet way—there’s soft, warm lighting in the interior, the air vents emit a subtle, spicy aroma, and the heated seat is almost enough to put me right to sleep.
“Thanks again for driving me,” I say, buckling in.
“Don’t even worry about it.” Ian flashes me a wide smile, clapping my shoulder and programming the GPS. “Nick’s been going through it, and this is exactly what he needs to cheer up.”
He’s going through it?
“Practice, right?” I ask. “Nick’s been working himself to the bone.”
Ian steers onto the road and heads for I-93, smoothing down his dirty-blond hair with a free hand. “Sure, but he’s been in a funk for other reasons. I’m assuming it’s because he had to leave you for a bit.”
“Yeah, but…” I debate rehashing the situation yet again and settle for a streamlined version.
“This fucking guy,” Ian says, letting out something that’s half sigh, half chuckle. “Give him some shit for me, won’t you? He’s gotta learn how to accept people being nice to him.”
“Agreed.”
We change the topic afterward. Ian does some barely restrained gushing about his boyfriend Callum, we lovingly roast Nick a little, and before we know it, signs for Manchester Airport start popping up.
“So,” Ian starts, “what’s your plan for surprising Nick?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe wait outside the ballpark after a game and text him?”
He purses his lips, thinking. “I have an idea. When’s his next game?”
“Tomorrow at four.”
“Sweet—grab a ball from the bucket in the seat behind you.”
I do.
“Buy a ticket, bring that ball to the game, and head to the dugout right when the doors open,” he continues. “Get someone’s attention and ask for Nick to sign it.”
And then Nick would realize I’m there.
“This won’t throw him off his game?”
Ian shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Nick’s the kind of guy who plays better when he’s happy. Besides, he’s great at locking his thoughts down and focusing, not like someone else I know.” He points his thumb at himself, and we both chuckle.
“That sounds great. Thanks for the idea,” I say.
He hums, flicking on the turn signal and steering for the Manchester Airport exit. “No problem, man. I just want my friends to be happy.”
Warmth sinks into my stomach. “Nick’s lucky to have friends like you.”
“Dude, you’re the one flying across the country to visit—he’s lucky to have you.”
“Eh. He’s kinda spoiled, isn’t he?”
Ian laughs again. “He is. But you know what? He deserves it.”
The car pulls to a stop in front of the terminal. I tuck the baseball into my backpack and grab my luggage from the trunk, unlatching a stray baseball glove from the Velcro.
“Thanks for the ride. Appreciate it,” I say into the open window.
Ian simply smiles back. “Any time. Now go get your man.”
Booking into the same hotel as Nick’s team by chance was a long, long shot anyway, but I can’t help but be a tiny bit disappointed that I didn’t luck out.
Even if that lets me keep the element of surprise, it also means waiting for hours until I can see Nick again. Knowing he’s in the same city as I am, just a few kilometers away, is almost more frustrating than being across the country.
It’s like that saying—so close, yet so far?
Right now, I’m lying in my hotel bed, passing the time with senseless blinking at the ceiling. I ate a massive breakfast downstairs, it’s already past noon, the doors to Nick’s game open in exactly forty-three minutes, and my map app says the ballpark is a fifteen-minute drive away—
Okay. I can be nervous about seeing Nick without going into a loop of staring into space and checking my phone every thirty seconds.
The game ticket is saved as a screenshot on my phone in case my data gives out, the baseball is tucked safely in my pocket, forming a comical bulge at the side of my thigh, and I already have my shoes on.
There might be traffic, and it’s warm outside. The world won’t end if I’m a tad early. Feeling more antsy than anything, I haul myself up, out the doors, and down to the lobby, where I call a car and shake my leg nervously for the whole drive.
The Detroit training grounds are certainly well maintained.
On top of the shiny new ballpark where diehard fans are slowly trickling in, there’s a whole training center right next door, shared between the major league team and its minor league affiliates, according to Nick.
With my heart in my throat, I find my seat, booked close to home plate, and get myself situated for exactly three seconds before heading for the dugout.
It’s buzzing with energy. The team’s already gotten themselves set up, milling about and doing light stretches. There are a whole lot of guys there. I can’t see Nick straight away, but a couple of his teammates are hanging out right beneath me.
I retrieve the ball from my pocket and palm it, steeling myself to press on.
“Hey,” I call out, and the guy closest to me, a young-ish guy with jet-black hair and striking eyes, jerks his head up.
“Hi.” His gaze travels to the ball in my hand. “You looking for someone to sign that?”
“Yeah.” I scan the crowd of players in crimson jerseys, trying to find— “Nick. Nick Russell.”
There he is. Even more tanned than when I last saw him, leaned out a little, probably from the training he’s been going through, and hot enough to rival the desert sun beating down on us.
My heartbeat picks up. Despite his mood from a few days ago, he’s still amazing.
The guy from before nods and turns toward Nick, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing in my direction. Nick doesn’t look up as he walks over, instead focusing on the athletic tape wrapped around his wrist, and he sticks an arm up.
“I can sign—”
Nick finally, finally, looks up. His gray eyes meet my gaze and widen with recognition, blinking as his jaw drops.
“Hey,” I say, putting on the most casual smirk I can muster. “I’m a huge fan of yours. Any chance you could sign this for me?”
I toss the ball down, my chest squeezing when Nick’s instincts take over to catch it. He doesn’t stop looking at me, simply standing still and blinking with his lips parted.
He’s surprised for sure. Now I just need to see if he’s gonna prove his friends right by reacting well.