moody ass this past year? Because I made a promise as well. You’re my family, Carson, and even though you’ve been a bastard, no matter how much you piss me off, I’m never going to stop watching over you.” He clutches me tighter. “We’re in this together, man.”
Something inside me breaks. I don’t know if it’s my wall, my understanding, or my eagerness to make my promise to my dad a reality, but the tension in my body eases and I’m able to take a full breath.
In this together? Hardly. But that’s on me.
Fuck, that’s on me.
“You’ve made me so proud, Carson. Not just as a baseballer, but as a man. And the way you speak of your girl, Milly, reminds me of your mom. She pushes you, so she’s the girl for you. You may not have baseball forever, as our bodies can only sustain us for so long. But your girl . . . always work as hard at that relationship as you do in baseball. Never give up.” How had I forgotten those words that my dad spoke to me in one of our last phone calls? How had I somehow twisted his love and sacrifices for me as something he’d resented? He never told me about his debt, but not because he was ashamed. He did everything he did with pride. Fuck. He’d hate this version of me. And Milly . . . that beautiful and bright soul. “What the fuck did she ever do to you to deserve that kind of treatment?” Nothing. All she did was love, support, and push me.
I’m such an asshole.
“Fuck,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I’ve really fucked everything up.”
“Nah, you’ve just muddied the water. Time to filter out the shit and make it clean again.”
I glance at Knox, a cock to my brow. “Is that some Texas saying?”
“You should know, you spent a few months there.” He smiles. “Come on, let’s get you better first, and then we can mend everything else.”
JULY
Feeling a little more human, a little less angry, and slightly more optimistic, I stretch out on my bed after a solid win and performance and pick up my phone.
It’s been a few months since I’ve “spoken” to her, but like Knox said, I’ll never know until I try.
There’s no denying I still think about Milly every day. Even when I didn’t want to, I thought about her. She was constantly on my mind. Every time I was in the cages, I swear I heard her voice bounce off the walls, reminding me to keep my hands high. When I would stare at my glove before every game, listening to my pre-game music, I would see her face when she handed me my glove back after tightening it. And when the lights turned off at the stadium, I’d imagine the night I asked her to meet me in the dugout, the first time I told her how I felt.
Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t extract her from my season, even when I said some of the worst things to her.
And now that I’m feeling more like my old self, I want to reach out to her, let her know how sorry I am.
Pulling up a text message, I type up a quick text.
Carson: Hey Milly, how are you? Was hoping maybe we could talk today? Let me know if you have time.
I hit send as nerves crash down on me. Worst-case scenario, she tells me to eat my own shit. Best-case scenario, she hears me out.
As I wait for her response, I stare at the last text I sent her . . .
Lose this number and get a hint. I don’t want to fucking talk to you.
Jesus Christ, I was horrible. I want to say I was in a bad place, but that’s no excuse. She kept talking to me after I pushed her away, never once holding that against me . . . and I snapped at her, took out all my anger on her. She didn’t deserve that, and I hate that it’s taken me this long to realize it.
I just hope she—
My phone vibrates as a text box pops up on my phone. My eyes focus and I read the text, my mind whirling.
Milly: Who’s this?
It’s like an ice pick to the heart.
I told her to lose my number . . . and she did.
She followed through. I should be proud of her, for dropping a loser like me and moving on, but fuck does