The Ninth Inning (The Boys of Baseball #1) - J. Sterling Page 0,81
not to worry, that he kept you warm last night.”
All words escaped me. What can I possibly say to that?
I had nothing.
No defense.
No case to argue.
No cards to play.
Cole reached for me, his strong hands covering my own as he pleaded, his blue eyes glassy. “God, Christina. I don’t want to believe Logan. I really, really don’t. Just tell me you didn’t do it. Tell me you didn’t do it and I’ll believe you. Just say it never happened. Please.” He looked down, and I watched as his shoulders shook lightly.
Cole Anders was crying.
I looked right at him even though he kept looking downcast as the tears spilled across my cheeks. The last thing I wanted to do was lose him, but I couldn’t do this in order to keep him. And I knew it. My heart ached so badly in my chest that I thought it might crack into pieces and fall out at my feet. A red carpet for him to walk out on.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I did was ache.
“I can’t say that. I want to, Cole, but I can’t.” My tears blurred my vision until Cole was barely visible. “I wish I remembered. I wish I could tell you with absolute certainty that Logan was lying and he was only doing this to get between us and mess with your head …”
“But you can’t.”
“But I can’t. And I’m so sorry.”
Cole pulled his hands from mine and looked up before wiping at his face, any trace of fallen tears gone. His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard, and he suddenly composed himself in a single breath. “I am too. We can’t be together anymore.” He pushed up from the table without sparing me another glance.
His steps didn’t falter on his way out, and it devastated me even more when he didn’t slam the door closed behind him. I wanted to feel his anger, to see if he hated me as much as I hated myself. But Cole had closed it so gently, quietly, and soft, like it might fall off the hinges otherwise.
The door stayed perfectly intact.
I was the only thing falling apart inside this apartment.
Sleeping with the Enemy
Cole
I couldn’t stay a second longer. I had to leave. To get out of there and away from her before I lied, told her I forgave her and that everything between us would eventually be okay, when the truth was that nothing would ever be okay again. It’d physically fucking pained me to look at her. I knew how much she was hurting and that she never meant for this to happen, but none of that mattered. Not if she fucked another guy.
And if Logan had done something to her drink, which I wasn’t putting past him, would it really change anything? Was I the kind of person who was strong enough to forgive her for sleeping with the enemy? I didn’t think that I was. As shitty as that sounded, I knew that forgiveness of that kind came from a place I didn’t think I was capable of reaching. It would tear me up from the inside out. Eat away at me until nothing was left.
My imagination was on overdrive, making up scenes and scenarios I couldn’t unsee even though they were all in my head. I couldn’t stop seeing Logan touching her … or fucking her. My girl.
My girl.
That was why I had to end things. Why I had to walk away with my head held high even though I felt so damn low that I could barely look up. I had no idea how I’d ever trust her again. And I couldn’t live like that—with the constant questioning and wondering. Especially when I was out of town for a game.
The last thing I needed was to be so focused on my girlfriend’s whereabouts and actions that I couldn’t focus on anything else, like my batting average.
Hopping into my truck, I pounded the steering wheel until my palms went numb. It wasn’t enough.
I wanted to hit someone.
Hell, I wanted to hit everyone.
Nothing made any sense. And even though I didn’t want to believe what had happened, the fact that Christina couldn’t dispute it only made it worse. Part of me was thankful she wasn’t blowing up my phone, but the other part of me—the insecure and vulnerable part—hated that she wasn’t even trying. Why isn’t she apologizing nonstop and begging for my forgiveness?