given baseball his all this past season, and I knew he couldn’t have played any better. He knew it too. But for whatever reason, none of that seemed to matter now.
When the tenth round started up, his phone beeped out a text message indication, and he grabbed it so fast that I thought he might crush it. I watched his expression morph into something unreadable as he put his phone on the coffee table in front of us and leaned back into the couch, staying quiet, like he’d been since the whole thing began. I looked at him and waited for him to share what he’d just read.
He finally turned to me and blinked before looking away from my eyes. “They think Dayton will go soon.” His tone was undecipherable.
“Who’s they?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s just what the text said. He must be talking to an agent or something.”
I didn’t know what to say. I honestly had no idea how to deal with all of this. I couldn’t be my usual positive and happy self. Draft days weren’t technically about keeping a positive attitude. We were beyond all that now. We were in business mode. So, I wasn’t sure if we should be happy for Dayton or be mad at him for it.
The announcer said Dayton’s name, and I saw a small smile creep across Mac’s face, followed quickly by a deep breath as his chest shook lightly. He grabbed his phone and typed out a text—I assumed he was congratulating Dayton.
“I knew he’d go,” Mac said while staring straight ahead at the TV.
“Yeah?” I asked, still at a loss for the right thing to contribute.
“He’s a pitcher. He had a great season. It wouldn’t have made any sense if he didn’t get the call,” he added, and I wondered if he was explaining it more for my benefit or his. I only understood half of what he was saying anyway, but I got the gist.
That night he barely slept, tossing and turning the entire time, and when I woke up on day two of the draft, he was already out of bed, and his side was freezing cold, like he hadn’t been there for hours.
Mac refused to eat. I baked cookies he didn’t touch. Ordered pizza that he ignored. I had to remind him to drink water, or he would dehydrate himself without even thinking. He barely talked out loud, staying in his head, and I tried to understand how he must be feeling, watching his dream slip by with each hour that passed.
Each time a new round started up, I swore he held his breath in anticipation.
Or maybe it was dread.
And as they continued to dwindle, I watched the light drain from his eyes after each one completed without saying his name.
“It’s not going to happen,” he mumbled under his breath at one point.
I knew he wasn’t talking to me, but I stupidly answered him anyway, “It’s not over yet. You don’t know. There’s still hope.”
He shot me a look that would have broken other females. But I fought with my inner little girl, reminding her that this wasn’t about us and to not take it personally.
But hope wasn’t enough. The last round came and went, and Mac Davies’s name was never called. My heart split in two inside my chest. I felt the ache of it.
The sheer devastation on Mac’s face only lasted a moment before he pulled himself together and stood up. “Can you take me home, please?”
“Are you sure?” I asked because I wanted to be the one who took care of him, but I also understood him needing to be alone.
“Sunny, I want to go home.”
“What if your teammates are there?” I asked, figuring that he wanted to avoid them if possible.
“I’ll just walk.” He ignored my question and started to grab his things, so I reached for his arm, stopping him.
“I’ll take you. Talk to me,” I begged, and he looked right through me, neglecting my request.
We stayed quiet the entire drive back to the baseball house. I wanted him to say something to me, but I was scared to push him too hard. When I pulled up, there were a bunch of cars at the house, and I noticed Mac suck in a breath before opening the passenger door.
“I need some time.”
“Away from me?” I asked with a shaky breath.
“Away from everyone,” he replied. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Do what?” My eyes started to fill with water. “Are you breaking