Chapter 9

Damon

I didn’t wait for her to answer. I couldn’t because if I stood there one second longer, with her looking at me like I was the one who’d failed, I was going to break in a way I couldn’t come back from.

So I turned. Walked straight past Sabrina without a glance, past the wide-eyed nurses, past the patients waiting to be triaged. I heard her call my name...Damon but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

The ER doors slid open, and I stepped out into the air that felt colder than any away-game stadium I’d ever played in.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like the player everyone cheered for. I felt like the idiot who couldn’t tell if he was striking out or being benched for good. I didn’t text her the next day. Or the day after.

She didn’t text me either nd that silence, it was brutal. Louder than any crowd I’d ever faced.

Evan tried to ask, once, if everything was “cool.” I shut him down with a look that even he didn’t joke about. If his sister wanted to make me the villain, fine. I’d worn that jersey before. I knew how to play that role but what cut deeper than anger was the doubt.

What if Sabrina was right? What if Alicia saw me for exactly what I was, someone who didn’t do forever, someone destined to move on the second things got too real? That thought clawed at me in the quiet moments, when I was sitting in my apartment staring at the ceiling instead of watching game film and the worst part? For the first time, I wanted forever. With her but maybe I was already too late.

Later that day, at practice, I went through the motions. Cracked a few hits, joked with the guys, pretended everything was fine. But every swing felt hollow, every laugh flat and when the coach barked, “Strathmore, where the hell’s your head at?” I didn’t have an answer and it was because my head was stuck in a hospital hallway, watching Alicia fold her arms across her chest and tell me maybe I trusted the wrong person.

My chest hadn’t stopped aching since.

If she wanted space, I’d give it to her. If she wanted me gone, I’d go. But the thing about me? I’d never walked away from a fight I actually wanted to win and no matter how angry I was, no matter how much it hurt; Alicia Collins wasn’t just a fight.

She was in a fight. The only one that mattered. "Batting Practice starts in five minutes. Gather around." the coach barked.

Batting practice. Normally my happy place. The one spot where it was just me, the ball, and the crack of contact. But today? Every pitch felt like a grenade in my hands.

“Focus, Strathmore!” Coach barked from behind the net. “You’re swinging like you’ve never seen a baseball in your life.”

I gritted my teeth, stepping back into the box. The next pitch came in, chest-high. I swung hard, too hard and sent the ball slicing foul into the cages.

“Jesus, man,” came a drawl from first base. Travis, our resident pain in the ass. Rookie with more ego than batting average. He leaned on his glove, smirking. “You planning to aim at the ball any time soon, or just trying to kill the dugout?”

I ignored him. Reset my stance.

Next pitch, crack. Another foul. Travis let out a low whistle. “Damn. Guess the highlight reel days are over. Should I start practicing my autograph? Might be the face of the franchise soon.”

The guys chuckled under their breath. Normally I’d fire back something cocky, let it roll off. Not today.

I dropped the bat, spun on him. “You wanna repeat that?”

Travis blinked, still smirking. “Just saying, your head’s not in the game. And if you’re slipping, the rest of us gotta carry you. Doesn’t feel fair, does it?”

The words hit harder than a fastball to the ribs. Your head’s not in the game. Alicia’s face flashed in my mind. Her crossed arms. Her words: "Maybe you trusted the wrong person."

I closed the distance fast, shoving him backward with my shoulder. “You think you’re carrying me? I’ve been winning games since before you even knew how to tie your cleats.”

Travis shoved back, grinning like he lived for this. “Yeah? Well maybe it’s time you retire and let someone hungry step up.”

“Hungry?” I snarled, fists curling. “You’ve never had pressure in your life. Ninety thousand fans screaming, bottom of the ninth, everything on your shoulders, you’d choke. You’d crumble.”

“Better than blowing it before you even swing,” he shot back.

The guys started gathering, half egging us on, half waiting for blood. Coach stormed over, his voice booming.

“HEY! Knock it the hell off!”

I didn’t break eye contact with Travis. My pulse was hammering, every muscle ready to snap. He smirked like he’d already won, like he could see every crack Sabrina and Alicia had carved into me.

Coach shoved between us, jabbing a finger into my chest. “Strathmore, get your head straight. I don’t care what girl dumped you, I don’t care what’s happening in your soap opera life out here, it’s baseball. You leave your drama at the gate, or you don’t walk back in. Got it?”

I swallowed hard, chest heaving. “Got it,” I muttered, though my eyes were still locked on Travis.

Coach glared at both of us. “You two want to throw punches, do it off my field. Otherwise, shut the hell up and play ball.”

Travis leaned close as Coach turned away, voice low enough only I could hear. “Guess the golden boy’s cracking after all. Kinda fun to watch.”

I clenched my fists so tight my knuckles burned. But I didn’t swing. Not yet because the truth was, he was right about one thing.

I was cracking and the only person who could glue me back together sure as hell didn’t want to see me right now.