“Are you worth something?” he asks. “Because right now, you’re worth nothing to me, Green.”
I wet my lips. “I am.” My throat closes tight. “I swear, Coach, I’m worth something.”
“In the last week, I’ve found out you got a girl pregnant, you’re not protecting your health, you got into a fight, and had another scare in the hospital. Tell me how that’s worth my time.”
My jaw clenches, my molars chattering as I see my future slip from my grasp. “I . . . I don’t fucking know.” I press my hand to my head, never feeling more worthless than in this moment.
Disik tips back in his chair. “Get the fuck out of my office,” he shouts.
I stand and go to the door, where I stop and look over my shoulder, seeing a disappointed Disik staring at my back. “I need someone to give me a second chance, Coach.”
His jaw works to the side. “You say that as if your girl is done with you.”
“She is,” I say softly.
“I see.” He tosses his pencil in his pencil holder and turns toward his computer. He moves his mouse around and then types something on his keyboard. I’m about to leave when he says, “When you come back from winter break, there better not be one fuck-up, or you’re done. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Fix it, Green. I’ve given you too many chances.”
“I know.”
He nods toward the door. “Now get the fuck out of here.”
I leave his office. Head down, I walk toward my locker as my teammates whisper in hushed tones. When I reach my locker, I sink back into the cubby and draw my legs to my chest. Hands propped on my knees, I lower my head.
An hour later, I dial the number I should have dialed before now.
“Hey son, how are you? How’s Harmony?” my dad says, and fuck it’s good to hear his voice.
“Dad, I fucked up. I think I lost Harmony. I think I lost her for good.”
“Tell me everything.”
And I do.
And I cry.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
HARMONY
“Celebratory donuts!” Priya says, coming into the house holding a box of Frankie Donuts. “And I got all plain glazed because it’s what you’ve been craving.” She sets down the box and then pulls out a jar of Nutella from her purse. “And for dipping purposes, some Nutella.” She flops on the couch next to me. “God, I’m such a good husband.”
I chuckle softly, but it falls flat on my ears. The last two weeks, Priya has been by my side, taking care of me, making sure I’m eating and taking my nausea medicine. She’s been there to hold my hand when I feel numb inside, which almost feels like every part of the day now. And she’s done her best to get me to smile, as well.
But even with her best efforts, every day that goes by that I don’t hear from Holt, the pain—the regret—digs deeper and deeper into my soul.
The last time I heard from him was at school, after class. And I’ve replayed that conversation over and over in my head, simmering over my words, mulling them over to the point that I’ve started to regret them. I’ve started to hate myself for saying them. I’m slowly breaking as I realize that the best thing that’s happened to me has vanished from my life.
And nothing can replace that.
Not Priya.
Not this baby.
Not even a quick-fix donut with Nutella for dipping.
I pushed him away and he listened.
There was no fight left in him, and I can’t be upset about that because I’m the one who said we were done.
I was the one who ended it.
I left him falling, tumbling to rock bottom with no way to climb back up.
Priya nudges my foot, which is when I notice she’s holding the box open to me.
“Oh, sorry.” I pick up a donut, but instead of taking a bite, I just hold it in my hand and stare at the blank TV.
“Uh, your face doesn’t scream celebrating finals are over.”
“Sorry.” I sigh. “I don’t really feel like celebrating.”
“Is this because you were supposed to go to New York for Christmas?”
Tears well in my eyes. “I miss him.” I shake my head, upset with myself. “I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have pushed him away. I was scared and upset. Fear clung to me that I cared so much about him, a man I’d built up as indestructible in my head. It terrified me. I should never have pushed him away.”
Priya takes a bite of her donut and says, “No, I think you did the right thing.”
“You think I should have broken up with him?”
“Oh yeah,” Priya says casually while opening up the Nutella jar. “Come on, take a dip.” She holds the jar out to me.
I don’t move. I stare at my friend, who doesn’t seem to be showing any emotional turmoil. Not that this is her life, but still, I thought she’d feel sad for me after my admission. She almost seems . . . happy.
“Did you not like Holt?” I ask her, confused.
“No, I love the guy.”
I blink a few times. “I’m confused.”
“You two needed to break up,” she says, taking another bite of her donut. “You needed a break from each other. It all happened too fast. You fell in love fast, you got pregnant way before you should have, and things were rolling at lightning speed. This breakup was needed so you can take a breather from the love whirlwind you were in.”
“Just because it happened fast doesn’t mean our feelings are any less validated,” I say, feeling defensive.
“Not saying they are. I’m saying this gives you a second to reflect. To pause. To realize if you really want a future with the man or if you were swept up into a tidal wave you weren’t expecting.” She turns toward me with a smile. “So, do you want him?”
“I . . .” Hell, she’s rendered me speechless. I never thought about it that way. To slow down, take a step back, and intently look at the relationship we created. The pull between us has never been this strong—hell, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this kind of pull with another human. When he’s around, I feel happy, exhilarated, challenged, and just . . . content. He’s changed the way I look at relationships, the give and take. He’s made me see that there’s more to life than just what you want. He showed me that you can want someone else’s dreams. That your goals can match up with someone else’s. He’s shown me what a partnership is, what a loving comradery can be. He’s shown me how I can love not just someone, but my best friend. He’s given me the opportunity to open my heart, and I know, deep in my soul, no one else will ever do that for me.
He’s also caused me pain. Made me doubt myself because he couldn’t be honest and open with me. Made me fear that he wasn’t taking his health seriously, which led to fear he wouldn’t take our future seriously. He leaps to anger too quickly. He’s irrational.
But here’s the thing. Am I perfect? Do I have everything together and react perfectly to every stressor thrown my way? No. I absolutely do not. Am I not irrational in different moments too?
Isn’t pain the correct response to things wrong in a relationship? Yes. But . . . that’s the sign that you love deeply.
And that’s when you dig deep to work through issues rather than running from them, allowing insecurities—and immaturity—to rule.
We can survive this. We can work harder to thrive.
“I want him,” I say with a whisper.
“Well, duh.” Priya rolls her eyes. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that.” She chuckles and leans back on the couch. “God, you guys are sickening.”
“What do you mean?”
Smiling, she says, “He texts me every day, multiple times a day.”
“What?” I sit taller. “You’ve been talking to him?”
“Yup. Boy has been doing some work in the last two weeks.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not my story to tell. But you know, I do believe he said he’s going to be down by the lake today. He leaves tomorrow for New Yo
rk and he wanted to at least feel close to you before he left, so he went to the tree where you had your first date.” Priya clutches her chest. “How romantic.”
“Wait, he told you that?”
She nods. “Oh yeah. The boy has been a freaking mess. I met up with him the other day. Never seen him so depressed. He grew a beard.”
“Stop. He did not.”
She slowly nods. “Yup. He’s Mr. Beard now. Really hot on him.”
I can see it in my head, and my gut churns even more from the mere thought of it. “Why did you meet up with him?”
“He wanted to give me your Christmas present. He assumed you weren’t going to bother opening it or see him over break. Wanted to give you space. But he plans on trying to talk to you after break.” Priya shrugs. “I don’t know, if it were me writing this story, I would have you two make up before winter break and not go on some crazy relationship hiatus. Remember that Hallmark movie where the couple was split up for eight years? What kind of crap is that? Basic torture from the screenwriters.” She snaps her finger. “Make up and give the people what they want.”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Getting sick of being the middleman. You two clearly want each other. You have some shit to work through but nothing that should keep you apart. For the love of God, end everyone’s misery and give us the happily ever after we’re expecting.”
“You think he’d want to see me?” I ask nervously.
She laughs. “Oh yeah. Trust me.”
I nervously nibble on the side of my cheek. “He’s down by the tree?”
“Yup.” She stands from the couch and heads to the entryway closet, where she pulls out a small box. She hands it to me and says, “It’s your Christmas present. Might be cool for him to see you open it.”
I clutch the box to my chest, impressed with the wrapping job, and look at my best friend.
“You think I should go?”
“I think you need to go.”
* * *
I put my car in park right next to Holt’s BMW. I glance out the window toward the tree and see his figure leaning against the trunk, a blanket underneath him. He’s wearing a backwards hat, and his shoulders look sunk in, depressed.
I know my posture would mirror his if I saw it.
With a deep breath, I exit my car with the present tucked under my arm, fix my winter hat over my ears, and walk toward him.
It isn’t until I’m a few feet away from him that he turns his head to the side, and that’s when I see his emerging beard, his sunken eyes, and the lost look on his face.
That is, until he registers it’s me standing above him. He quickly stands and adjusts his hat. “Harmony,” he says softly, almost in awe.
“Priya said you’d be here.”
Holt sees the present in my arms and I watch the little hope he had in his eyes disappear. “Oh, are you here to give me my present back?”
My heart clenches from the tone in his voice, the total despair rolling off him. Swallowing, I shake my head. “No. I came to see you.”
“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do, so I help him out.
“Maybe we can sit down and talk?”
“Sure, yeah.” He looks down at the blanket and says, “Is the blanket okay, or do you want to find a bench or go to my car? Are you cold? Are you feeling okay? Shit, I don’t have a drink or anything. Are you thirsty?”
God . . . I love him.
This is why I fell in love with him.
He’s so present. Observant. Caring.
“I’m good, and the blanket will be fine.”
“Okay.” He spreads out the blanket some more and offers me his hand to help me down. I slip my fingers over his, and his hand clasps around me tightly. He lets me have the tree trunk and then sits across from me, bringing his long legs against his chest. Eying me cautiously, he asks, “Are you really feeling okay?”
I nod. “Yes, the medicine has been working. I haven’t had any more morning sickness.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He shifts and clasps his hands together in front of his legs, holding them in place.
Awkward silence falls between us, and I honestly don’t know how to start this conversation. How do I go from pushing him away, to finding the right words to bring him back?
“I’ve been seeing someone,” he says, startling me.
“You . . . what?” I ask, my heart in my throat. “You’re seeing someone?”
His eyes widen and he quickly says, “A therapist. I’ve been seeing a therapist. Shit, sorry. That came out wrong.”
The panic that rose like a broken dam tamps down mildly. I was about to kill Priya for sending me here when he was seeing someone else.
“Oh,” I say, trying to appear casual, even though I’m torn up inside.
“Coach gave me his information. He’s been helping me work out some of the anxieties I have and has given me some tools to deal with my anger. I’ve only had three sessions, but we’re going to continue to talk over break through Zoom. I like him. He’s pretty cool.”
“That’s great,” I say.
“Yeah.” He glances at me. “I know . . .” He clears his throat. “I know you said it was over, and I get your reasoning after giving it a lot of thought and talking to Dr. Cotton about it, but I want you to know, I’m not ready to let you go. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let you go, but I want you to know my intentions.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m working on my anger and how to communicate better, because I want to be in your life, Harmony. And not just as the father of your baby, I want to be your man. I want to be the guy that earns the right to hold your hand, to call you baby. I want to be your partner, your cheerleader, your confidant. I want to hold you at night, remind you how loved you are, how fucking special you are. It’s not over for us, and that might scare you, but it can’t be fucking over for me.” He shakes his head and quietly says, “It can’t be over.”
I press my lips together and tell myself this is it.
This is where you take a leap.
You can either take back what you desperately want. Or you can chicken out and cower with fear. Either way, now is the time to make the decision.
I came out here for a reason, and even though being here, seeing him again, reminds me of the deep-rooted fear I have of something happening to him, I know I would rather sit with that fear than not have him at all.
“It’s not over, Holt.”
His head lifts, his eyes meeting mine. “It’s not?”
I shake my head as tears well in my eyes once again. I blame my insane hormones. “I came here to tell you I still love you and that I’m sorry for pushing you away when I should’ve held on to you tighter.”
“Fuck.” He presses his hand to his eye. “Are you serious, baby? Please tell me this isn’t a joke.”
“It’s not a joke.” I wipe a tear off my face. He takes the opportunity to scoot in closer and take my hand in his. “I love you, Holt. I’ll never stop loving you, and that terrifies me because something could happen to you. It scared me that something did happen to you.”
“I fucked up, Harmony. I fucked up and learned my lesson immediately. Losing you . . . it was a goddamn wakeup call. It was what I needed. I needed to know I could lose you, that what we have isn’t forever, that I need to work at it, that I need to not shoulder all the responsibility, but do it together, work as a team.” He kisses the back of my knuckles. “I’m just so protective when it comes to you. I now understand that I felt as if I needed to shield you from everything, when in reality, you’re right. You don’t need that. And in some ways, you’re the one who’s protecting me.”
“We protect each other, Holt.”
He kisses my hand again while he holds onto it tightly. “We do.” Looking me in the eyes, he says, “Please tell me again.”
“It isn’t over.”
“Hell yeah.” He lets out a big breath. “Can I hug you?”
I lift up onto my knee
s and push his legs down to straddle him. His hands go around my waist, and he leans his forehead against mine.
“Fuck, I thought I’d lost you forever.”
My hands float up to the back of his neck and I grip him tightly, holding him in place. “I’m sorry. I should have talked to you instead of pushing you away.”
He shakes his head. “We needed this time. I needed a moment to check myself.” He lifts up and looks me in the eyes. “I knew I wanted you, but now I know you’re a necessity in my life. I can’t do this life thing without you, baby. I don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to either,” I say as his hands travel up my back.
“I love you, Harmony.”
“I love you,” I reply right as his mouth descends on mine.
The roughness of his beard is a new addition to delight in as I get lost in his lips, in the way his mouth takes control of mine.
Possessive.
Territorial.
Claiming what’s his.
This is how I want him to express those feelings—through kisses, through affection. Not through anger. I melt into his hold, into his touch, and when his tongue swipes against my lower lip, I open up for him, matching each and every stroke until he pulls away and cups my cheeks.
“Fuck, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
“You and me, that’s all we need. You and me.”
“And the baby.”
He smiles against my lips. “And the baby.” He lays me back on the blanket and moves his hand down to my stomach. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m much better now,” I answer.
His smile nearly splits me in two. I love this man. I couldn’t live without him in my life. This cocky, sure-of-himself man whittled his way into my world, broke down my walls, and quickly took up residence in my heart. If, at the beginning of the summer, you had told that I would fall in love with a Brentwood baseball player, I would have told you you were crazy. That any athlete who wanted to date me would strike out, but somehow, someway, Holt Green was made for me.
The Strike Out Page 28