With every ring that goes unanswered, I feel my entire future drift further and further away. When the call goes to voicemail, I listen to her sweet voice asking people to leave a message and to make sure they’re recycling. Bile rises in my throat, and I tamp it down as the beep sounds off in my ear.
“Babe, Kinsley, it’s . . . it’s me. I . . . fuck, I need to talk to you.” I bury my head in my hand. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. Please just call me back.”
I hang up and stare at my phone. Trying to figure out what she might be doing. Did she already move out?
Jesus Christ, did she go back to her parents’ house?
It’s not like she had anywhere else to go.
I claw at my hair now, pulling on it as worry wracks through me. Not only did I push her—physically pushed her—I left her with no other option to leave everything. Her job . . . she has nowhere to go.
Christ.
I quickly text her.
Maddox: Kinsley, please call me. I’m so sorry. I fucked up and hell, I just need to talk to you. Please call or text.
I set my phone down on my lap and steeple my hands together, resting my chin on my fingers as I take deep breaths.
How could I have been so blind, so deaf to her explanation?
I think back to my birthday night, the worry in her eyes, the confusion, and then when I accused her . . . the hurt. I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to see her as the culprit, the one who was wrong.
The one who made horrible conclusions.
She did nothing wrong and when she tried to tell me, when she tried to explain, I didn’t listen.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter just as my phone beeps with a text.
I unlock my phone at lightning speed.
It’s from her. Thank God.
Kinsley: I’m out of the apartment. I left the key with the doorman. I’m done too.
Oh fuck.
I stumble through replying, my mind whirling, my heart cracking into a million pieces. I fucked up so bad, so fucking bad. All I can think about is if we’ll be able to get through this.
Maddox: Kinsley, I’m sorry. Please, go back to the apartment. We can talk through this.
I push send and feel her slip further away, as if she’s falling out of my grasp, and I can’t seem to hold on.
Kinsley: You made it quite clear that inviting me here was a mistake. Message received.
I type back so fast my fingers can’t seem to catch up with my brain.
Maddox: I was drunk. I was an idiot. I . . . fuck, Kinny, I said some stupid shit. Please. Please tell me I can fix this.
As the dots appear, I don’t breathe. I don’t move. My future weighs heavily on what she says next.
Kinsley: You made yourself clear when you left without talking to me, telling me to shut up, breaking up with me, and then ordering me to leave your place. You broke my heart, Maddox. You broke it into irreparable pieces.
“Fuck,” I say, tears starting to well in my eyes.
Maddox: Please call me.
When she doesn’t respond, I call her myself and when she doesn’t answer, I text her again.
Maddox: Kinsley, Jesus, please just talk to me. Tonight, after the game, please just hear me out.
No response.
Maddox: Baby, please. I’m begging you.
Nothing.
Maddox: Kinny . . . babe. Please, I need you. I’m so fucking sorry.
Still nothing. And when we’re told to hit the field and I check my phone one last time and see no response, I know . . .
I fucking know it’s over.
Irreparable pieces, that’s what my entire life has been. A broken man burst into irreparable pieces and the only person who came close to making me whole again, I just pushed out of my life with one cruel assumption.
* * *
“Stop fucking babying me,” I say to Lincoln, pushing him away and then stumbling into the wall of the hallway just as we step off the elevator to our floor.
“I wouldn’t baby you if you acted like a goddamn adult.”
“Fuck off,” I say, straightening up, but seeing two hallways in front of me. If only the alcohol would help me forget the pain coursing through my veins.
“Wish I could,” Lincoln mumbles under his breath, as I push past him and down the hall where I spot two girls—I think there’s two—waiting near our doors.
“Hey boys, good game,” the blonde says.
“Another win in the books,” the redhead adds.
They’re both barely covered by their dresses. Their hair and makeup are done to the extreme. They have cleat chasers written all over them.
“Are you looking for some company tonight?” I pause, and check out the blonde, giving her a slow scan from head to toe. Then I look over at the redhead, taking in her ample breasts and brown eyes. Different enough that I could escape for just a night.
I nod at the redhead and say, “Room twelve fourteen.” Her eyes light up and she starts to walk toward me when Lincoln cuts in, hand to my chest.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
I glance down at his hand and then back at him. “Unless you want to get physical, I suggest you take your hand off me.”
“No.” Lincoln doesn’t back down.
“Move,” I say, tasting the whiskey on my tongue.
Lincoln leans in closer and says, “If you take that girl back to your room, expect to never see Kinsley again . . . ever. There is no returning from that.”
“She’s already told me our relationship is irreparable. Doesn’t fucking matter.” I push past him, my shoulder bumping into his as I walk up to the redhead and slip my arm around her waist, guiding her down the hallway.
She smells of cheap perfume, and there are fake tan streaks on her legs, but at this point, it doesn’t fucking matter. I just need to get lost, to let my mind forget about Kinsley for one goddamn second.
“Maddox.” My shoulder is pulled back and when I turn around, all I see is a fist coming at my face.
And that’s the last thing I remember before I black out.
* * *
“You got him good,” I hear Cory say.
“That’s makeup worthy.” Jason’s voice rings through my hotel room, his mouth stuffed with something.
“Some of my finest work,” Lincoln says just before I’m poked in the ass with something. “Wake up, sunshine.”
I grumble something I can’t even make out and then shield my eyes as I turn over in bed. My jeans are still on, as well as my shirt from last night. My face is aching with pain I’m welcoming at the moment, and my retinas nearly melt into my eye sockets from the sun shining through the hotel windows.
“What . . . the . . . fuck?” I ask, shielding my face and trying to sit up as my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton and my head spins like I’m on a Tilt-A-Whirl.
“I would keep a six-foot radius from the beast, boys,” Lincoln says, waving a bat in front of me. “Boy didn’t brush his teeth last night. I’m sure his breath could peel the skin off your face.”
I sit up and rub my eye, except that’s the eye that’s throbbing. “Ahhh, shit,” I cry out, gripping my head.
“Yeah, you have a shiner. I suggest you wear some makeup today on the mound.”
Fuck, am I really pitching today? All the days on this away trip have melted together.
“We brought you food,” Jason says. “Not going to lie, dug into the croissants and jam while you were drooling on your pillow.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “If this is an intervention, I’m not interested.”
“Not an intervention,” Lincoln says, handing me a drink concoction that I can only assume is a hangover cure. I take it down in one large gulp and let the immediate shiver rock up my spine as I cough a few times, the burning in the back of my throat unexpected. “Threw in a little extra Tabasco sauce for being an idiot last night.”
I stand from the bed and all three guys take a step back. I
wobble on my feet and steady my breath as I try to make my way to the bathroom.
“If that’s it, I’m taking a piss and a long-ass shower.”
“That’s not it,” Cory says. “You’re going to be followed religiously until we get home, so you don’t make a dumb mistake like you almost did last night.”
“Drinking too much?” I scoff. “I’ll be fine on the mound.”
“We’re not talking about pitching,” Jason says, a serious tone to his voice. “Dude, you almost took a girl back to your room.”
I pause, my pursuit to the bathroom on hold as I turn toward them. “What?”
“Christ,” Lincoln says, head dropping back. “Maddox, you’re drinking is out of fucking control if you can’t remember that. Cleat chasers in the hall. You were steps away from taking one into your hotel room. The reason you have a black eye is because I punched you. It was the only way I knew how to stop you.”
I mull it over.
What would I have done if I woke up this morning with a random girl in my bed?
I shake my head. What the fuck would it have mattered?
I’m done too. You broke my heart, Maddox. You broke it into irreparable pieces.
Once Kinsley’s made up her mind about something, there’s no changing it. She’s tenacious. She’s so fucking strong-willed. I’ve known that for over twenty years, because in all that time, no matter what, she’s stayed by my side. My friend. My . . . everything. So, no matter what . . . she won’t change her mind now. And I hurt her physically. I saw her fear . . . of me. I’m done too. She’s done. It’s over.
It’s all over.
“Stay out of my business,” I say, before going into my bathroom and slamming the door. I turn the fan on to drown out their voices and lean against the sink, facing the mirror.
Once again, I stare down my refection. My eyes look even more sunken than before, now decorated in black and blue. Well, one of them is, and there seems to be no life to my face, as if overnight someone sucked any last ounce of my soul from my body, leaving me with a shell of a body.
Sick of my reflection, I flip on the shower, strip down, and then lean over the toilet, relieving myself as I lean against the wall in front of me.
Shit, I’m in pain.
I’m in no mood to pitch.
And I can feel a storm brewing over my head, ready to explode.
There’s a good chance it’s going to explode tonight, on the mound.
* * *
My mind is blank.
Completely blank.
The crowd erupts in cheers as we enter the third inning. I’ve given up two hits, no runs, and I’ve already pegged two guys. One by accident, one on purpose, because I fucking felt like it.
We’re up by two runs thanks to Cory’s massive bomb over the fence.
And even though I should be in the zone right now, I should be feeling good, going to my tunnel vision, I can’t focus.
I don’t see anything in my mind like I normally do.
There are no pictures of Kinsley laughing with that gorgeous smile. There are no images of Kinsley cuddled up on the couch with Herman. And the drawing I committed to memory of her naked, lying across my floor? It’s unreachable. I can’t focus on it, I can’t . . . fuck, I can’t remember it.
It’s driving me crazy.
Because there’s one image I keep picturing, one that’s haunting me over and over again.
Kinsley, in a yellow dress, on the floor, tears in her eyes . . . after I pushed her to the ground.
It churns my gut.
Heightens my self-loathing.
Ramps up my anger to the point that all I’m seeing is red. Red everywhere.
Batters are mere shadows, waiting for my wrath.
The fans are taunting, ramping up the rage pulsing through my veins.
And the alcohol I can still taste on my tongue from the shot I took before I walked out on the field, a ruthless reminder of how the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
The emotions, the fury, the loss of the best thing that ever happened to me? It’s colliding at once into a giant burst that pounds at the back of my eyes, throbs through what’s left of my soul. It’s building and building and building.
I need the release.
I need the pain.
I need to forget.
Staring Jason down, I set my hands, wind my arm back, and plunge forward off the mound, plunking the batter dead in the arm.
His bat is thrown.
“You want a piece of me,” he yells, and immediate relief washes over me as I go through the motions.
I toss my glove as he charges.
And when he reaches me, we tackle to each other. I hold my ground, punching him directly in the head. The crack of my fist to his jaw feels like an immense release I’ve been holding on to. When he pummels me in the ribs, I welcome the ripple of pain.
Fuck . . . finally.
This was exactly what I needed.
Just keep hitting me.
I deserve it all.
And then I can forget.
Forget it all.
Whack.
Chapter Twenty-Three
KINSELY
“Thank you for helping me move my things, Marcy,” I say as I set my bag down on the kitchen counter of my new living situation. “I really didn’t have a lot to move.”
“I know, but it’s never fun to move things yourself. And I wanted to make sure you were settled.”
I glance around the three-bedroom apartment I’ll be staying in for the next two months, counting my lucky stars. After Maddox shook me to my core, I went into work the next day, tried my hardest to keep it together, but failed miserably. Marcy found me crying in the corner of an empty kennel, clutching a broom to my chest. It was a low point for me. She helped me off the floor, took me to her office, and asked me what was going on. I then proceeded to have verbal diarrhea and tell her everything that happened with Maddox, how he ordered me to leave his apartment, and if I didn’t find a place to live soon, I’d have to leave the shelter. She patted my hand and said we’d figure something out.
That day, I packed up and moved into a pet-friendly hotel for a few days, something that bit into my savings, but I had to get out of Maddox’s apartment, away from his scent, from the memories, from all his things that kept triggering my empty heart to feel again. After two days at the hotel, Marcy told me about a foster parent who’s been wanting to spend time with their grandbabies in Germany—military family—but hasn’t been able to find someone to take care of the animals. Marcy offered up my help, given I needed a place to sleep, and I’m clearly good with animals.
And to be honest, it feels like an oasis from the mental anguish and absolute heartbreak I’ve been suffering through the last few days. Serene, with white walls and splashes of moss green, the apartment is beautifully decorated, giving me spa-like vibes. It has a beautiful view of Lake Michigan and it’s right across from a cute dog park called Wiggley Field, with plenty of walking trails.
For the first time in days, I can take a small breath and not feel like I’m slowly dying inside.
And the dogs I’m watching? Total dolls. Two chihuahuas named Taco and Bella, who unfortunately lost their parents in a car accident. They’re a little skittish, but they’ve taken to Herman immediately, hence the three of them snuggling on a dog bed together. I think of taking a picture of all three of them, one chihuahua under one of Herman’s floppy ears.
“How are you doing?” Marcy asks.
I refill the dogs’ water and shrug. “Not great. I try not to think about it, distract myself with other things.” Like dog photo shoot ideas.
“You know you can talk about it with me. I might be your boss, but I’m a human as well. I can tell when someone’s hurting.”
And just like that, tears start to well in my eyes. I’ve never been able to hold back emotions. I’ve always worn them on my sleeve, and even though I want to look like I’m brave right now, all I can think about i
s how I’ve hit rock bottom.
I walk over to the couch and sit down, taking a tissue from the box on the coffee table to dab at my eyes. Marcy joins me and quietly waits for me.
“I’m . . . I’m.” I hiccup a sob and try to control my breathing. Even in, even out. “I’m just so incredibly sad.”
“Oh honey.” Marcy pulls me into a hug and rubs my back.
“I don’t mean to cry on you,” I say, but not letting go of the embrace, one I desperately needed. “But I’ve never felt so alone. I lost my best friend, and that hurts more than anything because he was the one I would lean on during times like this. He was the person I called when my heart was broken, when I was feeling like I couldn’t control this downward spiral, and he always helped me through it. But I can’t call him now. I can’t seek out his comfort.”
“I can understand that completely.” She continues to rub my back. “Losing that lifeline of communication almost feels like a death.”
“Exactly.” I pull away and wipe at my tears. Glancing down at my lap, I say, “I loved him so much, more than life itself, and I would have done anything for that man.” I shake my head. “And he just pushed me away, without a fleeting glance. Gone. Done. Get out of my life. He was so . . . cruel.”
More tears flood my cheeks and I dab at them with the tissue.
Marcy takes my hand in hers and with a caring tone, she asks, “Any other texts? Phone calls?”
I shake my head. “No, but then again, it’s not like I continued the line of communication after his last texts. And honestly, I couldn’t bear to talk to him at this point. It’s as if he took over twenty years of friendship and unapologetically and ruthlessly threw it away, as if it didn’t matter. He . . .” Destroyed me. “He hurt me.”
“Oh Kinsley, I’m so sorry. If you need some time off, I would be happy to—”
I shake my head. “No, I need to be with the animals. I need to keep busy.”
She nods and looks off to the side. “I know I shouldn’t mention it, but did you happen to catch the game last night?”
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