Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

Drake

"Well, Les, splitting this road trip isn't the worst outcome. On the bright side, Rick Bosley's bat is still on fire, though Drake Gunner seems to have cooled off a bit."

"Yeah, Joe, and about Gunner—word just came in that our star catcher is scratched for the next game. Let's hope it's unrelated to that rough collision at the plate."

"No updates from the locker room yet, so we'll just have to keep our fingers crossed and wait for more news."

"Looking ahead, Kaplan will take the mound when we return to Boston. This is Les..."

"And Joe."

"And we'll see you in Boston."

That went over well.

I fling my phone aside and collapse onto my couch. Pissing off women seems to be my specialty. And boy, did I anger Miranda.

What am I even doing?

I have a perfectly hot girlfriend who checks all the boxes: beautiful, successful in her own right, driven, and sweet. Sweetness may be a stretch, but she started that way. Yet, with all of her attributes, she isn't who I want. Not by a long shot.

Which is why I told her not to come over.

After turning her down before I left and my return, she should be on the warpath by now. Probably plotting my demise with one of her designer heels. And I can't blame her. We haven't had sex since my eyes landed on Lila.

Miranda deserves more. She deserves a boyfriend whose mind isn't tangled up in thoughts of another woman.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to regain focus on what's important: baseball, contract, girlfriend.

After this week's performance at the plate, I need to rethink the third option. I didn't play my best during this away trip, and I know it has everything to do with my personal life. I need to set my mind straight. The last thing I want to do is fuck up my potential contract.

Perhaps in desperation to have someone, I latched onto the first shiny object. But damn it, I saw something in Miranda. Or I thought I had. It wasn't until we spent the day at the park with Jake that I glimpsed her true self. She revealed her true colors when she mistreated Lila while she was sick.

Nope, Miranda and I are not a good fit. She seems blinded by the stars in her eyes, though I'm not sure she cares. Miranda seems to value security over love. And I get that, but after talking to Lila, it became clear to me that I do not love Miranda. I had thought we would grow into more, but that chance died once Lila stepped back into my life. I can't move forward until she's back in my arms, where she belongs.

I don't want to hurt Miranda, but stringing her along is more painful. She might hate me, but eventually, she'll see that this is for the best. I need to do it soon. Too many hearts are already on the line here.

But how am I going to tell Miranda? I wrestle with the right words, the right time, the right way to break things off. But no scenario seems good enough. I want to protect her feelings, yet I can't deny mine any longer.

If only they didn't live together.

I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. Why does this have to be so damn complicated?

My phone buzzes, breaking my train of thought. I pick it up, half expecting Miranda's name to flash on the screen. But it's not Miranda.

It's a text from Lila.

Lila: "Miranda confronted me about our past. All I told her was we were good friends. It didn't go well."

For a moment, I just stare at the message. I reread the words. And again. It didn't go well. Of course, it didn't. Nothing ever goes well for Lila and me.

Damn it. Miranda must've headed straight to Lila after talking to me. But what warranted this response?

I tap a quick response, my fingers shaking slightly.

Me: What do you mean, didn't go well?

The message is marked as read almost instantly. And then … nothing. No typing notification. No immediate response.

Fuck .

I toss the phone onto the coffee table and run a hand through my hair, pulling at the roots. Instant regret. I grab my injured side and breathe through the pain as I wait. The silence is deafening, every second stretching out like an hour, the ticking of the clock from the kitchen wall sounding like a bomb countdown.

When another minute passes and I decide I've had enough waiting, my phone buzzes again.

Lila: She's mad at me. Warned me to stay away. Not that it would be a problem. But I can't have my roommate pissed at me. I need this apartment.

I replay the words, "Not that it would be a problem."

What does she mean by that?

I stare at the text for what seems like an eternity before replying, words failing me for the first time in a long time. How can I break up now? I can't chance Miranda doing something stupid.

My jaw clenches as I type the message, "I'll fix this."

I'm unsure what I meant by that, but I know I must make things right. Otherwise, my presence will harm Lila and Jake, and I can't have that on my conscience.

A knock at the door drags me from my thoughts. I don't bother getting up or pretending I'm not home. They should get the message. But the knocking persists. It's loud and insistent, punching through the silence of my apartment.

"Alright, alright!" Startled, I rose from the couch and dragged myself to the door, irritated at the interruption of my self-loathing.

I swing open the door and am met with Rappel's smirking face.

"Don't you have a house to attend to?" I ask, holding my side.

"You look like shit, Gunner." He doesn't wait for an invitation. He just breezes past me into my apartment.

"Well, come on in," I mumble bitterly.

"And to answer your question, I live in an apartment and hire a housekeeper who cooks. I'm free all the time."

"Just my luck."

"Watch it, or I'll start to think you don't want me around."

I lift my eyebrows.

"Fuck off. I'm your best friend."

What's sad is he isn't wrong. He's the closest thing I have to a friend after I gave up on them after I got stabbed in the back.

Rappel walks straight to the fridge and grabs an energy drink.

"By all means, make yourself at home."

"Thanks. I will." He takes a few swigs before addressing the real reason he showed. "Came to check on you after the coach's talk. You doing okay?"

An unexpected lightness hits my chest. No other teammate has ever asked about my well-being, and no one has ever tried to get close enough to care. "I'll survive."

"It's pure bullshit, you know that, right?"

Coach pulled me aside when we returned and told me he was pulling me from rotation tomorrow. It's only for the day, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out why. Kaplan is pitching and must've whined about using someone else. Fucking crybaby.

"Yeah, I know."

"Are you sure there wasn't a prior beef with Dior?" Rappel asks.

"Not that I'm aware of." I shrug but then wince. My body could use an extra day to heal, but I don't want it. I want to play. "I don't know where his hatred for me comes from."

Rappel frowns. "Maybe he's pissed you took Rob's place. That was his friend. Don't worry. You're still one of the best we've got."

His words do little to ease my troubled mind. The game—this is my turf. This is where I should be shining, not sitting on the sidelines while someone else takes my place. But right now, my place in the team feels as uncertain as my relationship with Miranda … and Lila.

I grab the water from the fridge and slump back onto the couch. Rappel sits down next to me, crossing a leg over his knee. Despite our jesting banter, I know he's genuinely concerned.

From how his brows furrow, I know he's about to bombard me with a barrage of questions.

"What's going on, Drake? You seem … distracted lately."

Distracted is an understatement. I'm fucking torn apart by guilt and uncertainty. I want Lila, but I can't have her with Miranda still in the picture.

"I screwed up," I confess.

"With Miranda or Lila?"

"Both."

Rappel's deep sigh sounds like he's carrying this burden with me. "You fucked both of them?"

"What? No!"

He tosses his hands up. "History, bruh."

"Fuck off. Quit pretending like you know me. I wasn't that bad."

"Then what's going on?"

He's a goddamn physiological genius because he has me wanting to spill my guts when I never talk about this shit. I delve into the entire horrid tale. He winces when I come to the part about Miranda threatening to kick Lila out of the apartment.

"You're in a tough spot, Gunner."

"No shit," I mutter.

"I mean, I've got your back, bro. That's what teammates do." Rappel's assurance might be comforting in another situation, but right now, it feels like a weight atop the mountain that is already on my shoulders.

I drain the rest of my water and toss the empty bottle toward the trash can in the corner, missing by a mile. It clatters onto the wooden floor. A perfect metaphor for my personal life—trying to aim right and missing every time.

"I appreciate it, Rappel. But I don't think there's much you can do in this mess," I say, running a hand over my face. The rugged stubble adds to my weariness.

Rappel shrugs. "You never know until you try."

He plants his feet back on the floor and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Look, Gunner. Maybe it's about time you decide what you actually want."

I scoff at that. "And what if what I want isn't possible?"

"That's rarely the case," he replies with a shrug. "Most times, we just convince ourselves it's impossible because we're scared … scared of change, scared of getting hurt."

Silence fills the room as his words sink in. They ring like a bell inside my head—loud and clear.

"Yeah," I finally whisper. "Maybe you're right."

Rappel claps me on the shoulder before standing up to leave. He looks over his shoulder as he opens the door.

"Just remember," he says with a smirk. "You need to decide—sooner rather than later."

He's right. But what he doesn't know is that I already have. I just need to get the timing down so I don't hurt them more than I already have.