20. Freya

"Nice one!" I yell, clapping and cheering as Jackson runs to first base. He's not much of a hitter, but in an effort to be supportive, I like to celebrate his wins.

Jackson turns to look into the stands and winks at me. I wave at him and give him a thumbs-up.

I'm not really sure what the worst part of all of this is — if it's that Jackson hasn't been giving me any attention lately, or that I'm actually kind of getting into baseball. I think I understand what Matt sees in it now.

He would be so excited to be here right now. It sucks that Jackson has an open practice on a weekday, and Matt absolutely begged me to let him take the day off, but I told him that his studies should be more important than stalking my boyfriend. The word slipped out before I could think, and by the time I'd said it, it was too late to take it back.

Matt didn't really make a big deal of it. If anything, he acted like I was telling him something he already knew. A huge wave of embarrassment washed over me anyway.

Anyway, seeing Jackson like this, running around and beaming, throwing the ball with such ease and precision, his mind totally focused on the game — all that makes me forgive him for how little we've been hanging out lately. There is no doubt at all that this is his natural habitat, and seeing him thrive makes my heart soar.

It doesn't entirely take away the sting, but it does help.

And it's not like I haven't been kind of petty lately too by leaving him on read for slightly longer than necessary and pretending not to see his calls. I know it's wrong, but he's doing the same thing to me and it hurts. I just thought we were building something together, that's all. For a second, I just really believed that he wanted me.

The coach brings all the players together in a huddle, like a gaggle of geese, then waves his arms around animatedly for a while, pointing and flapping and yelling words I can't make out. At last, he gives a big nod in what I can only assume is approval, and the players scatter off the field towards the changing room.

All but one of them do, anyway.

Jackson runs up to the stands and calls out to me, "Hey! Come down! Let me introduce you to the guys."

I raise both eyebrows dubiously, and he waves encouragingly, so I get up out of my seat, jumping in surprise at the snap of the plastic chair swinging shut, and make my way down the narrow steps to the front barrier.

Jackson helps me hop over it, and I linger in his arms for a heartbeat longer than I should. "Matt will be so jealous of me," I say. "I wish he could be here."

"Me too," says Jackson. "Maybe next time. He's always invited."

"Don't tell him that — he'll hold you to it till the end of time."

"And so he should. What young man doesn't like baseball?"

I give him another dubious look but decide against saying anything else. I don't want to take the wind out from under his wings, not when he looks so happy.

A bunch of the guys come to crowd around us, and I smile at them as best I can. "So, this is Max, Hopkins, Huan, and Roberto. Guys, this is my girlfriend, Freya."

"Nice to meet you," I say, a hot blush creeping over the back of my neck. Did he really just call me his girlfriend? In front of people? When we're not official and haven't ever talked about it?

Girlfriendis a big word for what I am to him. But then again, by now hasn't enough time passed that we are something more than just casual friends with benefits? We really have to talk about this one of these days. Right now is not the time, though.

"Where you from, girl?" asks Roberto, offering me his hand.

I take it and let go as fast as I can. "I'm as local as you can get," I say. "Born and raised in the next town over, and I work in the hospital on Hamilton Street."

"Oh, the big one," he says, nodding.

"It's pretty big." I laugh, mostly to cover for how intense and awkward this interrogation is. If I'd known I'd be getting the big introduction, I'd have worn a nicer shirt.

"So, you're the nurse who stalked Jackson all the way back to his house," sneers Max, looking down on me with the most judgmental eyes you can imagine.

"Well, I wouldn't say stalked," I say, touching my face nervously. "Just went above and beyond in the duty of care."

"And," interrupts Huan, "he told us that you didn't even know who he was! Are you for real?"

"Not everyone loves baseball, you know," I say, clenching my fist to stop myself from snapping. This is Jackson's team. These are his friends. I want to make a good impression.

"True, but everyone likes a baseball player, especially a hot one like Jackson."

Jackson laughs, waving his hands at them to try and calm them down a little. I'm not sure if it's flattering or not that Jackson has been talking about me behind my back. At least he seems to have been saying nice things, even if the truth has been exaggerated here and there. I've said things to my friends too. We're not a secret.

But I did think we were a little more private than the showing Jackson is making of me now. He wraps a possessive arm around me, and I get a little glimpse into the person he's known for being. An ass.

Right now, I'm just a little thing to hang from his arm and make him look good. It's a million miles away from the Jackson I've been getting to know, and it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

"Anyway, Frey, we can't stay very long because me and the boys are going out for drinks. It was good to see you, though."

It takes my brain a second to catch up with the fact that "Do you want to come?" wasn't included in that sentence anywhere. It's not that he owes me anything — and not even that I want to go — but it would have been nice to be asked. Would it have been awkward as all hell being interrogated by at least a dozen men who have only heard rumors about me? Sure, it would.

But he said it himself. I'm his girlfriend. And he doesn't want to spend any time with me.

He pulls me into another hug and kisses me chastely on the lips before saying goodbye and turning away, leaving me standing there in his world, abandoned for the game that he loves so much, breaking my heart right down the middle.

This hurts more than it should.

I walk back out to my car and just sit in it for a long while, not even bothering to turn on the engine as my thoughts churn inside my skull. I think I know what I have to do. I hate it, but it's for the best.

It's too painful to consider, and I'm going to give him a chance to settle. He's not been back to playing for long; there's still time for things to go back to normal. Except… I have the cold feeling that this is the normal, and I don't have much of a place in it. I think I have to face facts.

Something has to change, or I have to break up with Jackson Kerr.