25. Jackson

CHAPTER 25

JACKSON

TWO HOURS EARLIER

I swear that whatever Freya has done to me, it's like she's put a curse on me. I check my phone every forty seconds to see if she's replied to me yet, but I haven't even got any read receipts on it. She is totally ghosting me. Matt's read my message, but he hasn't replied either. Why?

This whole thing is making me feel insane. Why won't Freya answer me? I hope she's okay. I hope she's not off partying, celebrating the fact that she never has to see me again. But I also hope she's not upset by it all.

Oh, I just don't know what to think! This sucks.

I don't want to be pushy, but it's been three days and nobody has said a word to me — and I haven't even double-texted either of them. I've thought about it, but I haven't done it. That means it's definitely time for another thoughtless act.

I pull up Freya's contact and text her quickly, Hope everything's okay before I can back out of it. Unfortunately, habit makes me put a kiss at the end of that text. Urgh, I should not have done that . Too late to take it back now.

I don't really know what I'm expecting after that. Well, I do. I'm expecting a response. And I don't get one.

I have training in the afternoon, and I spend all day trying to forget everything and focus on playing ball. I throw some great pitches and some shit ones and try not to let all the creeping doubts about being ready to win the World Series snake into my brain. I know these thoughts are part of the reason I'm playing so badly.

But at least some of it is Freya, too.

After practice, I get to the changing room and immediately run for my phone to check it. Still nothing. Maybe she's dead. No, she can't be. I've seen her posting on social media. Maybe she's getting back at me for all those times that I ignored her in favor of playing ball. I get how she feels now.

It absolutely sucks.

And, yeah, she doesn't owe me a response but I still would like one, at least to know that she's alive — and so I can tell her I've learned my lesson. To tell her that, okay, baseball is always going to be important to me, but that I would think harder before letting it consume me.

Would that even be good enough, though?

In another act of almost complete thoughtlessness, I pull up Matt's contact and decide to text him as well. Hey, haven't heard from you in a few days. Just wondered if you were all okay . As soon as the message sends, I feel like a complete idiot. Is this really what my life has come to? Chasing a girl through her brother?

I get changed and have a hot, hot shower, ignoring the other guys yelling at me about wasting water. They can cope. I don't get out until I hear utter silence in the changing room so I can towel off and get changed in peace. I take my time with it all, not wanting to be disturbed, enforcing some screen-free time to try and clear my thoughts.

Then I drive home, doing my absolute best not to think about any of it. The last thing I want is to die texting and driving, so I leave my phone well hidden in my bag. My fingers are itching for it, but I will be responsible. I will. There's nothing that can't wait ten more minutes.

The second I pull into my garage, I grab my phone, unlocking it before the door has even shut. Matt has read the message but not replied. All right, that's it. Without really thinking, I slam the call button, furious for no reason.

Matt picks up pretty quickly. "Hi, Jackson," he says, disinterested, like he's being forced to call an uncle he doesn't like for Christmas.

"Matt. How are you?" I say, trying to infuse my very best charm into the phone line.

"Good. How are you?"

"Fine," I lie. "How's Freya?"

He cuts straight to the point. "You do realize that if a girl doesn't want to talk to you, it's because she doesn't want to talk to you — right?"

"No, I know," I say, feeling the conversation spiraling out of control. Desperately, I try and claw it back. "I'm just worried about her, that's all. Neither of you replied about the tickets. I don't know if you want to come." It's a pretty weak reason to pretend to be calling, I realize as the words slip out my mouth.

I'm certain Matt sees right through it too, but he indulges me. "I would love to come. Thank you so much for the offer. I don't know if Freya will, though. Baseball's not really her thing."

"I know," I laugh. "She tried her best when she came to training, but she was so confused."

"She knows the basics and that's about it," Matt says. I can hear him crack into a smile, and suddenly I feel like I can turn this around again.

"Yeah!" An awkward moment of silence passes where I can hear Matt's breathing, and I'm sure he can hear mine, and I know it's my turn to speak but I'm scrambling to find the words. "Look, Matt, I'm not trying to get back in her pants or anything, okay? But could you just tell her to shoot me a thumbs-up or something, just so I can stop worrying that she's dead?"

"She's not dead," Matt replies dryly.

"Will you please just ask her to text me back? I want to tell her I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I don't know how much she's gossiped about me. But you probably know that I should have been better for her. I just want to tell her I'm sorry for that. I'm not asking her to take me back. I just wanted to know that she deserves the best. I don't want us to have ended on a bad note." The honesty tries to stick to my tongue, but I force it out anyway.

Matt hums in consideration. "All right. I'll tell her. But I'm not promising anything. And if she doesn't call you back, please don't call me again. You know I'll side with her no matter what, so it's pointless trying to get me to do your dirty work. Okay?"

"Okay," I say feeling disturbingly humbled by the teenager. I consider telling him that I miss him too, but I think that would be too far given the conversation we just had. "Either way, I'll get you those tickets, yeah? It's the least I can do."

I can hear Matt break into a smile. "Thanks, Jackson. You're the best." He catches himself as he's saying it, but it's too late. The words slip out.

I decide not to hold him hostage on the phone any longer because if I do, I'll be smug and that'll ruin everything. "I'll see you around, kid," I say, and hang up before I can say anything else.

He texts me two minutes later, as soon as I reach my living room. Just got home. I'll talk to her now.

I send him back a thumbs-up and flop onto the sofa, my heart pounding.

"Girl troubles?" Maria asks, leaning over me and making me jump.

"None of your business!" I snap, which answers her question for her.

She hums, sticking your nose up into the air with an air of triumph. We might not be all that close, but it's pretty hard for a woman who's washed your underwear not to know all your dark secrets.

"Stop trying so hard," she says. "If you want my advice?—"

I cut her off. "I didn't ask."

"Yes, but you'll take it. What's meant to be will be. If she wants you back, she'll take you. And if she doesn't, leave her alone!"

I throw up both of my hands. "Okay!" I say. "Message received." I give a salute, and she laughs, shaking her head before drifting back off to her work.

It's only as she leaves that I realize I feel the lightest I have in days. What's meant to be will be. It damn well always is.