25. Blake

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Blake

When I got ready this morning, I tried to be quiet in case Shira was still sleeping. No light came from under the guest room door. If I'd known she was leaving, I would have at least woken her up. And said what, exactly?

Now she might be gone. She left home and hasn't been back even though it's clear the distance hurts her. She must be hurting now if she's leaving again.

I'm still hurting too—I thought I could trust her and Felix. I thought I could show them all of myself, that it would finally, finally be okay. But they were lying to me, and it's the lying that stings more than anything.

In baseball, we say everyone plays hurt and no one plays injured—that you'll go out to field with an achy wrist or with your hamstring barking at you but you don't play with a broken ankle.

How about a broken heart? I can't answer that.

I need to find Shira. If nothing else, I owe her a goodbye.

Skip comes back while Felix is still laughing. "All good, I take it?" Skip asks.

"All good," I confirm. "We were gonna talk infield strategy. Maybe away from the park." A request I punctuate with my best All-Star smile. It's possible Skip will think I'm already throwing my weight around, but at this point, I don't really care. My phone sits unbuzzing in my hand. C'mon, c'mon.

Skip doesn't say anything. Just raises a single graying eyebrow that disappears under the brim of his hat, then nods toward the door. Felix takes it as a dismissal and heads back toward the locker room on quick footsteps. I'm about to do the same when Skip catches my shirtsleeve.

"This whole infield situation okay with you?" he asks.

It's been a while since I've been on the throwing end of a double play, which I'll have to do at second base. It's also been a while since I've had to learn something new—at least on a baseball diamond. "I'm ready for the challenge."

"Glad to hear that." Skip claps me on the arm complimentarily. "Between us, I know you just spent a few days in a vehicle with Paquette. Road trips have a funny way of getting guys all sentimental. But if things with him aren't working out, don't be afraid to let us know."

Skip's office isn't warm. The dripping AC in the corner sends out another gust, cold air blowing across my face like a dose of reality. Felix wanted to steal your girl… He lied to you about it… He offered to quit already… Some terrible part of me wants to nod, to say, yes, Felix would be better in Worcester or traded to another team or on the moon. That way, he wouldn't be here all season like reminder of what we could have had. Of how much it hurts to wish for impossible things.

But everything isn't impossible, even if it feels that way. If I'm going to be a second baseman, maybe that's not the only thing that could be different. Shira still hasn't answered my text. She might be gone already. But she might not be, and it's that hope that makes me shake my head.

"I think it'll be good," I say to Skip, and in that moment, I can almost see the shape of it. "I think it'll be really good."

If I'm not too late.

The rental house is empty when we get there, a particular stillness places have when someone has just left. The door to the room Shira slept in is open; nothing of her stuff remains, not a suitcase, not a hair elastic. She even made the bed, even if the comforter is on crooked. I check the other three bedrooms, Felix watching me as I open and shut doors.

"This place has four bedrooms," he says, as if that's a question.

"Yeah?"

"So when you offered Brayden a room, you weren't kicking me out?"

My stomach drops. So that's why he shuffled off last night. "Brayden is…" Difficult . "I just want him to know he has a place to live if he needs one. But I should've told you that."

"Maybe it was better to spend some time apart."

"Where'd you stay?"

Felix shrugs. "A hotel."

In the morning light, he still has dark circles under his eyes. Something I should have seen earlier. I guess I've been doing a lot of that—not seeing what's obvious. "You sleep okay?"

He shakes his head. "Not really."

"If it helps, I didn't either."

He laughs at that, a low rumble of a laugh I can almost feel. I want to put a hand on his shoulder, on his chest, on the curve of his cheek just above where his beard used to be. I should be angry, still. Mostly, what lingers is the memory of his arms wrapped around me—how right things felt with both of them by my side. Boston doesn't feel like home yet. I don't know how long it'll take—maybe never. But for that moment, between them, it felt like things could be different.

I check my phone again. Still no response. "We should find Shira." I do one more sweep of the rental house. All I find is her key on the kitchen counter and a note that's composed of a single word. Sorry . There's a splotch on the paper right above it, as if she'd been crying when she wrote it.

That puts something sharp into my chest—Shira, walking away alone, because she knows how to fight for everyone but herself.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, wishing for a text from Shira. But no, not a text—a notification that makes me shout for Felix. "C'mon, we need to hurry."

I just hope when we find her, she'll listen to what I have to say.