I saw the very moment it dawned on her, and she practically tackle-hugged me and asked me way too many questions that I was in no position to answer. Mom warned her to hush about us until some things were sorted out.
I didn’t want to admit that, knowing Maclain, they might never be.
When I got back to my apartment, I pulled out my phone, wanting to text him so many things. Then settled on just one.
I miss you, you jackass.
There was no reply, even though I noticed he’d read it. I sighed, my heart settling in my throat. Just as well.
It wasn’t until the morning that I saw his response.
Miss you too, dickhead.
But I could also read between the lines, and it was at the crux of who Maclain was—I’m sorry I can’t be who you need.
25
Maclain
It was Sunday afternoon, and the Pirates had just gotten back in town from a doubleheader a couple of hours away. We fell behind in the first game, then came back to take the lead in the second, but we couldn’t lose any more games without blowing our winning streak. Two other teams were on our heels, and I knew how much it would mean to the coaches to end the season on this high. Especially because it’d been decades since Easton U had ranked in the top ten in the division.
Plus, the coaches had always given me the benefit of the doubt—who the hell knew why—and winning felt too good and was the only thing keeping my head in check right now. It was hard enough being around Girard all the time when I was uncertain about…well, everything in my life. I didn’t think I could bear to have my heart crushed by him when it was already lying in tattered pieces.
No, I was best on my own. Always had been.
That hadn’t stopped me from staring at the back of Girard’s head the whole bus ride home. Or dreaming about the feel of his warm arms around me or his cock filling my ass. But given the state I was in and what I was about to do, his touch might’ve been devastating, and I needed to be able to stand on my own two feet.
“Where are you off to?” Donovan asked as I slipped on my sneakers by the door.
“My dad’s house to clear out my room,” I replied in a grim voice. “He’s putting the house on the market.”
“Damn, I’m sorry.” Even though Donovan didn’t have all the details, he could obviously guess how much I dreaded it because he added, “I’ll be around tonight if you wanna…beat me in Mario Kart.”
I smiled at his coded message and, fuck, I appreciated it. “Thanks.”
I was lost in thought the entire two-hour drive, and more than once nearly turned the car around and headed toward the bowling alley instead, the idea settling in my chest like a warm blanket. I could play Girard in foosball, eat buttery pretzels at the counter with his mom, and feel like I was part of something for a few hours. But they weren’t my family and, unfortunately, I was about to walk away from the only connection to one I had.
A mix of childhood memories assailed me and the wistful ache in my gut only grew as I got nearer. I’d been happy the first ten years of my life, then pretty miserable and unsettled after that. By the grace of God—and baseball—I’d made it through high school and was about to graduate college. In a lot of ways, though, I was still that scared, lonely kid, so not much had changed. But I was so freaking tired of feeling like this. Like I was empty inside. Gutted, more like it.
I felt paralyzed with dread when I finally pulled into the driveway.
The house looked the same, but this time I noticed how it was more worn around the edges than the last time I’d walked out the door, my car packed to the gills for college. I remembered the relief in my stepdad’s eyes as I drove away, and I’d probably see it again today, this time for good. Maybe that was another reason he’d decided to sell. Trading in for something better.
Okay, time to push through the melancholy and put this behind me.
I mustered the courage to slide out of the car and knock on the front door, like I was a stranger. When my stepdad pulled it open, he barely looked at me, which made me feel even more so like one.
Yeah, not much had changed.
He grabbed an empty box from the corner of the room and handed it to me. “This should help.”
As I moved toward the stairs, I could see he’d already begun packing up other areas of the house to prepare it for the sale, and that made this an easier pill to swallow. It might’ve been worse if nothing was out of place, left like a snapshot in time.
When I walked into my room, I was transported back to my teenage years, though it was strange looking at it through my adult eyes. The bedspread was the same, the curtains too, and all the furniture was in its usual place but somehow seemed smaller.
I started by loading the dusty baseball trophies from the top of my dresser into the box, then tried to fit my fingers into my very first glove, obviously unsuccessfully. Man, I had been so excited that birthday and couldn’t wait to use it. My stepfather had begrudgingly walked outside with me to throw me some half-hearted grounders, but it ended up being my mom I practiced with most in the backyard. No surprise there.
Next, I took down the posters, then moved to my mostly empty dresser drawers, where I found a wooden box of trading cards. I’d been obsessed with collecting them back then, and I definitely wanted them to come with me on my travels now.
One of the cards was sticking out of the pile, more worn around the edges than the others. When I pulled it out, my cheeks grew hot as I remembered how I would sleep with that one under my pillow at night. I liked the pose the Yankees pitcher was in, right above all his impressive stats. I liked it a lot. And now I wondered if he’d been my first guy crush all along. Damn.
When I heard a creak from the hallway, I looked up to find Dad leaning against the doorjamb.
He motioned toward the box on the bed. “I got you that glove when you were six years old.”
“Yep,” I murmured, tossing in the box of trading cards alongside the trophies.
“Your mom loved sitting in the stands and watching you play,” he said, a hint of regret in his voice. “But it was never really my thing.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
At least he admitted it. I wanted to ask him if he remembered that I was allergic to bees or if he thought Mom would be proud of me, but that thin veneer of connection I’d felt to him through Mom, was all but gone. Besides, he’d never told me he loved me or that he wanted to adopt me, things I positively ached for as a kid. And now that he knew I liked guys, it would be a convenient excuse for him to shut me out for good.
“I tried my best,” he said, with a bit of condescension in his tone.
“Well, thanks for keeping your promise to Mom and raising me. You are officially absolved of your responsibilities.” I reached for the box and pushed past him to go out the door. “You’re about to have new ones anyway. So good luck on your marriage and being a dad again.”
“Mason.” I could hear the guilt as he followed me downstairs.
I paused on the last step. “This time, maybe try to be more involved in your stepdaughter’s life? She’ll need that.”
As soon as I walked out the door, I could finally fucking breathe.
The tears began as soon as I backed out of the driveway. I was sobbing by the time I neared the freeway entrance, but I kept driving like a man on a mission.