I take off toward Coach’s office, knowing I’m about to be roasted like I deserve. The boys will head back to the loft for my mom’s going-away party. When I spoke with her last night and told her what happened, she blamed herself. I told her no matter how Emory found out, she still would have had the same reaction. Emory thinks she’s saving me, helping me, but in the long run, she’s hurting me, because I need her. She takes all the stress away. She wants baseball to be my obsession, I get that, but baseball has been my obsession ever since I can remember. But I now truly understand what Holt meant about his girl. Emory’s been my retreat, my place where I can step back and recharge. I know my game was more on point because I wasn’t eating, sleeping, and drinking baseball. She gave me a broader perspective. She gave me a chance to breathe, but now she’s let me go and that’s been taken away.
I don’t bother knocking on the partially open door of Coach’s office, but walk through and take a seat in front of him, knowing exactly what he’s going to say.
“It’s the girl, isn’t it?” he asks, not sugarcoating anything.
“Yup.” I stick my hands in my hoodie pocket and slouch in the chair.
“Do I want to know?”
“You don’t need to worry about anything, because she broke things off with me so I can focus on baseball.”
“Smart girl.” He leans back, holding a pen in his hand, occasionally clicking it, the sound grating on my nerves. “You need to focus, Gentry. You’ve come too far to throw it all away now.”
“I’m not throwing it away,” I say, being assertive for the first time in front of Coach.
He stays calm. “No? Then tell me what happened at practice today, because you couldn’t catch a goddamn grounder or throw a guy out if your life depended on it.”
“Everyone has an off day.”
“Not you.” He shakes his head. “You’re impenetrable. It’s why I recruited you. It’s why you’ll be drafted as one of the first prospects this summer. You’ve never let an outside factor encroach on your play, which is also why I made you captain and put you in charge of those asshats.” He gestures toward the locker room. “You’re one of the greats, so don’t lose that edge right before your big goddamn moment.”
I look down at my sweats, hating that I’m about to say this, but Coach needs to know. “I loved her. The first girl that ever made me feel something. She gave me air outside of baseball. She improved my game, not impeded it.”
“She is now.”
“Because she broke up with me. Fuck.” I sit up, growing irritated. “I’m allowed to be a human with feelings.”
Coach Disik studies me for a few beats before tossing his pen on his desk and folding his hands over his stomach. “You’re right, you’re allowed to be human, and that’s why I’m going to give you the day off tomorrow. Figure your shit out, and don’t have another day on the field like you did today, do you hear me?”
“What? You want me to take the day off?” I ask, thoroughly confused.
“Yes. Wallow, eat shit food, do whatever you need to do to refresh and get back here. And I’m only doing this because since I’ve known you, you’ve never missed a practice and you’ve never denied staying late or coming early. I need your head in the game, Gentry. Find it tomorrow and then return to the man I know you are.” He nods toward the door. “Now get out of here before you start bawling like a baby. That shit makes me uncomfortable.”
“I’m not going to bawl,” I say, standing from my seat. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Yeah, well, I once lost someone I cared about deeply, so I know how it is.” A rare confession from the relentlessly driven, uncompromising man.
“Sorry to hear that.” I bite my bottom lip and try to add a joke to ease the tension that’s built up in the room. “Don’t worry though, Coach, she wants to be friends.”
That grants me a straight-up guffaw from the old man. Head tilted back, a shake in his shoulders. “Fuck, they always want to be friends. Don’t women know that’s impossible?”
“Well, she’s bound and determined.”
“Good luck with that. Don’t let her give you false hope.”
“I won’t.” Because even though the last thing I want to be is friends with the woman I love, I would never break a promise I made her.
Friends always.
At least that’s what I thought, but promises fade, and eventually . . . so do friendships.
My bedroom door flies open, and Holt and Carson stand on the other side, determined looks in their eyes as they take me in.
I’ve had better days.
I don’t need to look in the mirror to know there’s Oreo crumbs and milk paste ringing my lips, nor do I need to lift my armpit to know things are a bit ripe at the moment.
“I tried to stop him,” Holt says before Carson hops on my bed and whacks an empty package of Oreos off my stomach.
“You need to take her to the locker room.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, dragging my hands over my face. “I don’t believe in that shit.”
“Start believing, because it will fix everything.”
I sit up and press my back against my headboard. “A fictional belief that magical powers are hidden in the walls of our locker room is not going to fix anything. Emory’s mind is made up, she doesn’t want to be with me.”
“Bullshit, she does. We all know she does. But you need to sprinkle some of the magic on her to convince her. I have a whole plan.”
“I told him to leave you alone,” Holt says, arms crossed and leaning against the opening of my door. “Clearly, he didn’t listen to me.”
Not paying Holt any attention, Carson continues, “Believe the legend or not, but every girl that’s been taken into the locker room has ended up with a ring on their finger from the respective player who gave her an invite. If you can get Emory to give you one more shot, meet up with you, we can get her in there and let the walls do their magic.”
I stare blankly at Carson. What the fuck is he thinking?
“You’ve lost your goddamn mind. You told me you agreed with Emory, approved of her sacrifice for me. I’m not fucking taking her to the locker room hoping she’ll want to be my girlfriend again. That’s just fucked, man.” Christ, we didn’t have sex when we were together, so there’s no way . . .
“You never know until you try. I have a plan, we can find her on campus, tell her you’re hurt—girls love rescuing guys in pain—lead her to the locker room, and that’s where you flip her skirt up and diddle her right there against the shower walls. She’ll have the best orgasm of her life—”
“For fuck’s sake, Carson, shut up. Stop this. Stop disrespecting Emory.” I shake my head. I hate this. “She gave up on us. It’s done. Period.”
Silence falls. I’ve never spoken like this to Carson. I can see he’s just as surprised as I am.
“Let’s go, man,” Holt says, eyes on me. He gets me.
“You’re not even going to consider my idea?”
“No.”