I’d been wrong.
“You do know you’re just temporary, right?” His voice was arrogant, confident, and annoying.
“What are you piping off about?” I tried to sound unfazed, but something about the guy always seemed to get to me.
Maybe it was because he had history that I could never compete with, and for whatever reason, it made me feel like I’d never know Danika the way that he did. And I really fucking hated even thinking that because I wanted all of her, in every way, and it felt like parts of her would forever belong to him.
“It’s always been me and her. Once the two of us go back to New York and you get drafted and you’re wherever the hell you are”—he waved his hand in the air as if dismissing me—“we’re going to get back together. You’re not in this picture, Baseball Boy. And we both know it.”
“You’re the only one who sees it that way,” I said with confidence even though I considered how much of what he’d said could be true.
He’d sounded so sure of himself, so resolute in his thought process, that it immediately filled my head with doubts.
“Am I?”
“Danika’s no longer your concern,” I said, throwing his words from last semester back at him.
He laughed. It sounded fucking sinister, and it made me bristle, wondering if he knew something I didn’t.
His frat brothers had almost gotten to us, and Jared took a single step closer to me before throwing the final verbal dagger. “You’ll ruin her life.”
I scoffed before giving him a look, indicating that I was growing bored. “And how will I do that?”
“You’ll let her follow you around the country, chasing your dreams instead of hers,” he said point-blank, and I felt the lump form in my throat. “You’ll take away everything she’s ever worked for. Everything her dad has built for her. You’ll let her throw it all away for you. And that’s the very definition of selfish.”
“Let me get this straight.” I scratched the back of my head. “Now, you’re concerned for Danika’s well-being? It wasn’t that long ago when you basically told me you wanted what her dad had built, and that’s why you were with her in the first place. Money.”
“Hey,” he growled, moving to poke a finger at my chest, and I glared at it, basically fucking daring him to touch me. He put his hand down instead. “I put in the work. For years, I’ve stayed by her side and picked up the pieces every time she fell apart. I deserve to get something for all of that. I deserve a place in that company. I’ve earned it.”
“You’re such an asshole.” I’d never met anyone who was this motivated by money. I’d thought it was something that only happened in ridiculous movie plots.
“I might be an asshole, but you’re the one who’s going to break her heart,” he said right as his buddies caught up to us, all of them posturing and puffing up their chests like they were prepared to take me on. “And when that happens, I’ll be there for her, like always. It will be me by her side, running half of Manhattan, like it was supposed to be. And we’ll forget you ever existed.”
“Sounds like you have it all worked out then,” I offered with a nod.
“It’s only a matter of time. You can’t see it clearly, but I can,” he sneered before looking at his bros for approval and then down at some fancy watch on his wrist. “You get drafted in what, a few months? I can wait it out until then.”
“Good luck with that,” I said before walking away.
I was done. But Jared obviously wasn’t. He shouted something at my back, but I was too in my own head to make it out clearly. I had to get away from him. I couldn’t handle hearing another word come out of his mouth about Danika or her future or my lack of a place in it.
“Sorry it took me so long. I didn’t come over until I saw all his frat dickheads show up.” Mac suddenly appeared next to me. “What the hell was that about?”
I’d forgotten that he had been waiting for me.
“Nothing.” I tried to blow him off. I didn’t want to talk to Mac about it. I didn’t even want to think about it for one second longer, but I was rattled.
Fucking. Rattled.
I couldn’t get Jared’s toxic words out of my head or the one question that kept repeating itself in my mind.
Is he right?
It was hot as hell out already, and my catcher’s gear made it five times hotter. The second I stepped out of the locker room and onto the field, I knew I was fucked. My mind was still filled with all the things Jared had said. I spent the rest of the afternoon overthinking my relationship with Danika, worried to death that I was ruining her life by wanting her to be with me. How selfish was I?
No matter what I did, I couldn’t clear my mind. And that was bad business for any ball player. Baseball was a mental sport, and if you fucked with your ability to get your head on straight, you might as well sit it out. The worst part was that every other player on the opposing team knew it too. Being rattled on the ball field was like wearing a giant neon sign that read, FUCK WITH ME.
I was having my worst game in years. I’d made two throwing errors from home plate on guys who tried to steal on me. Normally, they knew better. Running against my arm was a test that most guys failed, much to their coach’s ire. Was the runner on base faster than the ball? The answer to that question was usually a resounding no. But not today.
Today, the answer was maybe. I’d basically invited them to take their chances on me. And twice, I’d overthrown the ball to third base, allowing runners to score and almost tie the game.
My dad walked up to me after the inning and pulled me aside. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I’m just in my head,” I said, shaking it back and forth, like that might make the words Jared had planted there spill out of my ears instead of taking root.
“I can see that. Get out of it,” he said, like it was that easy. Like he’d never been in this position before.
We all had bad games. Even the great Jack Carter.
“I’m trying,” I ground out.
He was pissing me off. No one wanted to stay in their head on the field, and he damn well knew it.
“You’re making it worse.”
“Well, you’re not making it any better.”
“Is it Danika?” he said, and the mere mention of her name made my stomach twist.
“I can’t talk about this right now, Dad.”
We couldn’t get into a discussion about a girl in the middle of a game. That was unacceptable, and we both knew it.
“Yeah, well, I’m here if you need me,” he said before adding, “After the game. Try to pull it together.” He slapped my shoulder before jogging away.
Great pep talk, I thought to myself as I reached for my helmet and bat.
My next at bat, I struck out at the plate, looking. I’d watched the last strike sail right down the pipe and didn’t even attempt to swing. It was my third strike out of the game.
Coach Jackson swore, his disappointment in me obvious for everyone to see and hear. “Carter,” he said through clenched teeth as I stalked toward the dugout.
“Coach,” I said, sounding as dejected as I felt.