Safe at First, page 29
“Because I stayed with Richard for so long. I feel like I allowed all of this to happen to Mac. I know you’ve picked up the pieces. I’m sorry I let him break for so long.”
My eyes instantly welled up. “Oh jeez. We can’t both start crying during the game. Mac will be mortified.” I tried to laugh. “That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.”
After the game ended, the three of us went out to dinner together and took our time, eating and hanging out. It was so much nicer than I’d anticipated; I was always a little unsure of how Mac felt when it came to his parents.
True to her word, his mom didn’t drink. And when we dropped her off at the hotel that night, Mac walked her into the lobby and talked with her for a few minutes before giving her a hug. She waved at me before she disappeared.
Mac opened the car door and hopped in, his eyes red.
“What happened? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “She apologized for everything. And wishes she could take it all back and do it different but knows that she can’t.”
“That was nice of her to say,” I said as we pulled out of the parking lot.
“Yeah. I mean, now that she’s not drinking, she said she sees it a little too clearly. And she’s having a hard time not hating herself for it all.”
I imagined what that must have felt like. To have numbed your pain with something for so long, only to have it all come crashing back in high-definition once the haze lifted.
“What’d you say?”
“I told her that I didn’t hate her. That I wasn’t angry with her anymore and that if I could forgive her, then she needed to forgive herself too,” he stumbled on the last words, and I knew that he was getting choked up.
I reached across the seat for his hand and squeezed. “That was very mature of you.”
“I thought so too.” He smirked as he brought our linked hands to his lips and pressed a kiss there.
“Oh, I keep forgetting to tell you!” I practically shouted. “Rocky texted. She said to tell you she’s watching your games online, so don’t screw up.” I laughed. “And that she misses us. Mostly my cookies.”
“Man, that girl.” He shook his head. “She’s something else. Is she getting better?”
“She said she was going to therapy and it seems to be helping.”
“That’s good. I was worried about her for a minute there,” he admitted. We both had been.
“I know. But she’s tough.”
“She’s fucking inspiring,” he added. “Anytime I want to give up, I channel my inner Rocky,” he said, sounding all badass and tough. “Don’t tell her I said that though. She’d never let me live it down.”
Mac had finally taken Coach Carter up on his offer and called his brother, Dean, the sports agent. Dean Carter was patient and answered all of Mac’s questions, but in the end, he said the whole draft process was a fluid beast that moved quickly and adjustments were often made on the fly and at the last minute. Basically, he said that nothing was guaranteed, and the call hadn’t done anything to help ease Mac’s state of mind for the upcoming draft. We still felt completely in the dark.
And as the season started wrapping up, I learned that hitting only one home run wasn’t necessarily what the scouts and the Major League teams were looking for. They wanted ‘power hitters,’ even if that meant that they struck out more than they didn’t. Because when they did get hits, they made them count and scored a bunch of runs. I thought that was some stupid, illogical crap, but what the heck did I know?
Apparently, having some of the best stats at Fullton State didn’t always mean anything more than you might get your name on a plaque and break some school records.
Baseball was weird.
And I was starting to resent it.
The day the draft started, Mac and I sat alone on the couch of my apartment with the television on and his cell phone at his side. I’d never seen him more uneasy than he was during this time. He didn’t want anyone else to share this moment, too on edge to have witnesses to whatever his future ended up being. We both had no idea what would happen, and neither did anyone else, it seemed.
A bunch of Mac’s teammates were at the baseball house, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of being around them if his name wasn’t called.
“I wouldn’t be able to take the looks on their faces. The way they’d feel sorry for me but thankful that it wasn’t them at the same time.” He pushed up from the couch and wrapped an arm around his stomach.
I knew how sick this was making him.
The not knowing.
The waiting.
The silence.
It was all out of his hands now, and that was both terrifying and a relief. He’d given baseball his all this past season, and I knew he couldn’t have played any better. He knew it too. But for whatever reason, none of that seemed to matter now.
When the tenth round started up, his phone beeped out a text message indication, and he grabbed it so fast that I thought he might crush it. I watched his expression morph into something unreadable as he put his phone on the coffee table in front of us and leaned back into the couch, staying quiet, like he’d been since the whole thing began. I looked at him and waited for him to share what he’d just read.
He finally turned to me and blinked before looking away from my eyes. “They think Dayton will go soon.” His tone was undecipherable.
“Who’s they?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s just what the text said. He must be talking to an agent or something.”
I didn’t know what to say. I honestly had no idea how to deal with all of this. I couldn’t be my usual positive and happy self. Draft days weren’t technically about keeping a positive attitude. We were beyond all that now. We were in business mode. So, I wasn’t sure if we should be happy for Dayton or be mad at him for it.
The announcer said Dayton’s name, and I saw a small smile creep across Mac’s face, followed quickly by a deep breath as his chest shook lightly. He grabbed his phone and typed out a text—I assumed he was congratulating Dayton.
“I knew he’d go,” Mac said while staring straight ahead at the TV.
“Yeah?” I asked, still at a loss for the right thing to contribute.
“He’s a pitcher. He had a great season. It wouldn’t have made any sense if he didn’t get the call,” he added, and I wondered if he was explaining it more for my benefit or his. I only understood half of what he was saying anyway, but I got the gist.
That night he barely slept, tossing and turning the entire time, and when I woke up on day two of the draft, he was already out of bed, and his side was freezing cold, like he hadn’t been there for hours.
Mac refused to eat. I baked cookies he didn’t touch. Ordered pizza that he ignored. I had to remind him to drink water, or he would dehydrate himself without even thinking. He barely talked out loud, staying in his head, and I tried to understand how he must be feeling, watching his dream slip by with each hour that passed.
Each time a new round started up, I swore he held his breath in anticipation.
Or maybe it was dread.
And as they continued to dwindle, I watched the light drain from his eyes after each one completed without saying his name.
“It’s not going to happen,” he mumbled under his breath at one point.
I knew he wasn’t talking to me, but I stupidly answered him anyway, “It’s not over yet. You don’t know. There’s still hope.”
He shot me a look that would have broken other females. But I fought with my inner little girl, reminding her that this wasn’t about us and to not take it personally.
But hope wasn’t enough. The last round came and went, and Mac Davies’s name was never called. My heart split in two inside my chest. I felt the ache of it.
The sheer devastation on Mac’s face only lasted a moment before he pulled himself together and stood up. “Can you take me home, please?”
“Are you sure?” I asked because I wanted to be the one who took care of him, but I also understood him needing to be alone.
“Sunny, I want to go home.”
“What if your teammates are there?” I asked, figuring that he wanted to avoid them if possible.
“I’ll just walk.” He ignored my question and started to grab his things, so I reached for his arm, stopping him.
“I’ll take you. Talk to me,” I begged, and he looked right through me, neglecting my request.
We stayed quiet the entire drive back to the baseball house. I wanted him to say something to me, but I was scared to push him too hard. When I pulled up, there were a bunch of cars at the house, and I noticed Mac suck in a breath before opening the passenger door.
“I need some time.”
“Away from me?” I asked with a shaky breath.
“Away from everyone,” he replied. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Do what?” My eyes started to fill with water. “Are you breaking up with me?” I asked through my shock.
This stubborn, pigheaded boy was not freaking dumping me now, after all we’d been through.
“It’s better this way. Please, Sunny, just go. I don’t want you here,” he said before shutting the door and disappearing without giving me a second glance.
My heart split inside my chest. It pulled at me, ached with each beat, as I replayed his harsh words.
“I. Don’t. Want. You. Here.”
I convinced myself that Mac just needed some space, and I respected him enough to let him work through the fact that he hadn’t gotten the one thing he’d always wanted more than anything. Baseball had been his dream, his goal, and now, it was gone.
It had to hurt like hell. But having him walk away from me, from us, hurt like hell too. I felt like we’d taken a thousand steps backward and we were back in the place we had been last year all over again.
I pulled at my necklace; it usually calmed me, but now, it represented a lie. If Mac didn’t want to be with me, then I couldn’t wear it anymore. I started taking it off when my phone pinged. I reached for it, hoping it was Mac telling me he was an idiot and was sorry, but I noticed Chance’s name instead.
CHANCE: How’s he doing?
ME: Little jerk broke up with me.
My phone rang instantly.
“Hey,” I said as I tried to hold myself together.
“It doesn’t surprise me,” Chance said, and that wasn’t very freaking reassuring.
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, Sunny. I just meant that he is probably going out of his mind right now. He just lost everything he’s ever wanted,” Chance explained, but I had known that already. I knew how badly he wanted to play professional baseball.
“I know that.”
“But you don’t. I mean, you understand, but you don’t know how that feels. He’s not himself. He probably won’t be for a while. This is something that takes time to work through and accept. It won’t be easy.”
I sniffed into the phone. I didn’t mean to start crying, but I couldn’t help it. “I never thought he’d break up with me because of it. Stupid, right?”
“Not stupid,” Chance breathed out. “It won’t last. You know that. I know that. But right now, he can’t see straight. Hell, he can’t see at all. Cut him some slack, Sun. I’ll talk to him.”
“You might make it worse,” I said because Chance had everything that Mac wanted. There was a good possibility that Chance talking to Mac might exacerbate his feelings on the situation.
“You’re right. I’ll give him some space too.” Chance started mumbling to someone in the background, and then he was back. “Hold on. Danika wants to talk to you.”
Danika got on the phone and started yapping a mile a minute. At first, she apologized about Mac, but reassured me that this split was only temporary. She told me not to worry about it before launching into some diatribe about her clients needing more than only she could provide.
She explained that she needed help with the division she’d started at her dad’s company, which she’d told me a hundred times before, only she was truly serious now. She offered me an official job. One with a salary and benefits and everything.
I practically screamed, “YES,” into the phone.
Even though my personal life was falling apart before my eyes, I had no reason to turn down Danika’s offer. I had fallen in love with New York, and while her high-end real estate clientele seemed super intimidating, it also sounded exciting. And nothing job-wise had even remotely excited me, so I took it as a sign and accepted.
What the hell else was I going to do with my life?
Three days had passed, and there was still no word from Mac. I texted him. He never responded. I called him. He refused to answer. It was like I’d never existed. How he could go about his days without talking to me when all I did was think about him twenty-four/seven boggled my mind and twisted me up inside. I was coming apart without him, and he was what ... fine?
Three days turned into a week, and my sadness turned to anger. Screw him for letting me go. Why did I always have to do all the fighting in our relationship? Why was it up to me to keep us together and make us okay all the time? Mac Davies was going to feel one hell of a shock to his system when he finally woke up from his daze and tried to find me ... ’cause I wouldn’t be here!
Ha!
Good luck locating me in New York. Jerk.
On day nine, I began packing. My lease was ending at the apartment, and I wanted to spend a few days back home with my parents before I headed across the country to start my new job and life. Without the one person I’d thought would always be there. I heard my sliding glass door open, and my body instantly tensed. I forgot to lock it?
Of course, this was how I was going to die—right after being brave enough to move away.
The sound of shoes heading toward my bedroom made me go rigid. I stared at my bedroom door and waited.
It was Mac. He looked awful. Worse than when he had shown up at my house on Christmas night. His eyes were swollen, and there were big black bags underneath them. He hadn’t been sleeping—that much was obvious.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he walked right into my bedroom, uninvited.
“What’s it look like?” I threw back in a screw you tone as I folded more clothes and set them inside one of my open suitcases.
“Where are you going?”
I pondered whether or not I should tell him even though I assumed he already knew the answer. Asking me was merely a formality. I was sure Chance had filled him in.
“New York,” I answered without meeting his gaze.
“What a coincidence.”
I stopped folding and glared at him. “What is?”
“I’m going there too.”
“Why would you go to New York?”
“Because you’ll be there,” he answered so simply, so matter-of-factly, like he hadn’t broken up with me and tried to discard me in the midst of his grief while I was grieving too.
Baseball hadn’t just broken his heart; it’d broken mine too. But Mac didn’t care about my feelings. He only cared about himself.
“I didn’t invite you.” I tried to sound tough, but us being apart was stupid. We belonged together. But I wanted him to grovel a little at least.
“Well, my girl’s going to start her career there, and I’m going to support her. It’s the same thing she’d have done for me if I’d gotten drafted.”
“Your girl, huh?”
“Yep,” he said, popping the P.
“Thought you didn’t want me,” I threw his words back in his face as I started to get worked up and emotional.
The past nine days had been hell without him. I hoped it was just a phase that really had nothing to do with me, but it still hurt that he’d tossed me away like it was easy for him to do it. After everything we’d gone through, I figured we were stronger than anything. And all he had done was prove me wrong when he disappeared.
“I can’t live without you. I’m just sad, babe. I’m so fucking sad right now, and I didn’t want you to see me that way.” Tears started falling from his eyes, and he didn’t even stop them or try to wipe them away.
“But I’m supposed to be your partner in all of this. We’re supposed to be a team. I’m the one who gets to see you at your weakest because it’s my job to lift you back up. That’s what a good couple does. That’s what I thought we were,” I argued.
“I couldn’t get out of bed for three full days,” he admitted, and I hadn’t known that. I hadn’t known that at all. “I didn’t leave my room for seven. Colin brought me food. Left it outside of my door. This is my first time leaving the house.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I know I fucked up. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to deal with losing baseball. Hell, I still don’t. I’m devastated, babe. But I can’t lose you too. I’ll figure out how to get through this whole baseball thing, but there’s no getting through losing you,” he said. “Please let me come to New York.”
I stayed quiet for a breath. And then another.
I could make him suffer more, push him for more apologies or more groveling, but that would be my pride talking and not my heart. I didn’t want to hurt Mac more, only to make myself feel better. And that was all that would be. I loved him. I’d always loved him. And moving to New York without him would be a terrible option even though I would have done it.
“I guess you’d better start packing. We leave in three days.”
Life After Ball
Mac
I was depressed. No. Depressed was an understatement.
I was fucking lost.
A shell of a person with no idea who I was anymore or who I was supposed to be.
When your identity was wrapped up in one thing for so long, who were you when you didn’t have that thing anymore?
Every single notion I’d ever believed about myself came into question.
My dream of becoming a professional baseball player was gone. Just like that. It had disappeared as soon as they called the last name in the last round of the draft, and it wasn’t mine.
