Page 38 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

At some point, hours later, I wake up with a cramp and drag myself up to bed to stretch out and sleep for the night. If I even can. I hope I haven’t wrecked this for myself.

I turn off the light and settle in, and then reach out to grab my phone, deciding to send her one more message. Now it’s a bit later, maybe she’ll have more time, or a break, or a little chance to look at her phone. I hum aloud as I think, then write Hey, I know you’re working nights at the minute. I have some time tomorrow morning. Let’s go for a walk.

I waver back and forth about putting a kissy face but ultimately decide not to. I think I’ve already seemed pushy enough for one day.

Now I have my phone in my hand, I open up my social media to give it a scroll, not at all waiting and hoping for a reply. When nothing comes, my stomach sinks even further. I hope she’s okay. I hope this really is just her being busy at work and I’m being paranoid for nothing.

I don’t even realize it until I wake up the next day, but I fall asleep with my phone clutched in my hand waiting for a text that never comes.

CHAPTER 20

FREYA

“Nice one!” I yell, clapping and cheering as Jackson runs to first base. He’s not much of a hitter, but in an effort to be supportive, I like to celebrate his wins.

Jackson turns to look into the stands and winks at me. I wave at him and give him a thumbs-up.

I’m not really sure what the worst part of all of this is — if it’s that Jackson hasn’t been giving me any attention lately, or that I’m actually kind of getting into baseball. I think I understand what Matt sees in it now.

He would be so excited to be here right now. It sucks that Jackson has an open practice on a weekday, and Matt absolutely begged me to let him take the day off, but I told him that his studies should be more important than stalking my boyfriend. The word slipped out before I could think, and by the time I’d said it, it was too late to take it back.

Matt didn’t really make a big deal of it. If anything, he acted like I was telling him something he already knew. A huge wave of embarrassment washed over me anyway.

Anyway, seeing Jackson like this, running around and beaming, throwing the ball with such ease and precision, his mind totally focused on the game — all that makes me forgive him for how little we’ve been hanging out lately. There is no doubt at all that this is his natural habitat, and seeing him thrive makes my heart soar.

It doesn’t entirely take away the sting, but it does help.

And it’s not like I haven’t been kind of petty lately too by leaving him on read for slightly longer than necessary and pretending not to see his calls. I know it’s wrong, but he’s doing the same thing to me and it hurts. I just thought we were building something together, that’s all. For a second, I just really believed that he wanted me.

The coach brings all the players together in a huddle, like a gaggle of geese, then waves his arms around animatedly for a while, pointing and flapping and yelling words I can’t make out. At last, he gives a big nod in what I can only assume is approval, and the players scatter off the field towards the changing room.

All but one of them do, anyway.

Jackson runs up to the stands and calls out to me, “Hey! Come down! Let me introduce you to the guys.”

I raise both eyebrows dubiously, and he waves encouragingly, so I get up out of my seat, jumping in surprise at the snap of the plastic chair swinging shut, and make my way down the narrow steps to the front barrier.

Jackson helps me hop over it, and I linger in his arms for a heartbeat longer than I should. “Matt will be so jealous of me,” I say. “I wish he could be here.”

“Me too,” says Jackson. “Maybe next time. He’s always invited.”

“Don’t tell him that — he’ll hold you to it till the end of time.”

"And so he should. What young man doesn’t like baseball?”

I give him another dubious look but decide against saying anything else. I don’t want to take the wind out from under his wings, not when he looks so happy.

A bunch of the guys come to crowd around us, and I smile at them as best I can. “So, this is Max, Hopkins, Huan, and Roberto. Guys, this is my girlfriend, Freya.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, a hot blush creeping over the back of my neck. Did he really just call me his girlfriend? In front of people? When we’re not official and haven’t ever talked about it?

Girlfriend is a big word for what I am to him. But then again, by now hasn’t enough time passed that we are something more than just casual friends with benefits? We really have to talk about this one of these days. Right now is not the time, though.

“Where you from, girl?” asks Roberto, offering me his hand.

I take it and let go as fast as I can. “I’m as local as you can get,” I say. “Born and raised in the next town over, and I work in the hospital on Hamilton Street.”

“Oh, the big one,” he says, nodding.

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