Page 180 of Play Along

Isaiah loves me.

So much so that if I would’ve told him that I got the job and turned it down, he wouldn’t have let me stay. So, I didn’t give him that option.

Before him, loneliness was comfortable. It was the only thing I knew. Entertaining myself any way I could find. Trying to convince myself that I was okay with going through life that way. And now I have a chance at a future where maybe I’m not so alone, and I don’t want to mess that up.

So, I turned down the job.

For him. But for me too.

I haven’t seen him as much as I’d like the last few days. Atlanta’s team has been in town for the series against the Warriors, and Dean has been staying over at my apartment, but tonight is the night I get to go back to Isaiah’s.

Unlocking the front door of my place, I toss my keys on the entryway table, heading straight for my room. With a duffel bag open on my bed, I pack. Underwear, socks, whatever else I might need, and I take enough with me that I won’t have to come back here for a while.

It’s quiet here, in this massive penthouse with big windows overlooking the city, and marble floors that echo the silence.

I hate it.

I want to be warm in Isaiah’s bed, or hanging out with Miller at family dinner, or listening to the guys give each other shit in the training room.

I want to be somewhere that makes me feel good and it certainly isn’t in this apartment my family owns.

Continuing to pack, I turn on the TV for some background noise, hoping it can drown out the silence until I can get out of here. The station is set to the same one I left it at last night, which is an MLB network that continually runs game highlights throughout the day, peppered in with a bit of commentary from baseball analysts.

That’s what’s on now. Four guys are seated around an arched desk going over the possible outcomes with the looming trade deadline in the league. They speak about the non-playoff-bound teams offloading guys that will reach free agency in the off-season. They go over what some of the playoff-bound teams are looking for.

Then they say a name I never expected to hear.

“This just came across my desk,” one of them says. “And who knows how true it could be, but rumors are circulating that Isaiah Rhodes from the Windy City Warriors is interested in a trade.”

I freeze right there, with a pair of socks dangling in one hand and clean leggings in the other.

“There’s no way that could be true,” another one suggests. “No way would the Warriors let him go. He’s working with a career-high batting average this year, and they’re currently sitting in a fairly secure postseason spot.”

“And he’s playing with his brother.”

“Right. But Kai Rhodes is retiring in the fall, and Isaiah has a player option next season. Maybe he’s looking into different clubs, wanting to get out of Chicago. I doubt he’s going anywhere mid-season, but there’s a possibility he could go somewhere else next year if the right offer came along.”

“Again, nothing is confirmed, but there’s been some noise going around the league over the last twenty-four hours and typically, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

I’m stuck frozen in my bedroom.

What the hell is going on?

They keep talking on the television screen, but I don’t listen. All I can hear is the ringing in my ears and the doubts creeping in.

He doesn’t want to leave. There’s no way.

And if these rumors are true, why would he want to leave?

All his friends are here. His family. His brother. He loves playing for Monty.

And me.

I stayed here for him.

Shit.

I stayed here for him, but all season, we both thought I’d be leaving. All this time, we knew our marriage was temporary. One day our game would end.

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