“What . . . what are you talking about?” I choke on my tears as I try to find my words. “Maddox, I swear, I didn’t invite him. I don’t know how he knew where we were, but I swear—”

“Just shut the fuck up, Kinsley. Jesus.” He pushes his hand through his hair, the tension in his forearm startling as his muscles ripple. “I’m done,” he says with such finality that my jaw shakes so hard. I clench my mouth together so he doesn’t see it. “I’m fucking done. You have a week to get the fuck out of my apartment. Get the fuck out of my life.”

He wheels his suitcase out the door and slams it.

Bang.

I fall to the floor, completely and utterly devastated.

Get the fuck out of my life.

Oh God.

I can’t feel my heart. I can’t feel anything except agony.

We’re done.

Chapter Twenty-Two

MADDOX

“Okay, how much did you drink last night?” Lincoln asks, plopping down next to me on the airplane.

I tip my hat over my eyes and grumble, “Enough for the both of us.”

“I tried texting you this morning. Since I didn’t hear back from you, I assumed you were figuring things out with Kinsley.” Quieter, he asks, “What happened, man?”

I curve the bill of my hat with both hands and take a deep breath. “Honestly, I don’t fucking know.” My throat chokes up on me as I say, “I think I broke up with her.”

“You think?”

“From the lack of correspondence this morning, I’m assuming I did.” I take a deep breath, trying to remember how many drinks I had last night. I was drinking beer, then there were shots, lots of shots because of Jason, then we ate some more food, then stories . . . then Manny.

Fuck.

“Wait, she didn’t stay at the apartment last night?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t. Went to a hotel.” I take a deep breath and lift my water bottle to my mouth where I take a sip of water. Flashes of last night keep popping up in my memory.

Manny’s arrogant grin.

Instigating trouble . . . some things never change.

The bottle of whiskey.

The look on Kinsley’s face when she saw me packing.

The tears . . . Fuck, the tears.

Her denial, the denial that seemed so goddamn sincere that thinking about it right now twists my stomach into knots.

The words I said.

“You invited me here.”

Yeah, that was a mistake.

I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing as bile forms in my throat.

Her on the ground from me pushing her hand away.

The distress in her eyes.

I swallow hard, breathing through my nose.

“Dude, are you okay?” Lincoln asks.

I shake my head just as I reach for one of the barf bags and empty the contents of my stomach inside. My stomach retches, my chest heaves, and I grip the bag like it’s my only lifeline left in this world.

What the fuck have I done?

“Are you feeling better?” Lincoln asks, setting a bag of SmartPop in front of me and a water bottle.

I uncap the bottle and take a large sip. “As good as I can be,” I answer, looking out the window.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really?”

Lincoln leans his head back in his chair and says, “Have you heard from Kinsley?”

“I thought we weren’t talking about it.”

“You know that was a lie.”

“Really don’t feel like gabbing right now.”

“We’re gabbing?” Jason’s head pops up from the seats in front of us. “I’m in. Dottie refused to get naked last night, and she said it was because of you.”

“Me?” I point at myself. “Why me?”

Cory sits up from the seat as well—I had no idea those guys were sitting there—and he says, “Natalie was pissed at me too.”

“Why?”

“Apparently we should have stayed out of your business last night. Kinsley . . . well, she didn’t look too well,” Cory says, pulling on the back of his neck. “Hell, now that I think about it, she looked ashen.”

Jason rubs his palm over his forehead. “Yeah, I wasn’t really nice, and I feel bad about it.”

“Hold up.” I adjust my posture in my seat so I’m more upright. “You feel bad for her? Did you not see what happened last night?”

“We saw it,” Lincoln says. “But you’re not explaining anything. We assumed Kinsley invited Manny to the party last night. Is that what happened?”

“Yes,” I say, even though there’s the smallest inkling in the back of my head that maybe that wasn’t the case. “I . . . hell, Manny is getting married to my ex. She cheated on me with him when I left for the minors. It was shitty, and I haven’t told anyone besides Linc. I was embarrassed, pissed, humiliated, so I never mentioned it. Even to Kinsley, and I tell her everything. They sent me a wedding invite, probably just to rub it in, and Kinsley saw it. She tried to get me to talk about it and I refused. I wasn’t ready. Well, she fucking meddles, in everything, and he just happens to show up at the birthday party last night that she threw. Seems too fucking coincidental.” The anger I was feeling last night returns deep in the pit of my stomach, sending a signal to all my muscles to tense up.

The things I said last night . . . they hold a heavier weight to them now. There was a valid reason for them and I’m connecting the dots again.

“She went behind my back to try and fix something she never had the right to get involved with,” I say, finding justification the more I talk. “And it caught up to her last night.” I look out the window. “It’s over.”

“You broke up with her?” Jason asks, his voice sounding sad.

“Yeah.” I press my lips together, thinking back to what I said to her. “Told her she had a week to get out of the apartment.”

“Dude,” Cory says, almost like he’s about to lecture me. “That’s harsh.”

“What am I supposed to do? Live with her? After everything that went down?” I shake my head. “Doesn’t work that way.”

“She’s your best friend,” Cory says. “You’re a different guy with her. She makes you happy.”

“Made me happy.” I lift my hat and push my hand through my unruly hair. “I’m over it. Just . . . let it go. I am.”

I can feel their stares, as if they don’t believe me and hell, I don’t believe myself, but at this point, the best thing I can do is try to forget . . . forget everything.

“Bullshit,” I scream and throw my arms up in the air, pacing the bullpen now.

“Dude, calm down,” Lincoln says.

Pointing toward the field, I say, “The umpire is choking us out there. Ramon is throwing his goddamn ass off and he’s not getting one call.”

“Stomping around isn’t going to help.”

“So you’re just going to sit back and do nothing? Tell Jason to miss a pitch. Let it knock the ump in the chest and get him to wake up.”

“Maddox, dude. We’re winning.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter.” I can feel my face turning red and my skin crawling with the need to do something, to lash out, to release this anger.

“Hey.” Lincoln stands from the bullpen bench and presses his hand to my chest. “Maddox, you need to—”

I push him out of the way, sending him into the fence behind him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Fight, fight, fight,” a fan starts chanting above us.

Not thinking twice, I flip him off, and then grip the top of my hat and walk away, knowing the cameras caught every bit of that, and the announcers on TV are talking about the “altercation.”

To get away from everyone, I go to the bathroom in the bullpen and shut the door. I grip the sink in front of me and look up at the mirror. Dark circles drown out the color of my eyes, my face looks pale, and sharp whiskers coat my whole face.

I look like shit.

I expected to hear from Kinsley yesterday. Maybe a text, or even a phone call—because that’s who she is—and she doesn’t let anything go.

But she’s been radio silent.

And I get it, why would she contact me after I told her she had a week to leave the apartment, after the things I said to her? And why would I want her to contact me in the first place? She overstepped big time. She’s been overstepping ever since she moved in, and I’ve brushed everything off. But this, this was crossing a line. I told her to stay out of it. I told her to drop it.

And she didn’t.

I bite my bottom lip.

Or did she . . .

“Fuck,” I yell into the small cinderblock bathroom and then spin around and kick the door. It flings open revealing Lincoln standing on the other side, arms crossed, a not-too happy look on his face.

Sighing, I lean against the wall and sink to the floor, burying my head in my hands, letting the anger overwhelm me, only for it to start to fade through deep breaths. But even when it fades, it’s not fully gone. It’s simmering. Ready to explode.

“Not drawing?” Cory asks, next to me.

I lean back in the chair that’s facing my locker so I don’t have to look at the rest of the team. I want to stay in my own zone, my own world.

“No,” I answer, gripping a baseball in my hands.

“You always draw before a game.”

“Yeah, well I’m not fucking drawing today, okay?” I snap, startling Cory.

My phone lights up in my lap and my stomach drops as I check to see who the text is from. When I see it’s Chipotle telling me about free delivery, I nearly pick my phone up and chuck it against my locker wall.

Two days and nothing.