“I’m good,” he says. “I’m up anyway. I’d much rather be out here keeping you company.”
His gaze drifts toward the closed door of the other bedroom, and I know what he’s thinking. But Justin’s wrong. I don’t mind that Cade’s not out here with me. He probably didn’t even hear the baby crying—Drew passed out earplugs at dinner. Besides, it’s not his project anyway. Cade doesn’t even go to Fairfield Academy. He’s strictly here as a favor to me, so I can’t really blame him for wanting to sleep through it.
Justin shifts his hips, turning slightly on his side, and our eyes lock.
But the thing is, he heard, and he didn’t want to sleep through it. He’s here. With candy… and soda… and a listening ear, and quiet company, something I didn’t realize I even wanted or needed until he appeared.
The air-conditioning unit clicks on with a low hum, muffling the other noises of the house—the slight snores, the muffled sounds of other baby cries, whispers that prove we’re not as alone as it feels. Justin’s hand twitches, his pinkie finger moving a hair closer than it was before, and it would be so easy to stretch mine out to touch. My finger itches with the urge to do it. But it would be wrong. Incredibly wrong.
I curl my hand into a fist and shove it under my thigh.
“So, the draft’s coming up,” I say, snapping my eyes back to his. They’re filled with longing and sadness and I don’t even want to know what he sees in mine. The thick air around us feels magnetic, like it’s trying to pull us together, but I refuse to give in. “Have you decided what you want to do?”
Justin draws a deep breath and lowers his gaze to his hands. The sling is off now, not needed anymore, but he’s on strict orders not to overdo it. As reckless as he can be, I know he won’t risk it. Baseball means everything to him.
“No. Not really.” Justin flips his hand over and stares at the grooves in his palm. “Coach says the injury won’t be a problem. As long as I’m a hundred percent for the next game, and I will be, then I still have a good shot.”
“That’s not what I asked.” I match his body posture, shifting on my hip to face him. “I asked what you want to do. The choice will be yours, I have no doubt about that. But at the end of the day, what path will make you the most happy—college or pro?”
He huffs a laugh. “What’ll make me the most happy has nothing to do with baseball.”
My breath catches at his meaning, and Justin’s eyes burn into mine. An emotion stirs in my chest, a feeling akin to hope and happiness, and I lock it down quick. This isn’t about me.
I quirk an eyebrow, giving him a look, and Justin sighs.
“You know the rules, Sunshine. If I play for pay, I can’t go back later. I can’t change my mind and decide to try it in college. I mean, I can get a degree, but I can’t play ball.” Frustrated, he rakes his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “But then, if I decide to let it ride and go to A&M, what happens if I get hurt? My career would be over before it even started.”
“Maybe,” I admit, knowing what he needs from me is honesty, not to be coddled. “But so what? If that happens, you’ll do something else… You’re more than just baseball, Justin. You know that, right?”
He doesn’t say anything, which means no, he doesn’t. Sadly, I’m not surprised. It’s always come down to this. His family did a real number on him. I curse them for the millionth time in my head and pull my knees up onto the cushion.
Justin won’t listen if I push. He’ll clam up, stubbornly telling himself I’m being nice. Polite. Even flirtatious. But I want him to feel a real connection. Even after everything that went down between us, I feel an overwhelming need to protect him. Shifting closer, I hesitantly reach out and place my hand on his. He doesn’t waste a second flipping his over.
Eyes on our joined hands, Justin says, “If I sign with a team, I’ll be constantly traveling. Living on the road, practicing all the time. Eating crap and forgetting what city I’m even in. I’d barely ever see… the people I care about.” His hand squeezes mine, leaving no mistake who he means.
The thick knot in his throat bobs, and Justin raises his eyes.
Three years of questions and regrets pass between us. I want to run from the room every bit as much as I want to stay, to confront them. For a moment, I think, this is it. He’s finally going to tell me what really happened that day. What detail I supposedly missed.
Instead, Justin looks at the sleeping baby beside me and asks, “Do you ever wonder?”
TUESDAY, MAY 31ST
Disaster Imminent
?Freshman Year
JUSTIN
SWEET SERENITY RANCH 5:25 P.M.