Page 44 of Bad Ball Hitter

After turning her down before I left and my return, she should be on the warpath by now. Probably plotting my demise with one of her designer heels. And I can’t blame her. We haven’t had sex since my eyes landed on Lila.

Miranda deserves more. She deserves a boyfriend whose mind isn’t tangled up in thoughts of another woman.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to regain focus on what’s important: baseball, contract, girlfriend.

After this week’s performance at the plate, I need to rethink the third option. I didn’t play my best during this away trip, and I know it has everything to do with my personal life. I need to set my mind straight. The last thing I want to do is fuck up my potential contract.

Perhaps in desperation to have someone, I latched onto the first shiny object. But damn it, I saw something in Miranda. Or I thought I had. It wasn’t until we spent the day at the park with Jake that I glimpsed her true self. She revealed her true colors when she mistreated Lila while she was sick.

Nope, Miranda and I are not a good fit. She seems blinded by the stars in her eyes, though I’m not sure she cares. Miranda seems to value security over love. And I get that, but after talking to Lila, it became clear to me that I do not love Miranda. I had thought we would grow into more, but that chance died once Lila stepped back into my life. I can’t move forward until she’s back in my arms, where she belongs.

I don’t want to hurt Miranda, but stringing her along is more painful. She might hate me, but eventually, she’ll see that this is for the best. I need to do it soon. Too many hearts are already on the line here.

But how am I going to tell Miranda? I wrestle with the right words, the right time, the right way to break things off. But no scenario seems good enough. I want to protect her feelings, yet I can’t deny mine any longer.

If only they didn’t live together.

I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. Why does this have to be so damn complicated?

My phone buzzes, breaking my train of thought. I pick it up, half expecting Miranda’s name to flash on the screen. But it’s not Miranda.

It’s a text from Lila.

Lila: “Miranda confronted me about our past. All I told her was we were good friends. It didn’t go well.”

For a moment, I just stare at the message. I reread the words. And again. It didn’t go well. Of course, it didn’t. Nothing ever goes well for Lila and me.

Damn it. Miranda must’ve headed straight to Lila after talking to me. But what warranted this response?

I tap a quick response, my fingers shaking slightly.

Me: What do you mean, didn’t go well?

The message is marked as read almost instantly. And then … nothing. No typing notification. No immediate response.

Fuck.

I toss the phone onto the coffee table and run a hand through my hair, pulling at the roots. Instant regret. I grab my injured side and breathe through the pain as I wait. The silence is deafening, every second stretching out like an hour, the ticking of the clock from the kitchen wall sounding like a bomb countdown.

When another minute passes and I decide I’ve had enough waiting, my phone buzzes again.

Lila: She’s mad at me. Warned me to stay away. Not that it would be a problem. But I can’t have my roommate pissed at me. I need this apartment.

I replay the words, “Not that it would be a problem.”

What does she mean by that?

I stare at the text for what seems like an eternity before replying, words failing me for the first time in a long time. How can I break up now? I can’t chance Miranda doing something stupid.

My jaw clenches as I type the message, “I’ll fix this.”

I’m unsure what I meant by that, but I know I must make things right. Otherwise, my presence will harm Lila and Jake, and I can’t have that on my conscience.

A knock at the door drags me from my thoughts. I don’t bother getting up or pretending I’m not home. They should get the message. But the knocking persists. It’s loud and insistent, punching through the silence of my apartment.

“Alright, alright!” Startled, I rose from the couch and dragged myself to the door, irritated at the interruption of my self-loathing.

I swing open the door and am met with Rappel’s smirking face.