Page 123 of Under Pressure

“Enough! Call her that again and neither of us will be playing today, Kellan. Keep your thoughts to yourself. Or better yet, don’t think about her at all. I can’t fucking deal with this right now.”

My temper flares before I can stifle it. Heavy silence follows, sagging in the air.

None of them follow me when I leave the clubhouse.

I get another drink the next day.

Done with the fishy green, she delivered a blueberry pomegranate smoothie to the front desk in my condo building. There were firm instructions for the guard, and he wouldn’t let me go back upstairs until I’d tried it and rated it on a scale of one to ten. I gave it a six and then read the rule on the cup.

Balk:An illegal motion by the pitcher with one or more runners on base, entitling all runners to advance one base. Can be a number of movements related to the pitching motion, but the intention is to catch the runners off balance.

Yeah, I don’t get this one. Maybe you can explain it to me? Have you ever done this?

I didn’t expect anything once we left Vancouver. But during our first night in Tampa, there was a delivery at my hotel room. The drink in the brown paper bag didn’t come from Blank Page, but she’d still managed to customize it with another note. I followed her instructions and tried the drink labelled as a London Fog before texting Finn my four out of ten rating.

Saves:The number of times a relief pitcher finishes a game where the potential tying or winning run is on base, at bat or on deck.

You have a lot of these. Did I ever tell you how impressed I am with you? Of all the athletes I know, you’re my favourite. Don’t tell Finn or he might stop helping me.

Every day for a week, she gets different drinks delivered to my hotel rooms. It doesn’t matter where we go or when the games end. They always arrive once I’m in my room, never before.

Her lack of baseball knowledge was never a turnoff for me. I was completely confident that I’d be able to teach her everything important, and if it turned out that she was really against learning, then I’d leave it. She was always more important to me than baseball.

If she never wanted to watch another game, I’d make it work. As long as she loved me, who gave a shit if we didn’t share the same interests?

Now, though, I can’t seem to get over the fact that she’s been learning important rules and terms completely on her own. It’s such a little thing, but it doesn’t feel like it to me. She’s . . . trying. Really trying.

I keep every note that’s stapled onto the delivery bags and carry them with me back and forth to the different stadiums. I’ve started looking forward to stepping into my hotel rooms at the end of every game. Being away from home has always made time drag, and while it still does, it’s been easier to ignore. Even without texting or calling her, I feel like she’s still close. And ever the lovesick idiot, I’ve gotten used to the feeling again.

Losses (L):The number of games lost.

This one also seems pretty self-explanatory, but I’ll point out again that you have a low number of them. You can smirk now, I know you want to. It’s a very nice smirk.

My favourite one arrived last night.

Strikeouts (SO):The number of times a batter has swung and missed on three pitches.

I watched a few of your highlights. I’ve also learned what a perfect inning is, and I think you deserve to be cocky from time to time. You’re amazing. Best closer in theleague, if I do say so myself. I was the luckiest girl in the world to be loved by you. I’d still like to be her. <3

After tonight’s game, we’re down by two in the four-game series against Seattle. I sat in the bullpen and watched as the team got nailed to the wall with a seven-to-nothing final score. There was no need for me, so I spent three hours staring at the field as my friends got the pulp kicked out of them.

More than anything, I want to call her.

Kellan’s still all growly when it comes to her, but he hasn’t voiced anything since I snapped at him. I know it comes from a place of protectiveness. We’re best friends and have been for years now. Quinn’s special to me, though. This isn’t a fling. I can’t just pretend that I don’t still ache for her. That I don’t feel like half of myself is missing every single day that I go without her.

She hurt me with her refusal to accept me completely, but that doesn’t change how I feel. Call me too forgiving or a total fucking helpless fool, I don’t care. I know that this couldn’t have been easy for her, either. She’s been facing the possibility of rejection every single day, when that was something that kept her from being all in with me in the first place.

This all means something. If she wants me to love her, then I will. All I ask in return is for her to do the same.

Sitting on the foot of the hotel bed, I swipe through my phone and pull up her name. The line rings twice before cutting off. I’m sent to her voicemail.

An invisible draft of icy air cuts through me. I try again, and it does the same thing.

Fuck. Did I wait too long to call? Instead of trying again, I send a text.

Please answer the phone.

The lack of texts between us recently doesn’t sit well. I want to talk to her all the time. This distance isn’t working for me anymore. I don’t give a shit if that makes me a pushover. This silence isn’t doing anything but making me miss her more.