Page 106 of Rookie Moves
Glancing around the bullpen, I wonder whether anyone would notice if I decided to just not show up tomorrow. I mean, it’s not like they were welcoming me with open arms when I turned up on my first day. Geoff grunted his greeting when we met at the coffee machine, and Wendy has clearly worked for my dad for too long because she didn’t grace me with so much as a hello before she went straight into the rules of what food is allowed in the shared fridge.
No fish. No cheeses. No spicy sauce.
It sounds as bland as the energy in this bullpen is, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
There is. You could tell them to go fuck themselves and run away to wherever Colby is.
True, I could do that. The draft is in two days, and based on his sister’s Instagram stories, Colby and his family are already in Vancouver.
I was surprised when Callie followed me just before he left for the combine in Buffalo at the start of the month, and I was even more surprised when she sent me a DM.
Hi! Please don’t tell Colby I’ve messaged you or he’ll replace my shampoo with sriracha, but I just wanted to let you know he misses you. He hasn’t told me what happened, but the way he speaks about you tells me the hurt wasn’t intentional. I hope you can both find your way back to each other, and if there’s any way I can help, just let me know!
I couldn’t bring myself to reply, so I liked the message, then went out for a run. Something I never used to do until now, like maybe I can outrun how much I miss him or some shit.
Because I do miss him. I miss him so fucking much, it terrifies me.
I don’t know what delusional planet I was living on thinking we could go into this arrangement and not develop feelings for him.
I mean, it’s Colby.
He has the purest soul I’ve ever known.
I’d have been a fool not to fall in love with him.
Grabbing my phone, I open the tab containing the news feed from the combine that happened a few weeks ago. It’s become an unhealthy obsession to scroll through the gallery, like I’ve become starving for any glimpse of Colby.
My fingers hover over the photo of him on a bike for the Wingate test. Sweat pours down the sides of his face. The muscles in his shoulders are visible, thanks to the sleeveless athletic shirt he’s wearing.
I move to the next one, where his thighs test the strength of the seams in his shorts as he’s photographed mid-jump, and my palm itches to skate over the dusting of blond hair there.
He came out on top of the leaderboard in almost every session. Not that I expected any less of him. Colby has this ability to excel at anything he puts his mind to.
That included finding your passion.
It did, and I threw it back in his face like a coward.
I scroll through every photo, having seen them so many times now they’re permanently etched into my brain, but it’s the last one that has my heart shattering every time.
Colby stands at the sidelines, hands propped on his hips, and the expression on his face is completely empty.
It’s the face of someone who is completely numb, and it kills me to know that I’m the cause. That I’m the reason he’s hurting, even if he’s trying to hide it.
A mug of coffee is placed down on the desk in front of me, and the loud clink startles me. I lock my phone and drop it back in my desk drawer, throwing a glare up at my brother.
Joey perches himself on the edge of my desk and gives me a pointed look. “You look like shit.”
“Geez, thanks, Joseph,” I drawl sarcastically. “I wonder why.”
He snaps his jaw shut, and sympathy swims in his eyes.
Joey was practically bouncing off the walls when he picked me up from the airport, talking a mile a minute about the things we can do together and the bars he wanted to take me to, but he soon picked up on my sour mood.
After days of him asking what was wrong, I cut my chest open and let my heart spill out.
I told him about how I ended up falling in love with someone, only to leave them in Massachusetts.
How I didn’t want to be here or work for Dad, and how angry I was at our parents and the world for not knowing what I wanted to do in my life.
