Hands stuffed in his pockets, he looks up at me, those devastatingly handsome eyes penetrating my very soul. “I don’t want to pressure you, Myla, so I’m going to give you your space as you asked. I want you to know, though, that I’m not mad at you. I’m not distancing from you. I’m just respecting you. And for the record, just in case I didn’t make it clear enough, I like you too, Myla. A lot. You make me smile, you make me happy, you make me think, and you make me feel alive. If you’re ever wondering what you bring to the table, it’s all those things. In the world of baseball, we don’t get much time to breathe, but you, you’re my breath of fresh air.” With a sad smile, he takes off toward the door and exits the apartment, leaving me in a puddle of emotions. And words. Lots of incredibly kind and thoughtful words. Words I never thought I’d hear directed at me.

I like you too, Myla. A lot. You make me smile, you make me happy, you make me think, and you make me feel alive. If you’re ever wondering what you bring to the table, it’s all those things . . . you’re my breath of fresh air.

What the hell do I do with that? Why the hell am I so messed up?

* * *

**RYOT**

“She message?” Penn asks as he sits next to me in the locker room.

I shake my head and set my phone down. “No.” Leaning back in my plush chair just in front of my locker, I say, “It’s been three fucking weeks. I know I told her I’d give her space, but fuck, I thought that maybe she’d contact me by now.”

“Dude, have you thought that maybe she’s not the right person for you?” Penn asks as Walker approaches and sits on the other side of me.

A year ago, Walker and Penn never would have been seen within five feet of each other. A longtime rivalry between the two made locker room chats increasingly uncomfortable. But after a rough year, a lot of honesty, and Penn admitting he had a drinking problem and going to rehab, we’re now able to sit peacefully in the locker room without them staring each other down. It was so weird. They were unstoppable on the diamond together. Penn as pitcher, Walker as catcher. Pure magic. Even though off the field was such a different story. Now, thank fuck, they’re almost friends. And still unstoppable.

“Are you talking about Myla?” Walker asks as he picks up one of his cleats and adjusts the shoelaces.

“Yeah,” I answer. “It’s been three weeks. I just figured by this point, she would have contacted me. I even . . .” I rub my palm into my eye. “Hell, I even posted a video of me in the batting cages on Instagram, knowing she hates those videos, and it’s been radio silence.”