The Strike Out

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Harmony—”

  “No,” I snap at him. “I begged you to talk to me. To tell me what was on your mind. You neglected to do so. I pleaded with you to leave Chet alone, to not approach him. I asked you to always love me, and this week, it was as if I repelled you. Do you know how much it hurt knowing that you didn’t even want to touch me?”

  “My head hasn’t been in it,” he yells. “I can’t fuck you if my head isn’t in it.”

  I stand back, his harsh words shocking. “When have you ever fucked me, Holt?”

  He drags his hand down his face. “You know what I mean.”

  “I really don’t. I’ve no idea what’s happening to you right now. In the matter of a week, you’ve turned into a completely different person.”

  “I’ve been going through some shit, Harmony.”

  “As if I haven’t?” I ask, pointing to my chest. “I spend every morning hunkered over the toilet, feeling ill until the point that my stomach has nothing left in it. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to take care of a newborn while finishing a degree and an internship in an entirely new place. It hasn’t been easy on me, Holt. But I’ve talked with you, I’ve—”

  “Have you?” he shoots back. “Because I’m pretty sure you went to urgent care without telling me today.”

  “Because you were about to fly off the deep end. I haven’t been able to approach you about anything out of fear that you’re going to lose it. Your night terrors, your elusiveness. What the hell was I supposed to say?”

  “The truth, Harmony. You were supposed to tell me the truth.”

  “Like you’ve told me the truth this week? You’re such a hypocrite.” I toss my hand to the side, my breath lighting up against the cold air. “How did it happen?”

  “How did what happen?” Holt asks, confused.

  “The fight, Holt. How did it start?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters. I want to know. Did you go up to him, trying to defend my honor, after I specifically told you not to?”

  He grips the back of his neck but doesn’t say anything.

  “Tell me. How did it happen?”

  “I just lost it, okay?” he says, yelling at me now. “Everything piled up over the week, and when I saw him at the party, I saw red. I went up to him, asked him if he fucked with you. He smirked, and I nailed him in the face before tackling him to the ground. He got a shot to my side, but I got him in the face a few times before I was pulled away and he was dragged out of the loft. Happy?”

  Bile rises in my throat and I hold it back, tamping it down as I stare at Holt.

  This shell of a man in front of me.

  I don’t recognize him.

  And that terrifies me.

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not happy, Holt.”

  His anger slowly morphs into understanding. “Listen, I think we need to take a second—”

  “We need more than a second.” I push past him and unlock my car door before opening it up. “I don’t even know who you are right now.” I look up at him as panic crosses over his eyes. “I’m pregnant and will be twenty-one in a month. That wasn’t my plan, but I was going to make it work because I love you, Holt.” My teeth turn over my bottom lip. “But I look at you right now, and I realize, I can’t have this baby with someone unstable. Someone who can’t take time to talk to me—”

  “I didn’t want to stress you out,” he says quickly, grabbing hold of the top of my car door. “I was protecting you.”

  “I don’t need your protection, Holt. I need you by my side. I need you healthy. I need you even-tempered. I need the fun-loving guy I fell in love with.” I give him a once-over. “You’re not that man. The man you are right now, I want nothing to do with.”

  I sit in my seat and try to shut my door, but he prevents me from escaping as he squats in front of me. “It was a bad night, okay?”

  “It’s been more than a bad night.” Tears fall down my cheeks as agony overtakes my heart.

  I love this man, I truly do. But I can’t live life feeling as though he considers me fragile. I’m a strong, resilient, and intelligent woman, and as much as he’s said things that show me he sees that, I don’t think he believes it. He’s leapt to my defense unnecessarily several times, he’s avoided talking to me about serious things, and a healthy relationship cannot be sustained with that level of doubt and fretting. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my parents, it’s that they’re equals. Holt loves me, I’ve no doubt, but I’m not sure he’s ready to trust in me. I was prepared to let him be my anchor, but I don’t feel he’s ready to be mine. And that, to me, is vital.

  I don’t think we’ll survive.

  Fuck.

  He was wrong, thinking I’d resent him for his baseball career. I’ll resent him for suffocating me and not trusting in my strengths. I’ll resent him for hiding vital truths that could actually either save his life—like they did through Carson’s intuition tonight—or kill him if I’m in the dark about his health.

  He withholds his heart, his concerns, and his body.

  That’s not love.

  I wipe at a tear and stare straight in front of me, out the window. “It’s over, Holt.”

  “The fuck it is,” he says back, taking my hand. “Harmony, you can’t end this just because of one night.”

  “It isn’t just one night, Holt,” I yell. “It’s been a culmination of things. And how can I honestly think you’re going to be able to rein in your anger and still raise this baby?”

  “I’m not that angry, for fuck’s sake. It was one fight.”

  “You’re angry in the wrong moments,” I shoot back. “And that’s what matters. Now let me go or I’m going to start screaming.”

  “Harmony—”

  “Move,” I yell, pulling at the door.

  “Jesus.” He stands and stares down at me. “Baby, pl-please.” I hear the fear in his voice, the emotion clogging his throat.

  I pull on the door, and he scoots out of the way so I can click it shut. I lock the doors, turn the car on, and then wipe at my eyes.

  “Don’t drive upset,” I hear him yell, both hands on his head. “Please don’t fucking drive.”

  I pull out of the parking spot and drive off, tears clouding my eyes, my breath coming in spurts. I stop at a stop sign and gather myself. Getting in an accident would not help the situation.

  I pull out my phone and dial Priya.

  “Hello? Is everything okay?”

  Sucking in a sob, I say, “I just broke up with Holt.”

  “Oh shit. Okay, where are you?”

  “About to drive home.”

  “Want me to come get you? We can worry about your car later.”

  I take a deep breath. “No, I think I’m okay. Just talk to me while I drive. Talk about anything other than Holt.”

  “Okay, okay. Uh . . . a pigeon tried to eat my foot on the way to the diner today.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  HOLT

  “I fucked up,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat of Carson’s car.

  “Yeah, I could see that coming.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter, pressing my palms to my eyes. “Fuck, man.”

  “What happened?”

  Biting on my lower lip, I run through her last words, trying to comprehend them, trying desperately to wish they weren’t true.

  “I think she broke up with me.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Do you think that’s something I would joke around about?”

  “I guess not. Shit, man. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” I lean my head against the headrest. “I really don’t fucking know. I love her. I don’t want to lose her.”

  “What happened?”

  Glancing out the window, hoping she gets home safely, I say, “Everything. I wasn’t honest with her. My anger, apparently.” I turn to Carson. “Do you think I’m angry?”

  “No,” he answers but then
adds, “only when something means a lot to you. You gear up when an umpire calls something wrong. When someone is wronged, you turn red. With Harmony and Chet, I’m pretty sure you blacked out. You’re not an angry guy, but when something triggers your anger, yes, you lose it. Harmony is an obvious trigger for you.”

  “Shit. I’ve never thought about it that way, but . . . you’re right. When it matters to me, truly matters, I go from zero to sixty.”

  “I’ve only seen it a few times, but times I have seen it . . . not going to lie, man. It’s scary.”

  I sigh and slouch down. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

  Carson starts the car. “I don’t know, man. I’m not good with this shit. Hence, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  Staring out the window, I say, “Thanks for taking me to the hospital to make sure I was okay.”

  “Yeah, sorry that I called Harmony.”

  “Nah, it’s good that you did. I can’t keep hiding things from her. Maybe it’s good all this blew up in my face.”

  We drive back to the loft in silence. The party is over, shockingly. Pretty much killed the atmosphere with the fight. I give the guys a quick apology and then head to my room, where I pull out my phone along with the phone number one of the guys gave me. I type up a text and wait patiently for a response.

  Holt: This is Holt Green. Wanted to say sorry about attacking you tonight. I shouldn’t have lost my cool.

  Luckily Chet responds quickly.

  Chet: Good right hook. So, you’re dating, Harmony, huh?

  Holt: Yeah.

  Chet: One of my biggest regrets. I was a dick to her. I deserved the jaw-jarring.

  Holt: Glad you see it that way. I am sorry, though.

  Chet: We’re cool, man.

  Satisfied with that, I get ready for bed and remove the wrapping around my hand. My knuckles are bruised, but I can move my fingers, which is all that matters. It’ll be sore, but at least nothing is broken. That would make this situation a thousand times worse.

  Flopping back on my bed, I stare at my phone and the picture I have of Harmony as my wallpaper. Gorgeous smile, love in her eyes, heartfelt joy. It’s not the same look she gave me tonight. She was more terrified than anything, and that’s a look I never want to be on the receiving end of when it comes to my girl.

  Am I really that unstable? When triggered, do I lose it, like Carson said?

  “You’re angry in the wrong moments.”

  What does that mean? Aren’t I meant to make sure she’s safe? Knows she’s loved? Secure. Aren’t I meant to protect the women I love so she—

  “I don’t need your protection, Holt. I need you by my side. I need you healthy. I need you even-tempered . . .”

  Fuck. I’m doing every fucking thing wrong. How the hell am I meant to fix this? All of this?

  The doctor said I’m not to be stressed, but I don’t know how to calm the fuck down. What the hell am I doing so wrong?

  I won’t let her go. I cannot let her go. This is not over. I am that man she wants. The one who is fun-loving, will stay connected, stable, and healthy. I will.

  I go to our text exchange and type out a text.

  Holt: Hey, baby. I know I’m the last person you want to talk to but I need to know that you got home okay. Even if you don’t want to text me, please have Priya text me. I’m sorry about everything. I love you so damn much.

  I set my phone on my chest and stare up at the ceiling. It can’t be over. There’s no fucking way I’ll let it be over, not when I know she’s the one I’m supposed to be with. Not when we’re going to have a baby. My phone beeps and I quickly pick it up from my chest.

  Priya: She’s home. Dude, you have some groveling to do.

  My stomach bottoms out and I type back to her.

  Holt: Tell me I have a chance.

  Priya: Honestly, I’ve never seen her like this. I have no clue.

  “Fuck,” I softly say while pressing my palm to my eye.

  * * *

  Holt: Did she have morning sickness today?

  Priya: I’m guessing she’s not answering you so that’s why you’re texting me.

  Holt: I didn’t even try. I know she won’t answer. Please, Priya. She’s carrying my baby. I need to make sure she’s okay.

  Priya: Ugh, you pulled the baby card.

  Holt: Figured “she’s the love of my life” wasn’t strong enough to crack you.

  Priya: You’re right. Fine . . . she didn’t have any morning sickness. The medicine she got at urgent care seems to be helping.

  Holt: Is she eating?

  Priya: I’m not giving you the play-by-play. I’m still loyal to her.

  Holt: I get it. Thanks, Priya.

  * * *

  Holt: Still no morning sickness?

  Priya: No.

  Holt: Is she still crying?

  Priya: No

  Holt: Do you think she’s giving up on us?

  Priya: I have no clue. She’s closed off. Isn’t even talking to me.

  Holt: Fuck. Is she going to class tomorrow?

  Priya: She has to. She missed last week because of not feeling well.

  Holt: Okay. Thanks, Priya.

  Priya: Don’t do something stupid.

  * * *

  Students start filtering out of the lecture hall, and I keep my eyes trained on the door, waiting for a caramel-haired beauty to appear. Leaning against a tree, I tamp down the fear of rejection that’s signaling the flight response. I gave her the weekend, but that’s enough. Two days was way too fucking long to not talk to my girl. To not hold her. To not hear her addictive laugh. To not let her bust my balls.

  This ends now.

  I spot her funnel through the doors. I push off the tree, and make a beeline for her. Her head is buried in her phone, and she won’t notice me if I don’t go after her.

  “Hey,” I say when I reach her.

  Startled, she looks up at me, and for a second, I see life in her eyes, only for it to be suffocated by . . . nothing.

  Instead of saying anything, she stuffs her hands in her jacket and continues to move forward.

  “Harmony, please talk to me.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” she says, making her way to the parking lot.

  “So, you’re telling me you don’t love me, just like that? You’re done with me?” When she doesn’t answer, I tug on her arm gently so she stops and is forced to face me. “Say it, Harmony. Say you don’t love me.”

  Her eyes search mine. “It doesn’t work like that, Holt. I can’t just stop loving you.”

  “So then why are you giving up on us?”

  “Because I can love you but also know that you might not be right for me.”

  Trying not to grow frustrated, I say, “Because of one fight? You’re going to throw this all away because of a fight?”

  “Because of the way you made me feel,” she says, her voice breaking. “Do you realize when I was in my study group, I heard Chet was at the baseball loft? Did you know I called you and texted you multiple times, trying to let you know? And I didn’t hear anything. The entire time I was aching with uncertainty. The entire week you were pulling away, which was the buildup to Friday. The moment I heard he was there, I knew something was going to happen. So, I sat there, waiting, and waiting, my stomach churning, my mind racing. And then . . . I heard there was a fight at the loft with Chet. I’ve never felt so ill in my life until Carson called me to tell me you were in the hospital.” Tears stream down her face. “That was terrifying, Holt. I already have fear in my heart because of your condition, but knowing you were in the hospital for it . . . it brought me to my knees.” She wipes at her tears, and I try to reach for her but she steps back. “And do you know what the worst part about all of it was? It was all avoidable. All you had to do was talk to me. All you had to do was fucking talk to me,” she says, pushing at my shoulder, more tears streaming down her face.

  “I fucked up, Harmony.”

  “You did.” She nods. “
You fucked up big time and I’m not sure there’s any way to repair it.”

  On that, she turns away from me and continues to make her way to her car, leaving me at a loss. I don’t know how to fix this.

  And that’s what’s scaring me the most.

  * * *

  “Green, my office. Now.”

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath as I get up from my locker, all eyes on me, and head toward Coach Disik’s office. I think everyone in the locker room knows exactly what this is about. It’s hard to get anything past our coach.

  When I reach his office, I shut the door and take a seat. Coach Disik is holding a pencil and tapping the side of his cheek with it. The silence is deafening, an intimidation tactic that works well. He wouldn’t be as scary if he didn’t hold your future in his hands.

  Not even bothering to look at me, he says, “I’ll give you one chance to come clean, and I suggest that you do.”

  Yup, nothing gets past him.

  “I got in a fight Friday night,” I say, not giving him the runaround. “I was stressed about Harmony, about the test results, about the future, and I saw a guy who did her wrong. I took it out on him, had a panic attack, and wound up in the emergency room because Carson was worried something was going on with my heart. They ran an ECG and everything checked out fine.”

  Disik runs his tongue over his teeth and then leans forward on his desk, facing me. “Give me one reason why I don’t drop you from this team right fucking now.”

  I swallow hard. “Because I need this. I need this future. I need baseball. I need Harmony to know I’m not a goddamn loser who can’t figure out his life. I need to show my baby that I’m worth something.” I’ve never cried in front of Coach Disik before but, fuck, I’m close.