“Is he back there?” I whisper just as I hear a zipper being pulled on. “I guess he is.” I scratch Herman behind the ears to gather some courage and then stand to make my way back to the bedroom.
I proceed with caution, unsure what I’ll find, but when I cross the threshold of the bedroom, I wasn’t expecting to see what’s on the bed.
Maddox’s suitcase.
No. No, he can’t leave like this. No.
Shirtless, Maddox comes from the closet and shoves some T-shirts into the suitcase just as I move forward. He looks to the side, spotting me, but doesn’t stop. He goes back to the closet and continues to fill the suitcase.
The tension is almost unbearable, the fury falling off him in waves is agonizing, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous in my life.
When he returns into the room, I try to put my hand on his but he steps away. “Maddox,” I say on a choked sob. “Please talk to me.”
He pauses, hands resting on his suitcase as he looks down at what he’s packed. “What is there to talk about? You do whatever the hell you want, Kinsley. There’s no point in talking.”
“Are you blaming me for Manny showing up?”
His head tilts to the side, his eyes dark and dangerous, and that’s when I spot the open bottle of whiskey on his nightstand. He’s been drinking even more than when we were at the bar.
“Are you denying it?” Before I can answer, he continues, “Ever since you got here, you’ve taken everything you wanted. You’ve changed everything in my apartment, trading out all my products for environmentally friendly shit. You changed my balcony into a landfill, you invited people over when I specifically told you not to, you brought a fucking dog in the house when I requested no animals, and you put on a fucking birthday party when I didn’t even want one.” His voice rises. “I didn’t want a fucking party, Kinsley. Are you hearing it now, or is it still going in one ear and out the other, like everything else I’ve told you?”
“Maddox. I was trying—”
“You were being your mom.” I reel back as if he slapped me.
“Excuse me?”
“Always meddling, always thinking you know what’s right. Guess what, Kinsley, we might have known each other since we were five, but I’m a grown man now, and you don’t know everything about me. Before you came here, I was doing just fine. I had my routine, I had my schedule of women, I was happy . . . content. And then you showed up.”
“I didn’t just show up,” I shoot back. “You invited me.”
He drags his hand over his face and reaches for the bottle of whiskey. He takes a gulp and then looks me in the eyes and says, “Yeah, that was a mistake.”
Blood begins to pound in my temples as my heart shatters, piece by piece falling to the ground in a heap of humiliation and despair.
He can’t possibly mean that. Right?
My lip trembles and my mind whirls, trying to come up with something to say, anything, but every time my mouth goes to open, my throat tenses up and I can’t get a word out, not without sobbing through it.
“You know, I’ve put up with a lot of your shit since you moved in. I’ve dealt with your idiotic lifestyle of trying to save the world. I’ve endured your ridiculous food choices and your useless toothpaste and bamboo bullshit you have all over the apartment. I’ve dealt with your three-legged dog that needs to leave this apartment. His time is up.” Tears flood my cheeks. “I’ve even held my cool when you’ve invaded my privacy in every which way despite me asking you not to, and when I told you to leave me alone about my brother, I expected you to do that.” He zips up his suitcase. “But you couldn’t, could you? You had to stick your nose where it didn’t fucking belong.” Maddox sets the suitcase on the floor and asks, “What were you expecting to get from inviting him? That we were going to magically make up? That I was going to see him and offer him a mending embrace?” Maddox shakes his head. “He slept with my girlfriend the first month I was away in the minors, Kinsley. Happy? There is no coming back from that.” He pushes past me, knocking my shoulder in the process and sending me to the side. I quickly catch my balance and chase after him.
“I didn’t invite him,” I say before Maddox can get too far.
Laughing with the bottle of whiskey up to his lips, he shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. You’re going to have to do a better job at lying.”
“Maddox, I didn’t.”
He just rolls his eyes and takes one more swig before setting the bottle on the counter. He slips his shoes on and I go up to him, putting my hand on his back. “Don’t go. We need to talk—”
He knocks my hand away, throwing me off balance, sending me to the floor. And for a brief second, I catch a sense of recognition pass over his eyes as he looks at me on the ground. But it’s a fleeting look, because just as quickly as it arrives, it disappears. “We don’t need to talk. I need to get the fuck out of here.”
This can’t be happening.
“Where are you going?”
“Why do you care?”
I get back on my feet and try to hold my ground, even though my legs are shaking, and unease eats me alive. “Because you’re drunk. Because you’re my boyfriend. Because I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Boyfriend.” He laughs and shakes his head.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I take another step forward but when his angry eyes hit me hard, I don’t move another foot.
“It means we’re done, Kinsley. We never should have gotten involved in the first place.”
“What . . . what are you talking about?” I choke on my tears as I try to find my words. “Maddox, I swear, I didn’t invite him. I don’t know how he knew where we were, but I swear—”
“Just shut the fuck up, Kinsley. Jesus.” He pushes his hand through his hair, the tension in his forearm startling as his muscles ripple. “I’m done,” he says with such finality that my jaw shakes so hard. I clench my mouth together so he doesn’t see it. “I’m fucking done. You have a week to get the fuck out of my apartment. Get the fuck out of my life.”
He wheels his suitcase out the door and slams it.
Bang.
I fall to the floor, completely and utterly devastated.
Get the fuck out of my life.
Oh God.
I can’t feel my heart. I can’t feel anything except agony.
We’re done.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MADDOX
“Okay, how much did you drink last night?” Lincoln asks, plopping down next to me on the airplane.
I tip my hat over my eyes and grumble, “Enough for the both of us.”
“I tried texting you this morning. Since I didn’t hear back from you, I assumed you were figuring things out with Kinsley.” Quieter, he asks, “What happened, man?”
I curve the bill of my hat with both hands and take a deep breath. “Honestly, I don’t fucking know.” My throat chokes up on me as I say, “I think I broke up with her.”
“You think?”
“From the lack of correspondence this morning, I’m assuming I did.” I take a deep breath, trying to remember how many drinks I had last night. I was drinking beer, then there were shots, lots of shots because of Jason, then we ate some more food, then stories . . . then Manny.
Fuck.
“Wait, she didn’t stay at the apartment last night?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t. Went to a hotel.” I take a deep breath and lift my water bottle to my mouth where I take a sip of water. Flashes of last night keep popping up in my memory.
Manny’s arrogant grin.
Instigating trouble . . . some things never change.
The bottle of whiskey.
The look on Kinsley’s face when she saw me packing.
The tears . . . Fuck, the tears.
Her denial, the denial that seemed so goddamn sincere that thinking about it right now twists my stomach into knots.
The words I said.
“You invited me here.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing as bile forms in my throat.
Her on the ground from me pushing her hand away.
The distress in her eyes.
I swallow hard, breathing through my nose.
“Dude, are you okay?” Lincoln asks.
I shake my head just as I reach for one of the barf bags and empty the contents of my stomach inside. My stomach retches, my chest heaves, and I grip the bag like it’s my only lifeline left in this world.
What the fuck have I done?
* * *
“Are you feeling better?” Lincoln asks, setting a bag of SmartPop in front of me and a water bottle.
I uncap the bottle and take a large sip. “As good as I can be,” I answer, looking out the window.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really?”
Lincoln leans his head back in his chair and says, “Have you heard from Kinsley?”
“I thought we weren’t talking about it.”
“You know that was a lie.”
“Really don’t feel like gabbing right now.”
“We’re gabbing?” Jason’s head pops up from the seats in front of us. “I’m in. Dottie refused to get naked last night, and she said it was because of you.”
“Me?” I point at myself. “Why me?”
Cory sits up from the seat as well—I had no idea those guys were sitting there—and he says, “Natalie was pissed at me too.”
“Why?”
“Apparently we should have stayed out of your business last night. Kinsley . . . well, she didn’t look too well,” Cory says, pulling on the back of his neck. “Hell, now that I think about it, she looked ashen.”
Jason rubs his palm over his forehead. “Yeah, I wasn’t really nice, and I feel bad about it.”
“Hold up.” I adjust my posture in my seat so I’m more upright. “You feel bad for her? Did you not see what happened last night?”
“We saw it,” Lincoln says. “But you’re not explaining anything. We assumed Kinsley invited Manny to the party last night. Is that what happened?”
“Yes,” I say, even though there’s the smallest inkling in the back of my head that maybe that wasn’t the case. “I . . . hell, Manny is getting married to my ex. She cheated on me with him when I left for the minors. It was shitty, and I haven’t told anyone besides Linc. I was embarrassed, pissed, humiliated, so I never mentioned it. Even to Kinsley, and I tell her everything. They sent me a wedding invite, probably just to rub it in, and Kinsley saw it. She tried to get me to talk about it and I refused. I wasn’t ready. Well, she fucking meddles, in everything, and he just happens to show up at the birthday party last night that she threw. Seems too fucking coincidental.” The anger I was feeling last night returns deep in the pit of my stomach, sending a signal to all my muscles to tense up.
The things I said last night . . . they hold a heavier weight to them now. There was a valid reason for them and I’m connecting the dots again.
“She went behind my back to try and fix something she never had the right to get involved with,” I say, finding justification the more I talk. “And it caught up to her last night.” I look out the window. “It’s over.”
“You broke up with her?” Jason asks, his voice sounding sad.
“Yeah.” I press my lips together, thinking back to what I said to her. “Told her she had a week to get out of the apartment.”
“Dude,” Cory says, almost like he’s about to lecture me. “That’s harsh.”
“What am I supposed to do? Live with her? After everything that went down?” I shake my head. “Doesn’t work that way.”
“She’s your best friend,” Cory says. “You’re a different guy with her. She makes you happy.”
“Made me happy.” I lift my hat and push my hand through my unruly hair. “I’m over it. Just . . . let it go. I am.”
I can feel their stares, as if they don’t believe me and hell, I don’t believe myself, but at this point, the best thing I can do is try to forget . . . forget everything.
* * *
“Bullshit,” I scream and throw my arms up in the air, pacing the bullpen now.
“Dude, calm down,” Lincoln says.
Pointing toward the field, I say, “The umpire is choking us out there. Ramon is throwing his goddamn ass off and he’s not getting one call.”
“Stomping around isn’t going to help.”
“So you’re just going to sit back and do nothing? Tell Jason to miss a pitch. Let it knock the ump in the chest and get him to wake up.”
“Maddox, dude. We’re winning.”
“It doesn’t fucking matter.” I can feel my face turning red and my skin crawling with the need to do something, to lash out, to release this anger.
“Hey.” Lincoln stands from the bullpen bench and presses his hand to my chest. “Maddox, you need to—”
I push him out of the way, sending him into the fence behind him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Fight, fight, fight,” a fan starts chanting above us.
Not thinking twice, I flip him off, and then grip the top of my hat and walk away, knowing the cameras caught every bit of that, and the announcers on TV are talking about the “altercation.”
To get away from everyone, I go to the bathroom in the bullpen and shut the door. I grip the sink in front of me and look up at the mirror. Dark circles drown out the color of my eyes, my face looks pale, and sharp whiskers coat my whole face.
I look like shit.
I expected to hear from Kinsley yesterday. Maybe a text, or even a phone call—because that’s who she is—and she doesn’t let anything go.
But she’s been radio silent.
And I get it, why would she contact me after I told her she had a week to leave the apartment, after the things I said to her? And why would I want her to contact me in the first place? She overstepped big time. She’s been overstepping ever since she moved in, and I’ve brushed everything off. But this, this was crossing a line. I told her to stay out of it. I told her to drop it.
And she didn’t.
I bite my bottom lip.
Or did she . . .
“Fuck,” I yell into the small cinderblock bathroom and then spin around and kick the door. It flings open revealing Lincoln standing on the other side, arms crossed, a not-too happy look on his face.
Sighing, I lean against the wall and sink to the floor, burying my head in my hands, letting the anger overwhelm me, only for it to start to fade through deep breaths. But even when it fades, it’s not fully gone. It’s simmering. Ready to explode.
* * *
“Not drawing?” Cory asks, next to me.
I lean back in the chair that’s facing my locker so I don’t have to look at the rest of the team. I want to stay in my own zone, my own world.
“No,” I answer, gripping a baseball in my hands.
“You always draw before a game.”
“Yeah, well I’m not fucking drawing today, okay?” I snap, startling Cory.
My phone lights up in my lap and my stomach drops as I check to see who the text is from. When I see it’s Chipotle telling me about free delivery, I nearly pick my phone up and chuck it against my locker wall.
Two days and nothing.
Not even a sorry.
Not even a check-in to see if I’m okay. Fuck, I’m the one who was blasted by the past. Where’s the goddamn sympathy?
“It’s better to talk it out, you know,” Cory says.
“Fuck off,” I respond, slouching further in my chair.
“That’s how this is going to be?” Cory asks, his voice unwavering. “Because I remember a time when you were in my business.”
“Because you’re the one who fucked up and needed a kick in the ass.”
“And you don’t believe you fucked up in this situation?”
I raise a brow in his direction. “Seriously? You were there, how could you say that?”
&
nbsp; Cory shakes his head and looks to the side. I study him. There’s something he’s not saying, something he’s holding back.
I sit taller in my chair and swivel to face him. “What are you not telling me?”
He grips the back of his neck and asks, “Did she say she invited your brother?”
“No, she denied it. But how the hell else would he have known?”
From his locker, Cory grabs his phone, and taps away on it. “Natalie’s been cold toward me since that night, saying there was no way she could imagine Kinsley doing something like that. She sent me this screenshot today.”
Cory hands me his phone. It’s an Instagram post by someone I don’t know. The post is a picture of all of us at the bar. I’m holding Kinsley close to my chest and we’re both laughing. Just the sight of her in that yellow dress twists at my heart, reminds me of seeing her on the ground, fear in her eyes. I did that.
The pain from that night comes rushing back, kicking up my pulse and constricting my lungs.
“They tagged the bar,” Cory says.
“Okay, that doesn’t mean—”
“Look at the next picture.”
I scroll over to the next picture and my heart sinks. All color drains from my face, I’m guessing. Circled in red is a comment from a Manny_Paige_56 that says, “Coming for you, bro.”
“Holy fuck.” I press my hand to my forehead and dive my fingers through my hair. “Holy . . . fuck.” I lean back in the chair, as the room starts to spin around me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I toss Cory his phone back, and I dig into my locker for mine.
Regret slams me in the chest as I clasp my phone in my palm.
A shudder of helplessness eats at me, as I haphazardly navigate through my phone to find Kinsley’s name.
And my blood roars through my veins as humiliation grabs hold of my heart.
Fuck.
What have I done?
What the fuck have I done?
I press call on her name and bring the phone to my ear, my foot bouncing on the floor, perspiration filling my brow.
“Answer, answer, answer,” I whisper on repeat as an acute sense of loss starts to creep up my neck.
The Change Up Page 30
