I falter.
I nod.
Evan’s hand falls as Mercedes places her arms on his shoulder. He looks a little deflated but I don’t pay too much mind. I just met the guy.
Kayden takes my hand and leads me out of the nightclub.
Every step I take with him makes me doubt my decision to talk to him in the first place. Talking to him is something I’ve been avoiding.
Thinking about him too.
But here I am being led out by him and I can’t help but love the feeling of his hand on mine.
The cool brisk of the night air hits me the moment we’re out the door and, for the second night in a row, I’m wishing I had worn more layers.
More than this piece of fabric that calls itself a dress.
I also wish I weren’t wearing heels. Then I could run away from my problems as quickly as humanly possible.
With these shoes, I wouldn’t even make it to the corner.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, facing me.
I shrug. “Maybe,” I tell him honestly. “I’ve had many shots.” Three, to be exact.
“Maybe we should have this conversation when you’re sober,” he says.
I take a few steps away from him to break free from his vortex. “Beats me,” I tell him. Truth is, if we don’t have a conversation now, I’ll spend the rest of the week making sure it never happens.
Liquid courage, right?
Man, I remember trying to use liquid courage to help me jump off a rock. Liquor has never been a friend to me. No good stories started with, ‘when I was drunk,’ at least not for me.
I’m not that lucky.
“Knowing you, you’ll probably avoid me the rest of the week like you have the last year,” he says, seemingly talking to himself and yet completely right about half of his statement.
Shaking my head, I prepare myself to respond. “I didn’t avoid you all year.”
He scoffs. “What would you call breaking up with me out of nowhere and never talking to me again?” he asks, sounding hurt.
“I didn’t break up with you,” I reply.
He shakes his head. “You told me we weren’t going to work out. How is that not breaking up with me?”
“You didn’t fight me on it,” I tell him.
He takes a deep breath. “Can we talk tomorrow?” he asks.
“You’re the one who took me off of the dance floor and brought me out here. If it were up to me, I’d never talk to you again,” I reply.
I watch him flinch. Watch my words hurt him. Well, his actions hurt me, so he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.
“I didn’t want to stop you from becoming a star,” I tell him, letting the floodgates open and the argument we never had begin. I need to get it all out of my system now if I want to have a chance to move on with my life.
“I didn’t care about becoming a star,” he tells me.
“You did,” I start. “Baseball was your dream. You were living out your dream.”
“I could have done it with you by my side,” he says, raising his voice slightly then lowering it again.
“When I came to visit you, I knew you’d entered a new world. You were a prince in high school but in college, in college you were a king. I couldn’t hold you back from the throne you worked so hard for,” I tell him the words tumbling out of my mouth as I pace back and forth.
“How were you going to hold me back?” he says, walking toward me.
I stop pacing when I see someone look at me concerned for a few seconds before walking into the club. “I was in high school. I was worried about school, college applications. You were living hundreds of miles away trying to keep up with your college classes and practice. We didn’t have time for each other. You didn’t have time for me,” I tell him.
“Bullshit. I could’ve made time for you,” he says, his fingers finding his hair.
“Could you have? Do you remember how many times we saw each other? How many phone calls? Texts?” I say, anger rising from within me.
“We talked,” he replies but his words are uncertain.
I shake my head. “Not enough to make it work. We talked less and less. It was like a fire slowly fizzling out.”
He scoffs. “So you threw water on it instead of kindling.”
I step up to him. “I pushed forward the inevitable so you could have time to focus on baseball and not me. So you didn’t have to feel guilty about going out with your friends. About not texting me or calling me. I wanted to make it easier on you,” I say, digging my fingers into his chest.
He takes hold of my hand. “You single handedly ended our relationship.”
“You didn’t fight me on it,” I reply, pulling back my hand.
He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t realize you wanted me to.”
“I wanted things to be easier for you,” I repeat.
He laughs. It’s dry. No sign of humor. “Well, it wasn’t easy.”
“I wouldn't know, you never reached out,” I reply, shrugging.
He shakes his head. “I was going through a difficult time,” he tells me.
“I know, that’s why I took our relationship off your plate, make it so you had less things to worry about,” I explain to him.
“Our relationship was the only thing keeping me sane,” he starts, and I don’t know where he’s going with it. “Freshman year wasn’t the dream you thought I was living in. I went from being the starter at Bragan Prep to basically the water boy. I sat on the bench and questioned whether I was talented enough. After all, I was a small fish in a big pond in college. I wasn’t used to that,” he tells me. I’m surprised by his words. He didn’t look like a small fish when I went to see him. He looked like the king
