The paper crinkles in my hand after years of being hidden, but the ink and his handwriting are still impeccable.
Pen,
I know you’re laughing right now because I wrote you a letter. I can hear you mumbling, calling me an old man. I’m writing this because if I try to say it out loud, you’ll interrupt me three times, then I’ll pretend I wasn’t being serious, and you’ll let me get away with it. And for once, I don’t want to ignore the truth.
We’ve known each other since we were ten and eleven, which is ridiculous if you think about it. Most people don’t keep friends that long. But you’re not most people. You’ve been the one person I can count on. Especially when I didn’t know how to count on myself.
And somehow, you still know me better than anyone.
You know the difference between me being quiet because I’m tired and me being quiet because I’m spiraling. You know when I’m about to do that thing where I act like I don’t care—like everything is fine, when it isn’t. You’re basically the only person who can look at me and read the truth like the pages in a book without me ever saying a word, which is annoying, honestly. But also the thing I’ll miss most.
I can’t pretend I’m not excited to go to college. New friends. New teammates. New experiences.
But I also keep thinking about the distance. About how easy it is for people to promise nothing will change, and then they get busy and let things fade. I think about how this next year could turn into phone calls that get shorter and texts that take longer and longer to reply to, and then some day I don’t know anything about your life anymore.
I don’t want that.
What we are is real. And our friendship has mattered to me more than I’ve ever said.
So here’s what I can promise—I’m one call away. No matter what city I’m in, no matter what time it is. If you need me, I’m here.
And I’m saying this now because I don’t want you wondering later if I meant any of this. I’m not going to pull you into something messy right before I leave. You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who’s here, not hundreds of miles away, too consumed with his own life and dreams.
But you’re still my person. My best friend. And I’m still only a call away.
Thank you for being that for me. For knowing me better than anyone and not using the worst parts of me against me.
Being your friend has never been the hard part.
The hard part has been wanting more and pretending I didn’t because your dad was my coach, and our friendship was always most important to me. Timing and circumstance always kept that line in place. I just want you to know it wasn’t easy.
Go enjoy your senior year without me.
And I hope someday we’ll get lucky with timing and end up in the same city again.
Love,
Deck
I chuckle, but it’s hollow. Fifteen years and not much has changed. We’re in the same city again, and my dad is still his coach, and I’m sitting on a basement floor reading a letter from a boy who grew into someone I’m still not supposed to want.
After carefully folding the paper back up, I shove the letter into the scrapbook and close the box, wishing I had the guts to throw out the entire thing.
Sitting here won’t fix anything, but moving forward might, so I grab my phone. There’s a message from Leighton.
He’s single. You still want me to give him your number?
Chapter
Nine
Decker
* * *
I grab my batting helmet and try to remember the last time baseball felt simple.
“You guys are behind,” Drew says. “You need to get Easton home to even have a chance to get ahead with this series. And since he’s currently at first…” He cringes. “Good luck.”
