It’s time to get some answers.
Chapter seven
Kai
“Calm the fuck down, I’m coming,” I grumble, pulling on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt as I run a towel through my soaking wet hair. The incessant pounding on my door was audible even in my en suite bathroom where I had just climbed out of my soaker tub.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my ice baths, but nothing beats a soak in a hot bath after a shitty game like the one we played this afternoon. I’m in a piss-poor mood even though I didn’t pitch, and all I want to do is sit on my couch and sulk about how we had our asses handed to us.
Instead, I need to tell whoever it is at my door to fuck off.
At least, that was the plan. Until I open it, and five feet of blonde tornado comes ripping into my apartment.
“What the hell, Kai. What is this?” Isabelle’s waving her phone around like a lunatic.
I drape the towel around my neck, holding the ends, and narrow my eyes at her. “How did you find out where I live?”
She ignores my very legitimate question and unlocks her phone before thrusting it in my face. “‘Playboy of the Tridents Seen With Two Victoria’s Secret Models at Manhattan Club.’” She lowers the phone and swipes. “Here you are on a red carpet with some actress.” Another swipe. “And how about this one: ‘Kai Yamaki Seen Berating Server at Local Hot Spot.’ Since when do you scream at people trying to do their jobs?”
“Actually, he was trying to steal my used napkin, but whatever,” I interject dryly. “You know, if you keep searching, you should also see articles about the donations to various charities I do every year, the time I spend volunteering with a local little league, and the philanthropy the team does.”
I shouldn’t feel the need to defend myself, but what the fuck? She’s pissed I have a life and a media presence? Too fucking bad. I’m pissed she left, and yet thinks she has any right to judge me after all these years.
But Isabelle doesn’t continue yelling at me. Her face falls as she shakes her head. “This isn’t you, Kai. None of it. What happened to you?”
Her disappointment is the match that lights my very short fuse.
“What happened? You! You happened. Or more accurately, youleft.” I can’t stand still any longer, dropping my hands to my sides and clenching my fists as I pivot and walk down the short hall to my open-concept living space. It’s sparsely furnished, giving me plenty of room to pace as I unleash on her.
“You were it. My person. The one who I thought knew me, saw me, loved me. And you fucking left. Fine, you needed to go and meet your dad. I get that, hell, I supported it. But you didn’t come home. It was so easy for you to just toss us aside and decideto stay there.” Damn it, my voice cracks. I harden myself. “You. Didn’t. Come. Back.”
She’s shaking her head, her arms wrapped around her stomach as if she can hold herself together. “And I’m sorry for that. You have no idea how sorry I am that I hurt you that way. But you can’t honestly be blaming me for the fact that you’re known as the playboy of the team? Really? The Kai I knew was better than this.”
I can’t handle the disappointment I hear in her voice. It simultaneously fuels my anger and deflates it back into the sadness and loneliness that took over a part of me when she left. And all of it leaves me exhausted.
“What do you want, Iz?” I ask. I move to the couch and lean against it. “Tell me and let’s just move on.”
“I don’t know,” she admits, sounding just as broken as I feel. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here tonight like this. But when I saw all that, I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe you’d become that person.”
“Well, believe it,” I fire back, then exhale slowly. “You destroyed me, Iz. I thought everything was good, that we were good, and then you ripped it all away. I left university after you told me you were staying in Italy. Did you know that?”
She shakes her head.
“Yeah. The week after you called me and tore my goddamn world apart, I declared for the major league draft, and was picked up by the Tridents. Spent a couple seasons in the minors before moving up. Nothing else mattered to me but baseball at that point. You were gone, what else did I have?” I let out a low laugh. “Maybe I should thank you for leaving. It broke my fucking heart, but it did wonders for my baseball career.”
“Oh Kai,” she murmurs. My eyes close. I feel her come closer, and then her hand is tentatively on my arm. “I don’t know what else to say other than I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you were hurt sobadly. That I did that to you. You have to know it wasn’t easy. No part of leaving you and my mom was easy. And deciding to stay? That tore me apart. But I knew I had to do it, or I’d always wonder if something was missing from me. I didn’t expect you to cut all contact, though.” She sighs. “At first I was so angry at you for doing that. I was young and selfish and stupid, and I thought we could somehow stay friends. But eventually, I came to understand why you cut me out. As much as it hurt to lose you so completely, I get it. I couldn’t blame you for doing that at all. You did what you needed to protect yourself.”
Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to hear that apology. I know she probably didn’t mean to hurt me. Hell, maybe she had no clue just how much it would break me to lose her. She did what she had to do, for herself, and on some level, for me. I get that. I don’t like it, but I get it.
I exhale and open my eyes. She’s so close. I could easily pull her into my arms. She’d fit perfectly, especially with her softer, rounder curves. Hell, she’d feel like heaven, I’m guessing. But I’m man enough to know I owe her an apology as well.
“I was a young, stupid dumbass when I did that,” I say. “I’m sorry I cut you off so completely. I was hurting. Devastated. And pushing you away felt like the only thing I could do.” I swallow, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “But fuck, did I miss you.”
The next thing I know, she’s hugging me. Tentative at first, as if she’s not sure she should be doing it. But fuck that. I wrap my arms around her, any sense of self-preservation thrown away. Because that heaven I was guessing I’d feel in her arms? It’s even better.
“I missed you, too,” she mumbles into my shirt, squeezing me tighter. I let my cheek rest on her head, my eyes closing once again as I drink in the sensation of holding her again. Letting it seep into all the cracks and dark crevices of my heart. I can feel her breathe in and out, and then she speaks again.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even when I was angry and hurting that you cut me out, even when I was filled with guilt over leaving you, even when I had finally accepted that as much as it hurt, moving to Italy was what I needed to do. I never stopped missing you. There was this one day, about four years ago, when I was at work. It was a perfectly sunny day, and everything felt right, you know? That magical kind of day where you just know you’re where you’re meant to be.” Her head lifts but she doesn’t stop holding me. “I was just enjoying my day, cooking for my customers, when this couple walks in. And it was Bo Osaki.”
