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"He told you?"

"He didn't have to." She smiles softly. "I've known that boy his whole life."

My cheeks flush.

"Well… that and I saw you in his jersey by the dugout and in the hallway at the hospital," she adds with a small shrug. "But I'd like to think it was mostly the first thing."

I glance down at the cardboard box in my hands and smile before looking back at her.

"It was good seeing you, Ang," I say.

And, believe it or not, it was.

But I have things to figure out before I can even start explaining why.

Jace

Summer After Senior Year at CMU

"Yo, Jace! Where ya goin', man?" Scottie struts toward me, a beer in each hand. My guess? Neither of them are for me. "We're celebrating!"

"Yeah, I know," I toss over my shoulder, still walking toward the door. "I'll uh—I'll be right back."

He nods as I reach for the doorknob, and I take a deep breath before pulling it open. With my phone in my hand, I step into the hallway.

The noise from inside slips under the door and through the walls—voices, the bass of the song playing in the background—but the silence in my palm is still so much louder.

I stare at the screen, finally black after the last few calls—my agent, my coach, my mom, Tom and my sister. I had my first FaceTime call with my dad in months, and a few friends from high school texted me right away—plenty from the last few years did the same.

But now it's dark. Silent. No new messages. No incoming notifications. And despite the fullness of the moment, there's still a piece of me left feeling… empty.

I'm not sure why. Not sure what I expected. I'm not even sure why I'd put myself through having any expectations at all.

She probably doesn't even know yet. She might not care. I don't know where she is or what she's doing or how she's spent her time these last three years.

All I know is that I finally got the phone call.

The one I've dreamt about since I watched my first Major League Baseball game at four—my dad on the couch while I sat on the floor in front of the screen as close as he would let me get before he'd pull me back because it was bad for my eyes.

I got that call. Then another and another. And somehow it still feels like there's one that's missing.

Lenny.

I still think about her. Still picture her face. I still imagine her voice and her smile—the way her laugh would almost get caught in her throat before it came pouring out.

I can still taste her lips if I try hard enough. Still feel her fingers curled around mine—see my breath floating up her silhouette when the weather gets cold. And as much as I miss it—

I wish I didn't.

I wish things never ended. I wish I didn't still want her—crave her. And most of all, I wish I wasn't having the best night of my life and still waiting by the phone.

But there's something about the way things ended that has never quite felt… finished.

I pull up her name in my contacts—still there, still written the same way it was when I used to press it all the time. I think about calling her myself—telling her I did it. I made it.

Reminding her that she should be here with me.

She shouldn't be a missed call. She shouldn't be a call at all. She should be here. Next to me. At my side or in my lap, soaking it in. Because for so long I thought we'd do it together.