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"Yeah." I gulp, still looking at the screen. "Okay."

She doesn't turn to leave right away, and I don't realize why until she clears her throat, her palm open toward me.

"Oh, sorry." I slowly drop the phone into her hand, my eyes not pulling away until the last possible second.

When I look up, Dylan's staring at me with a deep crease in her brow and her lips parted slightly. "I'm gonna…" She throws her thumb over her shoulder, glancing at the door, then back at me. "Are you good?"

I force a laugh, my eyes darting toward the pile on the floor. "Of course," I lie, bending down. I grab the first two things I can reach just to fill my hands.

"Okay," she says skeptically. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

I nod too quickly, my mhmm coming out at an octave so high I wasn't aware I was even capable of reaching it.

Thankfully, Dylan turns around anyway, leaving the closet and letting the door click closed behind her.

I exhale a heavy breath, the boxes in my hands falling with my chest.

I pull my phone from my pocket, immediately Googling his name.

The first thing that pops up is the Draft Tracker page on the MLB website. The second is the Twitter post that Dylan saw.

I click on the top link.

The website opens and Jace's name and picture take up the screen, an image of another player and their draft information listed below it.

"Holy shit," I whisper, reading the history and highlights that I already know.

That I saw first hand.

My thumb scrolls without me telling it to.

Then stops.

Then scrolls again.

"He did it," I say aloud, my hand flying to my mouth. Tears build behind my eyes as I stare at him staring back at me—a headshot that's somehow of both a boy I loved and a man I don't know.

Without meaning to, I swipe out of the app.

And the next thing I know, I've clicked on his name in my contacts and started a message.

I type it out—a full text.

How happy I am for him. How proud. How much I regret everything that happened. How I miss him every time I hear our song, see our friends, or watch a game.

Whenever I'm home.

Whenever I breathe.

It all comes pouring out like my hands aren't even mine. Like these words have been sitting at the tips of my fingers, just waiting for a reason to finally say them.

And maybe they have.

But before I can even reread my thoughts, I erase it all.

The message. His number. I delete everything that I gave up the rights to already.

Everything I regret walking away from because I couldn't actually leave.