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Kendall stood up and set a ticket on the coffee table. “Tomorrow is the last regular season game. Ryan’s pitching. I know it would mean a lot if you were there.”
“Did he ask you to come here?”
“God no, he’d shoot me if he knew I was doing this. He was pretty adamant when we talked that I should leave it alone. He was respecting your wishes and giving you space.” Kendall pushed the ticket closer to Peyton. “I’m asking you to think about coming, so at the very least you can talk. You don’t seem over him, Peyton, and I know he’s definitely not over you. Don’t you think you owe it to yourselves to talk?”
“He hurt me, Kendall.” She absently brushed away the tear that dripped down her cheek.
“I know he did, sweetie. And he deserves to have his ass kicked. But you can’t kick it if you don’t talk to him.”
Peyton wrapped her arms around herself, her brain swimming with emotion as she tried to process everything Kendall had said.
“I’m going to get out of here and let you think.” Kendall stood up, and Peyton followed.
At the front door, Kendall leaned over and pulled her into a hug. “Just think about it, please.”
“I will.” Peyton returned the hug, then opened the front door and shut it behind Kendall.
She walked back to the living room and sat down on the chair. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the ticket on the table. Could she go to the game? Could she open herself up to that kind of hurt again?
Picking up the ticket, she ran it between her fingers. They’d only been together a short period of time and already they’d had so many bumps. Maybe that was a sign they shouldn’t be together. She stared down at the ticket and remembered what it had been like watching him play. Bumpy or not, she’d never felt about anyone the way she felt about Ryan. That’s why this all hurt so much because she’d fallen in love with the idiot.
God, what should she do? Go? Stay?
Ugh, she dropped the ticket on the table and stood up. She didn’t have to decide tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The locker room buzzed with energy the way it always did before a home game. Being the home team was an advantage for a reason. The chants and cheering when their team did something great. Booing at the away team. It all rocketed up the energy he normally felt before a game.
So why the hell couldn’t he get himself out of this funk? It had been weeks since he’d broken up with Peyton, and still he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Normally, when he hit the field, everything else immediately fled from his mind. Nothing mattered except the batter in front of him. He’d spent more hours on training his brain to block out the noise than most people did earning a degree. And it had worked. He was the best in the league at what he did for a reason. But when things fell to shit with Peyton, it was like all of that work was for nothing. He couldn’t get his head on straight.
The chatter in the locker room instantly died the second Cal walked into the room. “This is a big game, boys. We’re number one in the division, but Houston is only one game back, so if we want to keep our spot heading into playoffs we need a win tonight.”
Cal scanned the room, finally homing in on Ryan. He pinned him with a stare before continuing to scan the room. “Everyone needs to focus tonight. I know we all have other things going on in our lives. Wives, girlfriends, sick kids at home and what not. But honestly, I don’t fucking care. When you walk onto that field nothing else matters but this game. You got me?”
It felt like the entire team looked at him when Cal spoke. Fuck, he needed to grow a pair and get his shit together. Things with Peyton were messed up, but baseball—that made sense. This team made sense, and there was no way he could let these guys down. Being number one going into the playoffs was huge. It set the tone for the series, reminded the other teams who to fear. Not only did it give them a bi in the first round, but home team advantage when they did play. And if he didn’t want the coach to bench his ass, he needed to focus and pitch.
When their little pep talk wrapped up, Ryan continued to sit on the bench. He closed his eyes as his teammates moved around him. He knew they were all there, but he blocked it out, using every technique he’d been taught to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand. After several minutes, he opened his eyes. The locker room was empty except for Pete.
“You good, man?” Pete asked.
“Yeah, I think so.” At this particular moment he was. Now he just needed it to stick.
“Good.” Pete clapped him on the shoulder. “You got this. Even when you’re off your game, you are still one of the best in the league. Remember that. Stay out of your fucking head. There is no one who can take us all the way better than you can.”
“NLS champs then World Series, baby.”
“You know it,” Pete agreed. “Let’s kick some ass and get them the fuck out of our house.”
“Ryan, hold up,” Coach Gill called.
“I’ll see you out there,” Pete said before he jogged out of the room, leaving Ryan alone with the pitching coach.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“How you feeling?”
