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My shoulders drop. I lift one again, holding the phone in place between it and my ear as I yank my towel down and wrap it around my waist. "I'm so glad you called," I say, pushing both the seat and lid of the toilet down that Scottie so generously left up… as usual.

I sit down on it and lean my elbow on the corner of the sink beside me.

"How was your day?" I ask.

"It was good. Boring."

My stomach drops. "You seemed busy."

A quick silence settles between us before she responds. "Just school. Then Mabel had me glue like a million paper arrows onto cardboard cupids for Sweethearts in the Square next month."

I perk up slightly. "Hey, maybe I should try to come home that weekend."

"Wait…" She pauses. "Really?"

"Sure," I say, my mind running through my baseball schedule. "I probably couldn't skip practice Friday. And we have mandatory workouts Sunday nights. But maybe I could fly home just for—"

"Jace," she cuts in, and it sounds so… final. "It's fine. That's way too much work."

My elbow slides off ‌the sink and lands on my knee. "Yeah, but then we could go." I shift my tone. "Cause ya know—we're sweethearts?"

She laughs, but it's shallow. Distant. "Yeah, right… you hate that stuff. You didn't even go last year, and you were home."

"Well, I'd go if it meant I got to see you."

She swallows, and it echoes through the phone. "I wish," she says.

And I want to remind her that I'm volunteering. Asking.

All but begging.

But instead, I try again.

"Well, did you give any more thought to coming out again for our first game? I know we still have some time, but since my mom probably won't make it because of the baby…"

She clears her throat softly. "Track starts right around the same time. I probably shouldn't miss any practices that soon."

"Oh, you're still doing that? Running?"

She pauses, and I can practically see the pull between her brows. "Yeah, I mean… why not?"

"I don't know," I admit. Luckily, my words don't come out as hostile as I feel. "I guess you just haven't talked about it much."

"Well… I am. It's my senior year. I figured I might as well."

I swallow, trying not to sound bitter about all of it. Trying not to be bitter about any of it.

"But maybe another game, okay?" she adds quickly once she recognizes I'm quiet. "We can look at our schedules."

I grip the sink, my skin clammy from what I tell myself is the building steam of the still-running shower. "Yeah. No, I get it. Totally."

There's more silence that threatens to consume me. Threatens to make the questions I have swirling in my mind fly out. But I know this is a lot for Lenny—school, now track. Her family. My schedule.

When I dreamt of all this, I never had her with me. We'd never met. I'd never moved. Mom and Dad had never split.

I pictured college as a stepping stone leading to the MLB stadium I'd eventually be standing in—not as the place I'd watch my mom have a baby with someone new and wait for Lenny to finally be.

But that's how CMU has felt to me recently—like a safe space away from all the bullshit at home and the place Lenny and I will share until my dream finally becomes reality.