Garrett clamped a hand over his rumbling stomach as piping hot grilled cheese and tomato soup wafted through the air. A perfect compliment to the rainy April day. He checked his watch. Arianne's class let out five minutes ago. Where was she? Pulling out his phone, he saw a text from her.

Ari: Not feeling so hot. Gonna eat lunch in my dorm.

He frowned at the lack of GIFs. She really must not be feeling well. Was it because she was coming down with something or because of the rumors flying around? He knew she'd been fending off innuendos and blatant snubs. They'd only talked over text since she came to his room, but he could feel her struggle with every text.

Garrett: You want me to bring you a sandwich or something?

Ari: Morgan's getting me food.

A brush off, but she needed people surrounding her, taking the blows for her. Morgan was still pissed at him especially when she learned about him telling his friends, but on this, they were in complete agreement. They formed an uneasy alliance, creating a rotating schedule so Arianne wouldn't be alone. Lunch was supposed to be his time with her, and he'd been looking forward to it.

Garrett: Okay. Want me to swing by? We can eat together.

Ari: That's okay. I kinda want to be alone.

He swallowed his disappointment. Before he could respond, she texted again.

Ari: Have you talked to your roommate yet?

Garrett: I'm waiting to hear back from him. The minute I do I'll let you know.

Ari: Okay, thanks.

The awkwardness between them was a thorn under his skin. He was desperate to get back to the time when words were easy, and the tension between them had nothing to do with negativity but something else entirely.

Garrett: I am sorry about telling my friends.

Ari: So you've said.

Garrett: They haven't told anyone.

Ari: So they've said.

Garrett: Ari...

Ari: I really REALLY wish you hadn't told them.

Garrett: I know.

He could apologize a million times, but it wouldn't make a lick of difference. He wished she could see his friends through clear lenses instead of being colored by that dick Chase.

Garrett: I hate this. ALL of this.

He hated he couldn't see her. Eat lunch with her. But most of all, he hated the growing distance between them.

Garrett: I want things to go back the way they were.

He waited, gnawing on his bottom lip as three dots on his phone blinked in and out of existence.

Ari: As much as I hate what you did, it didn't matter. We were always going to end up here. I should have been upfront about everything instead of hoarding the truth. Maybe then we could have avoided this.

Garrett: What do you mean by "avoid this?"

Ari: You've never been one to play stupid, Garrett. Don't start now.

Ari: Morgan's here with lunch. I'll talk to you later.

Goddamn it. She was pulling away when what they needed to do was hash out whatever crap was running through her head. He'd take her for a walk after baseball practice and get down to the heart of the matter. But as he glanced up, he saw rain hitting the windows and changed plans.

Garrett: Do you want to meet me in our room in the library tonight?

It'd be a great place to talk since it was hidden among the bookshelves. They'd been back several times since accidentally meeting months ago and not once had anyone else stumbled in.

Ari: I think I'm gonna stick here today. Don't feel like getting wet.

He let the issue go for now but sooner or later, they'd talk. His stomach growled as he put his phone away. Fuck. He didn't feel like eating in the cafeteria and making small talk with people. Grabbing a sandwich and a drink from the cafeteria, he made his way to the nearest building. Under the eaves, he hunkered down on a damp adirondack chair, getting lost in thought as he watched the rain fall and ate his sandwich. Therefore, he was surprised when Jordan ran across the field with his jacket pulled over his head and joined him.

"Strange place to eat, Saint." Frowning, Jordan flicked the water off his jacket and parked himself on a chair next to Garrett. "Saw you get your food and thought I'd join."

"So you're stalking me now?" he asked as Jordan pulled a burrito out of his sweatshirt pocket and unwrapped it.

"Casually following," Jordan corrected around a mouth of burrito. His jacket and sweatshirt covered the bandage wrapped around his right shoulder, but Garrett knew it was there. He'd seen it enough at practice. Most guys wouldn't bother to show up for practice when they couldn't even play, but no, not their illustrious captain. If he wasn't at physical therapy, he was at practice. And he didn't sit on the sidelines either. He ran down balls, handed out water, and critiqued Garrett's pitching technique every chance he got. It irked Garrett, but he'd caught the sheer longing in Jordan's eyes as he gazed at the pitching mound.

"How's your shoulder?" Garrett asked.

"Healing." Under his breath, Jordan added, "Or so they say."

Garrett felt for him. He didn't know what he would do in the same position. "Sucks, man."

Jordan put his burrito down and sighed. "Not how I wanted to spend the remainder of the season."

"Might not have much of a season left come Friday," he muttered. The closer the game loomed, the larger Garrett's nerves grew until it was hulking beast standing over his shoulder.

Jordan frowned. "What's with the change in attitude?"

At practice, Garrett had been a force of positivity, bolstering the team's confidence, but behind closed doors, he couldn't keep the doubts at bay. "I'm just..." But how could he confide in Jordan? Jordan, the guy who walked onto a pitcher's mound like a general readying for war. He never had a moment of weakness. Never wondered if he was good enough. "Never mind."

Jordan's finger tapped against wood. "After all this time you still can't talk to me?"

"We're not exactly friends," Garrett pointed out.

"We're not enemies either." Jordan scooted to the end of the chair and turned, giving Garrett his full and undivided attention. His expression was open. Friendly. And it made Garrett uneasy. "I'm a vault of secrets. Nothing gets past these lips so spill."

He'd rather cut his balls off than divulge his inadequacies to Jordan.

"Come on," Jordan coaxed. Motioning for him to talk. "Pitcher to pitcher." When Garrett hemmed and hawed, Jordan settled back in his chair and resumed his tapping. "Would it help if I told you something about myself?"

"I don't know," Garrett hedged. It would have to be a secret of monumental proportions to pry his mouth open.

Jordan gave him a long and searching look, then nodded like he made an important decision. "I like guys."

"You...you..." Garrett needed to get his ears checked.

"I like guys," Jordan repeated, his tone factual like he was reciting the periodic table. "It's why I knew about your brother. I have hooks in the community."

Well...that certainly was monumental, and completely unexpected. "Does anyone else know?" There wasn't even a whisper on campus, and he disliked the idea of being the first one in Eason to know. Not because he was ashamed of Jordan or anything, but because he didn't deserve the honor.

"Yes, but if you're asking who on the team, only Gus and the coaches."

It made sense given Jordan and Gus were roommates. As for the coaches, knowing Jordan, he probably walked straight into their office and laid it all out, not giving two fucks, which was why Garrett was surprised the whole team—hell, the whole campus—didn't know.

"I don't want our achievements to be overshadowed," Jordan explained to the unspoken question lingering in the air. "If we make it to regionals, and I think we will, the coverage would be about me. The players and coaches would be shoved in the background. Doesn't feel right. We're a team. Our accomplishments should be celebrated. Together."

Garrett could see Jordan's point. When an athlete came out, regardless of the sport, all attention—good and bad—was focused on them. But he couldn't help and wonder if Jordan's hesitation was as linear as he'd like to believe. A small part of him had to be scared, or at least nervous. Regardless, hiding an aspect intrinsically apart of him had to be torture. "Doesn't seem fair to you."

Jordan hefted a shoulder. "It's not like it'll always be this way."

Whatever his reasons, Jordan's trust humbled him. It couldn't have been easy to tell him of all people who had turned his back on his brother for the very same reason.

Jordan lifted an eyebrow, his eyes bright with curiosity. "So I confessed my big bad secret. Your turn. Cough up."

Garrett winced. In comparison to Jordan's elephant, his problem seemed like a mouse. Talk about first world problems. How could he confide in Jordan without sounding like a self-absorbed ass? The same could be said if he didn't—double damn.

"Do you ever..." The pressure in his chest tightened. He fixed his gaze on a tree swaying in the distance and pretended Jordan was his brother instead of his captain. "I'm just...it's one thing to do it at practice but what if...?"

"You don't want a repeat of last time."

Garrett's shoulders drooped in relief. Jordan understood. "I can push away the doubt and jeers at practice but what if I can't on Friday? What if I end up screwing up again, and losing us the game? What if we don't make it to regionals because of me?"

His confession didn't even give Jordan pause which relieved and annoyed Garrett.

"I could give you platitudes about how you won't mess up, but the fact is you will mess up. Everyone does."

Garrett shot him a look. "Gee, thanks. I'm so glad I told you my deepest fear."

Jordan shook his head. "This isn't your deepest fear."

"I think I know my own fears."

"No. You don't. But we can deal with that later. One problem at a time."

Garrett scowled. There was the asshole Garrett knew and loved.

Jordan continued, "I could give you a charming antidote about a time I screwed up and lost a game but I won't."

Garrett rolled his eyes to the heavens and asked, "Why are we having this conversation?"

"What I will do is ask you one very important question, and I want you to answer. Are you listening?"

Garrett gave a mock salute. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Jordan's voice turned serious. "What will happen if you lose this weekend?"

That was easy. "I'll be benched next season."

Jordan's lips quirked. "You're already going to be benched next year. I'm injured. Not dead. What else?"

"The team will hate me."

"I don't buy it. Last year, Eli overthrew first base and lost us the chance to go to regionals. We still like the bastard even though we rag on him every chance we get. You know this so next."

"The coaches won't believe in me."

"They recruited you. I doubt it would go up in a cloud of smoke over one game."

"Two games," Garrett corrected. "There was the pre-game and the one coming up."

"Don't play dumb. You know the real reason and if you can't admit it, then how can you possibly overcome it?"

"What do you want from me?"

"I want honesty. Brutal, scrape your insides raw, honesty. You comfort yourself with all these bullshit excuses but—"

"Comfort?" Garrett exclaimed. He burst out of his chair, spreading his arms. "You think I'm comfortable right now?"

"I think you're hiding, and you've done it for so long it's like a couch you never want to leave. You accept this is your reality without asking if it has to be. Without fighting for something different. Something you actually want."

His vision blurred as irritation thundered in his veins. "This is my reality because experience has proven this is all I can be. You want the honest to God truth? Well, it's that I'm not good enough. I'm never good enough. When people are desperate and need me, I can't deliver. I'm like a bad action movie that looked fucking killer in the trailers but wasn't worth the nine bucks to see at a theatre."

Jordan's jaw went slack. "That's not—"

"I mean, do you know what my brother wrote about me in his journal when day after day I left him hanging in the wind? Or the devastation in my mother's eyes when she realized I had known all along and said nothing?" His breathing grew ragged as the memories pierced his chest. "Or how after his death I pretended everything was same as usual? How I kept playing baseball alongside those insufferable assholes who had shunned my brother?" Every harsh word hammered his point in. He didn't care what anyone said. He knew what he was. What he would always be.

Jordan's blue eyes flashed as rain pounded against the building in a relentless beat. "So that's it? You're going to give up?"

Garrett's fingers curled into his palms. "I'm not giving up anything because there's nothing to give up."

Jordan's chin jutted out the same way it did before every pitch. "If you were my brother—"

"But you're not," Garrett said, his tone sharp like a finely honed knife. His fingernails bit into his flesh. "And I'm not looking to replace him."

"God, you're an insufferable bastard, you know that?" Jordan sighed as Garrett gave him a mutinous glare. "Fine. Do what you want, but I think you're doing your brother's memory and more importantly, yourself a disservice. But whatever, your life." Jordan wagged a finger. "The game on the other hand. That's something as your captain I do have a say in. And you need to ask yourself this—what are you really terrified of?"

Jordan collected his trash and stood, brushing the crumbs off his shirt. "I got to get to class. I'll see you at practice." He paused under the eaves. "By the way, how's Arianne doing? I sent a text, but she's not answering."

"How do you think she's doing? A wrecking ball swung into her life and destroyed everything."

"Not everything. You're still there."

He raked a hand over his damp hair. "Yeah, well, it doesn't count for much." Not in her mind.

Jordan swung his backpack over a shoulder and shook his head. "You always make life so damn difficult, don't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out." Jordan pulled his jacket over his head and ran into the rain.

As he watched Jordan leave, Garrett bit into his sandwich and wondered why every time they talked it felt like talking to his shrink. Oh shit. Speaking of his shrink, they had a session this afternoon. He winced as he checked his phone. Two missed calls from Dr. Shinn as well as a calendar reminder of the appointment. Great. Just fucking great. Another mistake. Another promise not delivered.

Garrett quickly finished lunch, then attended his afternoon classes. Not that it did him any good. As his professors droned on about Spanish grammar and the migration of the Anglo-Saxons, Garrett was sorting through his thoughts and emotions like his mom during spring cleaning. He had three categories: keep, discard, and throw in a box for later analysis. A whole storage container worth went into the latter, but he'd worry about that later. His stomach could only handle so much without burning another hole into his lining.

One thing he kept circling back to was Dr. Shinn and Jordan. They both harped about different issues, but somehow they seemed intrinsically linked as if one issue was wrapped in a ball of string and knotted with the other. If he had any chance of solving his problems he needed to untangle them, but the knots were so massive—so complex—he didn't know where to begin. He supposed that's why people hired doctors like Shinn. What was it that she had asked during their last session?

Why do you think Arianne is your safe haven?

That was simple. She calmed his mind. She helped center him like the pitching mound had.

His pulse spiked. But she's not doing that anymore, is she? a nasty voice inside him asked.

Well, no. But that's because the world started spitting out information like a toaster. There were many moving parts to consider, but once things died down, life would go back to normal. She would become his safe haven again.

If that's the case, why can't the pitching mound become your safe haven? Why does it have to be Arianne?

The confidence built inside of him faltered. He supposed it didn't have to be Arianne. He could go back to the pitching mound or find something new. Someone new. Anxiety streaked through him. He wasn't ready for that. He didn't know what he wanted from Arianne but walking away wasn't an option. Not now.

***

After classes, Garrett headed back to his dorm for a bit before baseball practice. He was stuffing a water bottle and a towel in his duffle when his phone rang. Greg calling. "Hey, I hope you have good news for me," he answered, hope pounding in his chest.

"I talked to my friend. They'll do it, but they need something in return."

"Anything," Garrett replied, slumping in relief. He didn't know what he would have done if Greg hadn't come through. Thoughts of him standing outside Arianne's dorm room blasting a song over his phone while begging for her to believe him had come to mind. That or somehow acquiring a magic carpet to fly up to her window and ask for her to trust him.

"You need to throw the game against Portland."

His bag fell from his frozen fingers, the contents spilling across the floor. "Say that again."

"You heard me."

His breathing grew labored as he tried to connect the dots. "What does the game have to do with the email?"

"I don't ask questions. I just relay the terms."

"Fuck, man. I can't do that...this is our ticket to the NCAA regionals." And then hopefully, College World Series. "Isn't there something else? I have money. I can write papers. I have an insane baseball card collection back home. I can have it here in a couple of days."

"Sorry, that's the only thing they want. Take it or leave it."

His heart stuttered. "C-Can...can you give me some time to think about it?"

"Don't take too long. My friend isn't known for patience," Greg warned and hung up.

Damn it. What was he going to do? Throwing a game wasn't just about regionals. It was also about honor. Respecting the game. Sportsmanship. Those ideals may seem cliche and old fashioned, but Garrett held them close to his heart.

He sent Greg a text.

Garrett: How confident are you in this person? Are you sure they can find whoever is behind the email?

Greg: There's no guarantee, but they're the best I've seen.

Jesus. How many hackers did Greg know?

Greg: If you want this taken care of quickly I'd do it.

A suspicious thought arose.

Garrett: You're not the hacker are you?

Greg: Fuck no. The only thing I know how to hack is what I've learned on Pinterest.

He wished Greg was kidding, but he'd seen his roommate browsing one too many times on rainy afternoons. Garrett dropped to his knees and began picking up his things. If he didn't do this, then how could he find the person behind the leak? Maybe the college administration would help. He wasn't close to anyone who worked there, but perhaps Stephan and Marcus knew someone. The administration had to know who the email belonged to because if they didn't...

If they didn't...

His hand wrapped around his baseball glove, the worn leather soft to the touch. He'd caught thousands of balls with this glove. He'd won a high school championship with this glove. He'd played his heart out with this glove. Was he willing to betray his teammates, himself, with this same glove?