Another morning, another bowl of artificial fruity deliciousness. I take my last bite of Fruity Pebbles, devouring the bowl in time to avoid the mushy slosh of cereal that's been sitting too long. Drinking the rest of the milk from the bottom, I bring the bowl to the sink, rinsing it out before adding it to the dishwasher.

The sound of the shower turning off tells me I have approximately five minutes before I'm joined by Camden. He may have indulged in my sugar morning treat before, but it's not his go-to. So, I head to the counter, pull out two slices of toast and pop them in the toaster before taking the two steps to the fridge and removing four hard boiled eggs. I leave them on the counter as I grab my water bottle and fill it up.

The lingering smell of my dad's morning coffee fills the kitchen, reminding me to place a mug out for Cam. I don't know how they drink the stuff. It's bitter and honestly crack in liquid form. I'd never manage to concentrate on a single thing with that amount of caffeine coursing through me.

Cam and I haven't talked all that much about the other night. We kind of just went about our usual day, falling into a routine and ignoring the silent string that keeps our pasts tethered in a bond I'd rather not have to share with anyone. But we do. We've both experienced loss in a way no one should have to. And I know the bullshit response—it shaped who we are. It also left scars and bruises far beyond repair.

It's within that unspoken bond and comfort that I've also discovered how much I enjoy his company. Thing is, his uncle is coming back this weekend, something I've actively been keeping from my mind. I like having company in the morning, especially when my dad is already long gone for work. And at night? That's usually when all that hidden shit I've worked to bury likes to rear its ugly head. It doesn't seem to do that as much when I've got an overly cocky roommate filling the space with all his delightful ego. But I'm beginning to worry that it's more than just the companionship of a friend I'm going to miss having around at all hours.

Having Cam sit beside me as I played the piano for the first time since my mom passed, there was a sense of freedom to it. An ease I never thought possible. While the empty ache still filled every space within my ribcage, having Cam beside me, his warmth an unwavering comfort, made it feel like, for the first time, I could actually breathe. And the way my chest now anticipates his arrival and craves the close buzz of his skin against mine has my heart fluttering.

"Good morning," Cam says, entering the kitchen just as the toaster goes off.

"Morning." I smile, heading to my backpack on the stool and making sure I have all of my essentials. "You ready for your game tonight?" I ask, watching as he peels each egg to perfection. It's the first game of the year, a pre-season scrimmage, but a game nonetheless.

This town pretty much closes down for the event, and I know it always had Jare hyped up and anxious. He never wanted to let anyone down, never wanted to disappoint a single fan. I've never really gotten a gauge for how Cam feels on these nights, but something tells me there's a lot more behind the persona he's always thrown on over the years.

"Yeah," he huffs behind a genuine smile. "It's kind of a weird feeling, though," he adds, piling his breakfast onto a plate. "It's the last first game I'll have on that field."

"That's a pretty big moment."

"Yeah." He nods, his eyes planted in front of him. "It should be. My uncle won't be there, though. Feels a little smaller without him." A piece of that question lingers behind his words, of wondering what a day like this means for him. I don't have a chance to ask, though. He's suddenly popping a whole egg into his mouth before asking, "Are you gonna be there?"

He's joking, right? Apparently not because when I laugh at his question, his eyes stay trained on me. "I go to all of your games, Cam."

"You go to all of Jare's games," he corrects me, reaching for another egg.

The thing about Vista Point, everyone goes to the game. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but if you're not working or have some other critical obligation, you're at the local high school game. So, whether I went for my brother or not, he knows I'm going to be there. And yet, I find the quiet solace of his eyes landing on mine.

"Yeah," I say quietly, making sure he hears me. "I'll be there."

He pops the last bite into his mouth, devouring his food like a primitive animal before he's wiping his hands on his jeans and throwing his plate in the dishwasher. Rounding the counter, he pulls something from his back pocket and tosses me a pile of blue and gold.

The material nearly hits my chest before I catch it, unraveling what's in front of me. "What's this?"

"My jersey."

I lift my brow, my eyes widening in question as I wait for the actual meaning to surface. When he doesn't seem to get the hint, I pop a frustrated hip. "And why are you handing it to me?"

"It's game day." He shrugs, still waiting for me to put the pieces together. "The guys always pass out their jerseys on game day."

Right. Except he doesn't pass out his jersey on game day.

"And I'm supposed to wear it because..."

His smile widens as he takes a step closer. "Like it or not, you're my girl, Kenze. Wouldn't be right if you weren't in it."

I've never seen a single girl in his jersey. He's right, it's tradition, but it's a tradition he's never followed. I don't know why. To be honest, I've never even stopped to question it. Jare was always the exact opposite, throwing around his jersey like confetti. But Cam, he's never let anyone prance around in his number. "But..."

"Stop overthinking it," he cuts me off. "And wear the damn jersey, Kenze."

I huff, giving him a playful expression of shock before dropping my guard and throwing it over my head. "You know this is ridiculous, right?" I look down at the oversized clothing swallowing me whole. I try reaching for the end, twisting it up to make it look all cute like the rest of the girls do, but I have no freaking clue what I'm doing. Instead, I throw my hands in the air, letting it flop around my waist. It's then that I realize he hasn't said a word.

I look up to find his eyes trained on my chest, glued to the number twelve plastered in large gold lettering.

"Is it that bad?" I ask, running my hands down the loose fit.

He clears his throat, his eyes raising to meet mine. "Uh, no. No, it's—it looks good."

"Are you sure? Because that look on your face is saying something different."

"I don't have a look."

"You have a look." He doesn't say anything, and honestly, he looks a bit like he saw a ghost. I know how it looks to be his girlfriend and not wear his jersey, but I also know there's some unshared reason no one has ever worn his number. I don't really give a shit if people question whether this is real or not. What I care about is the boy standing in front of me. "I don't have to wear it, Cam."

"It's fine." He brushes past me, reaching for his backpack and throwing it over his shoulder. "Come on, I don't want to be late."

——

There's nothing like game day in Vista Point. I don't know if it's the overpacked bleachers, the hype of the speakers blasting music that can be heard echoing across the entire town, or the dangerously attractive field of baseball players, but the rush of adrenaline I get on game day is unfathomable.

Cam is on fire too. We're headed into the 5th and he's only given up one hit, which was a measly dribbler down the third base line. Tony tried to field it but he was set deep and just couldn't get there in time. It's a lousy way to give up a hit, but it's a hit nonetheless. On the bright side, it's just a scrimmage, which means Cam won't be pitching past this inning in order to give Sampson a shot on the mound.

For now, though, I'm thoroughly enjoying watching the way Cam commands the field. It's something I've grown up watching. When we were younger, I even dabbled in Little League with him and my brother. Playing behind Cam was always annoyingly boring. I played left field, and I can pretty much count on one hand how many times the opposing team hit it out of the infield when Cam was on the mound.

But watching him now, knowing a bit more about the boy behind the baseball god, I have this whole new appreciation for it. There's an energy flowing through me, a nervousness mixed with this overwhelming shadow of pride. It's the same surge I get when my brother comes up to bat or when there's a close play at home. It's this unspoken need to make sure he does well. And I've got that feeling tenfold right now as I anticipate Cam's next throw.

He winds up, sending a fastball screaming down the outside corner. The batter swings embarrassingly late, earning himself strike three and an end to the inning. I'm out of my seat, whistling and screaming along with the overly packed crowd. I'm sure my measly yells are lost in the commotion of it all, but I can't seem to stop them from flowing out in waves.

I may be one of many, but as I let out a cheer, Cam's eyes catch mine. Tucked behind the bill of his hat, there's no missing that emerald glow, or the seemingly hot as heck smirk that follows. It's not as cocky as it usually is. There's a softness to it, one that's sending all this sudden warmth to my chest. I offer back a smile of my own.

In the busy bustle of the crowd, we hold one another's gaze for just a moment longer, creating a world of our own. All until Apollo leaps on Cam's back is our gaze broken.

As I settle back in my seat, tapping my leg to the music between innings, I catch a group of my friends returning with a handful of snacks. A sunken weight claws at my chest as I catch Brittney between them, laughing at something one of them must have said.

The grueling reality that I'm not attending today with the person I spent the last three years coming with slams against my chest with an unexpected force.

Brittney always loved the hype of baseball days, the way the town fills the bleachers to capacity. When we were kids, she used to fantasize about the days we would spend in high school, owning the grounds we idolized at a young age.

When we were freshmen, she spent the whole afternoon getting ready at my house. She had a giant makeup display out on my vanity, glitter galore. Ever since, we spent every baseball day getting ready together. Of course, she continued to go above and beyond in the styling department, while I stuck to minimal and comfortable.

It's times like this, moments like this, that I miss the opinionated friend who always gave me shit for not letting her add a layer of glitter to my eyelids. But then the sting of betrayal sets in, reminding me of the reason she isn't beside me.

My eyes fall to the jersey I've spent the better part of today trying to pull off. And then my thoughts drift back to Brittney. What she wouldn't have given to be wearing one of the baseball player's jerseys today, with her sparkling eyelids and painted on number along her cheek. She would have melted over a moment like this and yet, I'm the one with the number across my chest, wearing it as a badge of dishonesty.

I let my gaze fall away from the group I once spent everyday with, letting it linger back on the field as I grip the bleacher seat beside me.

Alone.

In a place packed shoulder to shoulder with people from all across our small town, I'm still so utterly alone.

My eyes drift to the dugout where Cam is leaning against the half fence facing the field. Apollo is up to bat, and Cam is yelling something to fire him up. He's so in his element right now, the ease and peace surrounding him in radiating waves. I know a bit of that peace. It's the same one I feel every time I'm on the soccer field, when the voices seem to disappear. He's reveling in a bit of that right now and it has my chest warming.

As the game comes to an end, I make an early departure from the stands, making my way to the bathroom before Cam is done with post game obligations. Everything about today, from the jersey that doesn't truly feel like mine to wear, to the group of friends I once attended these games with, to the empty feeling of sitting alone, continues to nag at my twisted version of reality lately. To the tingles that seem to take over at Camden's touch, to the way I seem to crave his presence. This isn't real. None of it is real.

Thankfully, no one has left yet, everyone lingering in the celebration of a win. I close myself in the stall just as I hear the door swing open.

"Can you believe he's still with her?" I hear a whiny voice echo across the walls and I'm suddenly frozen in place.

"You're joking, right? He could have any girl in this whole school and yet he chooses to be with her?"

I hear the other girl scoff and realize it's Porcia. And now I know exactly who they're talking about. It's got that giant lump lodged within my throat.

"Do you even realize what half the girls at this school would do, what I've done with him, to try and get that damn jersey? And what, they've been together for like a month and she's parading around in his number? I can't believe it."

That pit that digs a heavy hole in my stomach makes itself known. Their words shouldn't matter, and if I'm being honest with myself, they're completely true. They shouldn't believe it because he didn't actually choose me. As much as I've let myself travel into a fantasy world the last few days, this whole thing is fake. One big hoax. I'm not the girl Camden Beck wants.

The other girl speaks up now. "I heard Adam was screwing Brittney for months because Mack wouldn't put out." My chest squeezes, the frantic beat struggling to pulse beneath the tension. "Maybe Camden is just showing her some pity because she's Jared's little sister."

I'm a charity case. Jared's little sister. The girl whose boyfriend cheated on her with her best friend. The girl whose brother's best friend came to her rescue.

I can hear Porcia laugh. "That has to be it. I can't even believe they've lasted this long. I mean, you and I both know Camden needs a lot more than the prude princess can provide. She's got him locked away in her tower. He's probably drowning in boredom."

I hear their feet along the floor before the door opens and closes. I wait another minute before leaving the stall. This whole agreement was meant to get Adam to see I've moved on. But they're right. Cam and I...we don't fit together. He's the center of the party I won't even attend. He's social royalty and I'm a homebody. We don't make sense. Despite the tingly feelings sparking to life when he touches me, or the way his eyes suddenly feel like home, it's all an act.

But we're in way too deep now. If there's one thing I know, it's that I will not have people looking at me with pity, not anymore. I've dealt with enough sympathy in my life.

I make my way from the bathroom, determined as I walk toward the field. A few players are trickling out.

"Mack!" I look over to see Apollo's wide open arms headed my way. "Did you see that homer I sent over left field?"

I can't help but smile. "I sure did. Pretty badass," I reply with a chuckle.

"Damn straight!" He proudly smiles, giving me a high five. "You're coming tonight, right? We need to celebrate the first win of many."

Before I can answer, there's an arm sliding around my shoulders, Cam's warmth coming up alongside me. All the tangled pieces feel ironed out in his presence.

"We have plans," Cam says, pulling me tighter to his side and placing a kiss along my temple.

Ignoring the shadow of butterflies that tries to take flight, I adjust my stance. This isn't real, Mackenzie. Thing is, I know for a fact we do not have plans. I also know he's giving a line to cover up the fact I don't party.

She's got him locked away in her tower.

"Oh, come on, Camden," a new voice joins the group now, Donovan's golden gaze falling along us both. "You can't keep her tucked away forever."

"I'm not–"

"You're not, what?" Donovan jumps back in. "Keeping her away just like Jar–"

"Actually," I cut in, feeling the way Cam tenses beside me. "We could use a little celebrating."

At the same time Apollo claps his hands together with an "Alright!" Cam is staring at me asking, "What?"

"Yeah," I answer, sliding my hand into his along my shoulder. "You just had your last first game on that field. And you pitched a phenomenal game. We should celebrate."

"But–"

"We'll see you there!" I smile at Apollo. And just like that, I'm headed to a party. I just wish I knew if it was to prove a point to Porcia, to Donovan, or to myself.