“Julia said she’d hire you. She needs help. Her foundation is picking up and she needs a hand she can trust. These people, the Gentry’s, are huge on loyalty, Danielle.”
Her idea sounds better than I’d like it to. Moving across the country, or half of it, isn’t something you just pick up and do. But the other option of living in a post-Landry world doesn’t seem like something I can just do either.
“I’m being serious,” Macie insists. “Money isn’t really a thing for you. Just pick up and come and rent something until you find what you want to do. Think about it. We can shop and go to movies and concerts and . . .” The phone muffles as I hear her say, “Stop that, Will. Just give me a few minutes. Oh, my God. Don’t stop that though.”
Rolling my eyes, but laughing too, I get the picture. “I’ll think about it, but right now you need to go apparently.”
She sucks in a breath. “Think about it and call me later.”
I look around the living room and make a decision. “I don’t have to call you later. I’ll be there in two weeks.”
Lincoln
THE ONLY SOUND COMES FROM the water dripping in the bathroom sink. I let it drip, even though I could reach over and turn the handle. It makes me feel less alone and keeps me half distracted, which is a godsend.
“You might have to let the job go.” Graham’s words from last night sweep through me again, and just like they do every time, strike me hard. They needle my brain, sear my heart, gnaw at my soul. Letting this go is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I button my shirt, and before I get to the top, grip the edge of the sink and bow my head. This isn’t normal. Even the two other times in my life I’ve thought maybe I was in love, it didn’t hurt like this. It didn’t feel like my entire soul had been yanked out of my body.
I don’t think I’ll ever be the same. Not without her. Yeah, I’ll smile again at some point and I’ll laugh at stupid jokes. I’ll even regain my status as the best centerfielder in baseball, but even that seems so unimportant. Who will be home after the game? Who is going to ask about my shoulder and not about my statistics? Who will be my friend?
That’s the thing: I’ve lost my friend before anything else.
Everything falls. My spirits. My heart. My shoulders. I’m falling into some dark abyss, and I can’t find a ladder to pull myself up. I’m going into the biggest slump of my life and it’s the post-season. The one that really matters.
If I take this trade, I show up in San Diego in just a few days. I’m property of the Sails as soon as the ink dries and I’m expected to pack a bag and head out. It’s what we do as athletes. We go where the money is. Where our careers lead us. Where we can work for as long as we can.
The idea started floating around my brain last night. What if I don’t want to go where the money is? What if I’m tired of chasing a batting title? What if living half the year in a hotel doesn’t seem like a good time?
What if I break her father in half?
My jaw clenches, my teeth grinding together as I realize I haven’t figured out how to deal with this little issue. I’ll see him every day in a work capacity. I’ll get to know him. He’ll control my future. All the while, I will know who he truly is. Can I do that?
“I have to do that,” I mutter, putting on my shoes. Reaching over I turn off the water and the silence suffocates me right away. I miss her smile. Her giggle. The way she calls me Landry.
I grab a jacket and my keys. Sliding my phone in my pocket, it immediately buzzes with a text. I pull it out and stand in the middle of the room staring at the screen.
Good luck in San Diego. I’ll be rooting for you. Xo, Dani
Danielle
THE BOXES PEPPER HAPPENED TO have in her store room are spread around me. I sit in the middle of the living room, a haphazard collection of figurines on my left and a box of donuts on my right, bubble wrap in front of me.
I managed to get dressed, wash my face, and brush my teeth. I made it to the Smitten Kitten and took all of the boxes, two cappuccinos, and the pastries and made it home without crying. It’s a victory. Small, but a victory anyway.
Macie called and made sure I wasn’t talking out my ass and was really coming. I told her I am. I have to. I can’t stay here. There’s nothing for me here and everything I loved before Lincoln is tainted by my love for him.
My love for him. I’m so damn stupid. If I would’ve listened to my brain from the start, I would’ve been going through life like normal. Work. Smitten Kitten and cappuccinos. Baths and books. I was happy like that for so long and I went and screwed it up.
A twist in my stomach catches me off guard and I know I’m lying to myself. I wasn’t happy then. Maybe I thought I was, but it wasn’t until Lincoln that I realized what happy could mean. At least, in the midst of this heartache, I know what it feels like to love someone.
With a sigh, I grab a donut and shovel half of it in my mouth. The chocolate glaze coats my lips and the roof of my mouth and I can barely chew, or breathe, but it’ll be a delicious way to go out. “Death by donut” somehow seems to read better on my tombstone than death from a broken heart.
I wrap my little teacup in bubble wrap but can’t find the tape. Standing, I wipe a bit of chocolate off my lips with the back of my hand and head into the kitchen where the bag from the store sits. As I pass the foyer, the doorbell rings.
Pulling it open, I say, “Pepper, you didn’t have to come. I can pack . . .”
My mouth drops and my hand falls from the door. I immediately glance in the mirror and feel the panic bubble set in. There’s chocolate icing on my lips and smearing to my right cheek. My hair is in a messy bun. My clothes are clean but wrinkly and definitely not to my usual standards.
Oh. Fuck.
“Hi, Dad. Mom,” I say, gulping. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Maybe we should’ve called,” Mom says, taking me in from head-to-toe with a look of disgust.
Stifling an eye roll, I paste on the best smile I can.
I don’t invite my father inside, but he doesn’t wait on an invitation either. He clamps my shoulder as he walks by. “I’m not sure this place is safe,” he says, looking around. “Do you have a security system, Ryan?”
“I’ve lived here for three years. It’s safe.”
My mother enters too and I shut the door behind them. My gut, already twisted from everything with Lincoln, is pulled tighter. So tight, in fact, that I think I might pass out or vomit.
“What are the boxes for?” my mother asks, taking off a pair of gloves that extend to her elbow. It’s not that cold out, but they make a statement.