“You can’t be,” she says, looking away.
I go to her and pull her chin up so she can look me in the eyes. “This again? Tell me why not.”
She shakes her head and steps away. “So about your contract—”
“Fuck my contract, and fuck this bullshit. I don’t want to talk about baseball. I want to talk about us.”
“There is no us, Travis.” Her words are the final nail in my coffin. I stand there, staring at everything else but her as her words reverberate through me. There is no us. But there was, and we were going to create fucking magic together.
I glance at the presents, wrapped with pretty bows, mocking me. “These are for you and Lucy,” I say. I pick them up and hand them to her, honestly surprised that she’s even accepting them.
“You didn’t have to buy her anything.”
I bite my tongue, keeping the slew of words locked inside my brain. “Right, well, Merry Christmas, Saylor. It’s been a pleasure working with you, but you can call Jeffrey and tell him I want to get the fuck out of Boston before spring training starts.”
As soon as she steps out, she turns and looks at me. I take one last look at the woman I could’ve fallen in love with and slam the door.
“Merry fucking Christmas, Kidd.” Those are the last words I speak before my lips touch a freshly opened bottle of vodka.
Twenty-Six
Saylor
I sit on my sofa with my afghan over my legs, wishing I had a glass of wine in my hands. Beside me the fire crackles, and the flame lights my living room with its soft orange glow. The sparkle of the Christmas tree seems to have dimmed now that the festivities are over and all the presents have been unwrapped, opened, played with, and put away for the night. All except for one, that is.
The tiny, odd-shaped box sits on the arm of my sofa, with its pretty red ribbon and white wrapping paper, eagerly waiting for someone to open it. It’s the last present, and it’s addressed to me, from Travis. The presents we bought him still sit under my tree, reminding me that I should’ve taken them over to him, but for some reason, I didn’t.
Seeing him yesterday, and having to tell him that he’s my client and nothing else, hurt worse than when Elijah left me, pregnant and alone. I thought I could shield my heart from Travis, but after the gut-wrenching pain I experienced yesterday, I know that’s not the case. I barely made it off his steps before I was hyperventilating. I tried to save face in front of the media, but the reporters knew that something had happened inside his home. It’s my hope that they left it alone and didn’t badger him or assume the worst—that he hurt me—because he didn’t. I had no choice but to let the tears flow freely, almost freezing to small icicles as they fell down my face because of the harsh wind and cold temperatures. I deserved it, though, because I know how much pain I was causing him.
Days ago, my Christmas morning looked so different in my eyes. I had every intention of inviting Travis to spend the day with us. Truth be told, I wanted him here on Christmas Eve so he could enjoy the night with us and be here when I pretended to be the jolly man dressed in red as I set Lucy’s presents out. I wanted to stand under the mistletoe and share kisses with the man who has slowly worked his way into my heart.
Elijah changed that for me, taking away the little happiness that I was trying to build. I know better than to not take his threats seriously. I’ve seen him destroy people in court and not bat an eyelash in the process. I wish I could tell Travis that I did this for him, to save him from a man who is willing to hurt whomever I love to get his way. Travis would never understand, though, and he’d try to save us, even though no one can. I was stupid when I fell for Elijah, and unfortunately I’ll pay the price until he has no financial control over my life.
Tears fall as I stare at the present and imagine the way Travis would’ve looked this morning while we watched Lucy open her presents. I could easily see him in a white T-shirt with plaid flannel pants on, barefoot, with his hair messier than normal and his megawatt smile lighting up everything around him.
Instead, my only recollection of him right now is the anger in his eyes and the sour way he excused me from his home. I wanted to tell him that I don’t have a choice, but he’d never see it from my point of view, especially since he’s going through so much right now. The last thing I want to do is burden him with my baby-daddy drama. I sigh and wipe angrily at my tears, berating myself for wallowing. I don’t have any right to feel sorry for myself. Not when I’ve hurt the one man who needed just a bit of compassion from me.
Leaning forward, I pick up the pretty wrapped box and touch the satin bow through blurry eyes. I should return this to him, unworthy of his affection, but I selfishly want to open it to know what’s inside. I want to hurt some more when I see what he’s picked out for me. It’s twisted and evil, but it’s the pain I feel I deserve.
Only, I don’t open it. I leave it the way it is and set it on my coffee table before lying down so I can stare at the box while the fire dances behind it and more tears fall.
* * *
A loud pounding startles me awake. The fire has since timed out, and very little warmth remains. I try to focus through the darkness, but my eyes are tired and somewhat hard to open. My name is called, and my heart starts racing. Slowly I get up from the couch and make my way to the door, only to jump when the next knock happens.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Irvin; open up.”
I do as he requests, not even bothering to check the peephole to make sure it’s him. “What time is it?” is the first question out of my mouth when it should’ve been, “What are you doing here?”
“It’s after seven,” he says, looking at his wrist, even though he’s not wearing a watch.
“Come in. Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, thank you.” He looks around my apartment, and when his eyes land on me, I feel awkward. I quickly cover my face, wondering what the hell he’s seeing.
“Sorry—I was sleeping.”