“Fuck my heart.”
She laughs, but it’s not at me. “So that’s it between you?”
“Doesn’t it have to be?” The ice clinks in the cloth. “I don’t want to be my mother and I can’t be near them. They destroy me. It’s just . . . not healthy. Even my therapist suggested I break off all contact. That’s why I use my mom’s maiden name of Ashley and not Kipling. To distance myself. They’re so toxic to me and I can’t imagine what they’d do if they knew Lincoln was involved with me.”
“I really don’t know what to say. This breaks my heart.”
“Your heart? I don’t think I have one anymore. It’s completely shattered,” I whisper. “I lost Lincoln not just to baseball, but to my father.”
We sit in silence, her looking for words to make me feel better and me trying to figure out if I could drink enough wine to pass back out without puking. There has to be a ratio. I would know it if I’d lived a little more wildly.
“I don’t even hate him,” I say finally, breaking the quiet. “I can’t, and trust me, I want to. He’s leaving me, choosing to be traded. But this is just how he’s built. This was inevitable and he’s right—this is the choice he has to make for his life. I can’t fault him for that.”
“You’re a bigger person than me,” she laughs.
I sigh. “I just sit here and think, ‘How am I supposed to just go on?’ How do you move on from something like this when everything reminds me of him? I feel like I’m going to be stuck walking by that damn elevator every day, coming home to an empty house, having a phone that doesn’t get a selfie of his abs at least once daily,” I laugh through the sadness. “It’s going to be purgatory.”
“Come here.”
“What?”
“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 star