Beauty and the Baller

A wave of feelings hits me as he twines our hands together.

His double betrayal has eaten at me for years, tiptoeing down the hallways of my head, digging its claws into me. I’ve used his sins as a shield of protection, painting men with the same brush. I wasted so much time thinking about him when I could have had real relationships.

Forgive him?

When he changed who I was inside?

I swallow thickly.

But . . .

Forgiving is for you, Mama used to say.

I glance away from him, my head tumbling.

It’s been years . . .

What happened, happened. We can’t change it.

In the end, he did me a favor.

And the idea that he and I were meant to be? Unbidden, a smile slips over my face. Fate didn’t bring me to Blue Belle for Andrew . . . it was Ronan. I believe that, as sure as Mama’s roses are yellow, as sure as I love Sabine. The odds of us meeting again were too tiny, too impossible. What we do with those chances, well, that’s up for debate—

“Nova?” He’s moved closer to me, cutting off my train of thought.

I glance at him and blink, refocusing.

He squeezes my hand, and clarity arrives like a rush. Letting go of the hurt doesn’t mean I have to forget, but it does mean when I see him in the hall, I can smile and mean it.

“I forgive you.”

“And us? Why not try?” His eyes shine down at me.

“I’m with Ronan, and I care about him.” Truth.

I recall the feeling when we met, as if we’d already had a hundred conversations before, as if our souls saw a commonality. I love his scars, his geekiness, his stark vulnerability . . .

Being with him, even though he’s still finding out who he is and what he needs, is like peeking into possibilities. He said I deserve better, and I get where he’s coming from—a place of incredible loss, and climbing that mountain isn’t easy—but I’m not one to give up easily.

Mama raised me to believe there’s a tiny light inside everyone, a wonderful place of possibilities for your life. It’s up to you to find your “glow” and turn those possibilities into certainties.

Make the impossible real. Reach for the stars, even if they burn, Nova.

I blink. Wow. I haven’t thought about her “glow” idea for a long time. Why now?

Because . . . I love Ronan. Deeply. It may have started in New York, but now that I’ve seen who he really is—a flawed man who cares and loves intensely . . .

“Nova?”

He’s been saying something, and I’ve missed it. “Go on,” I say, my tone distracted.

“Ronan isn’t staying here.”

My stomach drops. “I know.”

“And he calls you babe. You hate that word.”

I frown. Where is he going with this?

“And when you call him darling, your accent kicks in.” He touches my cheek. “There’s something fishy. You’re barely in town, and then suddenly you’re dating the one guy who hasn’t shown interest in anyone? And the way you act in the teachers’ lounge is strange, almost as if you wanted to rub it in my face.”

“I did.” A small smile curls my lips, and he huffs out a laugh.

“So you do feel something for me, then?”

Regret. The energy I wasted. The insecurities I allowed.

He bends his head, and before I can move, he presses his lips to mine—

The door swings open, and he’s pulled roughly away.

I gasp, stepping back.

With a flushed face, Ronan grinds his jaw as his hands clench, then open.

“I should fuck you up right here,” he hisses as he shoves Andrew in the chest. “But this is school property, and I don’t want to be arrested for putting you in the hospital. Keep your hands off Nova.”

Andrew stumbles, then comes right back at Ronan. He gets in his face and points his finger at him. “This is between me and Nova—”

“Stop this!” I say as I step between them. “This isn’t the place. And there’s no point!”

Andrew backs up and straightens his shirt while Ronan takes several deep breaths, then turns his eyes to me, ice blue and cold. “You’re late for work.” Then he flips around and stalks out.

I turn to Andrew, my voice low. “Don’t do that again. You and I will never be together.”

He exhales and shakes his head. “Nova—”

Cutting him off, I shut the door and quick step to catch Ronan. He’s been gone for three days to a coaches’ conference in Austin, and my gaze eats him up. On Sunday after the fundraiser, I woke up around six, and he was still asleep in the chair. He woke up disheveled, his tie loosened, his face dark with a shadow. He inquired if I was okay, then said he had to go. There’s been an anxiousness inside me ever since.

He was here this morning—I saw his car—but I came in a tad late and skipped the staff lounge and went straight to my classroom.