Tiebreaker (It Takes Two 2)

“You shouldn’t drink like that in public. It’s dangerous.”

My jaw nearly collapses onto the ground. “That’s hilarious coming from you. Are you a comedian now? Is that a new thing? Like your haircut.”

His chest puffs up and his hands go to his hips. “I haven’t gotten wasted in years.”

And now he has the gall to look offended. This beauty deserves a slow clap. “Somebody hand the man a participation trophy. I came over to thank you for last night because my momma raised me right. I’ve said it, and now I’m leaving. Sayonara, Sonny.”

“What?”

Without giving him the opportunity to be rude again, I walk away at a brisk pace. “Goodbye, Garfunkel!” I shout over my shoulder.

I remind myself that I don’t give a single shit about his opinion, haven’t for a long time. He is nothing to me other than a laundry list of regrets and a handful of good memories.

As soon as I hit the street, I start to jog and keep jogging until the pain in my muscles overshadows all the others. Until it burns away all the memories that my brain keeps digging up whenever I’m near him. Because for both our sakes, those need to stay dead and buried.

Chapter Nine

Maren

The most important part of winning the war is knowing when to forfeit the battle. When to cut and run. And where Noah is concerned, that’s what I’ve always done. It’s what has always worked for me. There’s no avoiding him anymore, however.

The following morning I’m up at six as usual. I go on my morning run. I eat my breakfast: scrambled eggs with spinach because that’s all I can handle with one hand, oatmeal, and my protein shake. I get ready for “work.” Today is training day at Rowdy’s. I’m not sure what that entails. Stay tuned for more exciting news on that front.

The good news is whatever qualms I may have had about spending time with Noah in close quarters a day ago were rendered obsolete by the whole he-held-my-hair-while-I-puked thing and the subsequent kerfuffle at the pool.

I’m over it. I’m fine. I can be an adult about this. I can do right by my grandfather.

I drive over to Rowdy’s in Noah’s truck. As I’m parking, a text comes in.

Oli: Sorry for being such a prat.

Sighing in relief, I fire a text back.

Me: Me too. Let’s not fight. I’ll call you later.

As soon as I step inside, the sound of voices talking and laughing greets me. Noah is seated at the bar while his tattoo girl and a bartender I recognize from the other night work behind it. Hard not to spot a dude when he’s over 6’5” and covered in piercings and tattoos. The bartender and the girlfriend stop speaking the minute they see me standing in the doorway.

Wow. Can you say tense?

Noah’s head swivels around and his hard eyes scan me from head to tails. I’m wearing jean cut-offs and a t-shirt. I’m hardly naked but he’s certainly making me feel that way. And not in a good way either. In a way that says he’d rather I turn around and march out the way I came in.

Patience. According to Rowdy, he deserves my patience so he’ll have some.

“Hi,” I throw out when I reach them.

“Hey,” tall guy and girlfriend respond simultaneously while Noah keeps quiet.

Okay, awkward.

It doesn’t escape me that I’m intruding on their quote unquote turf. They may even see me as the enemy, and if I wanted to sell my share of the properties, I would be. Which I would never do. This place is as much a part of my family legacy as the people in it. I’m not here to start a turf war. I’m here to tie up loose ends. In all likelihood once we settle the will I won’t be back here for another decade.

“I’m not here to cause trouble––umm, just so you guys know.” Even though the information is intended for Noah, I direct it at the people behind the bar.

“Oh, no one thought that,” the woman says.

“We didn’t,” the big guy concurs, looking between his two cohorts.

Yeah, they totally did.

“I’m Jana, by the way. Nice to meet you.” Jana thrusts out her hand and I take it.

“Maren.”

“Knox,” the big guy says, and reaches for my hand as well.

“I have no intention of selling my half and I won’t get in the way––what I mean to say is that I can see Noah is doing a great job and…” My voice fades under the intense scrutiny of the three people before me.

Maybe I said too much. I can’t tell. I either say too much, or not enough. I’m not great with people. I’ve never had any close girlfriends. People outside of tennis never understand the time commitment, how little of it I have to give, and people in tennis are adversaries. Teammates were out of the question. Every single one was notoriously competitive and more interested in seeing me injured and out of their way than being friends. Besides, I never felt a lack when I had Noah.