Why can’t she hear that I just need time . . .
And why do I feel that I just made the biggest mistake of my life?
Chapter Twenty-Six
NATALIE
Over a Month Later (April)
“I really like the lighter hair? You rock blonde well.”
“Yeah?” I ask, looking at my hair in the mirror. It’s grown past my shoulders and I just got it done, so it’s more platinum than caramel, keeping some of the ombré coloring with thin highlights. “I was nervous it was going to be too much.”
Monica shakes her head. “It’s perfect.” She looks me up and down. “Not to mention, those jeans look amazing on you. Although, I think you’ve lost some of your ass.”
I turn my body in the mirror, looking at my backside. Yes, I have lost some of my ass, but that’s what a devastating breakup will do to you.
“I’ll gain it back, don’t worry.”
Monica bites her bottom lip and asks the question I was waiting to hear. “How are you feeling about tonight?”
“Fine,” I answer, turning toward her and sitting on my bed where my shoes are. “I’m excited for Jason.”
“Yeah, but are you excited for who else you will see?”
I shrug. “It is what it is. Jason is his teammate, and it’s not like I can avoid seeing him forever.”
Monica sighs and leans forward, resting her arms on her legs. “Natalie, you didn’t leave the house for two weeks, you’ve barely eaten anything, and it wasn’t until last week that you stopped crying whenever you heard his name.”
“Yes, well, that’s not to be mentioned. I told Jason everything was okay, that he didn’t need to pick sides, and that the split was amicable.”
“And he didn’t believe a word of it,” Monica counters.
“I know, but at least it’s not awkward for him. Even though Cory hurt me, it doesn’t mean I should drive a wedge between the two of them. They’re teammates, after all, and it’s a long season. They need to get along.”
“You’re being too nice to him.”
I shake my head. “I’m not doing it for Cory. I’m doing it for my sensitive brother. I want Jason to concentrate, to focus on what’s important, and that’s doing his job to bring the team the championship they’re working hard for. Did you see the predictions from the other day? The Rebels are expected to be in contention for the World Series this year. They haven’t been on the prediction list in years. I love my brother more than I care about my own heart. He’s worked so hard to be where he is in his career, and if I have to put aside my broken heart so he can focus on his sport and not worry about me, that’s what I’ll do.”
“Sister of the Year.”
I slip my white tennis shoe on my right foot and say, “I’m not going to harp on it. I can’t change what happened, but I can move on and that’s what I’m doing.”
“After weeks of mourning,” she reminds me.
Growing serious, I stare at my left shoe and say, “I love him, Monica. That’s just not going to go away quickly.”
“So you still love him?”
Trying not to be emotional about it, I nod my head. “Of course, I do. He made me feel so incredibly cherished and important.”
“Only to treat you like you meant nothing.” When I give her a look she says, “You told me to remind you of that when you’re showing weakness. You’re showing weakness, and you’re about to go see him. It’s best that you go in a little on the angry side.”
“Angry or depressed?”
“Angry.”
Lightly chuckling, I tie the other shoe and rise from the bed. I walk over to my mirror and have Monica help me pick out a lipstick she thinks will look good. I’m just going through the motions, like I have been for weeks. I got through my ex’s infidelity, and we were married, for God’s sake. So, I can get through a breakup from a relationship that was only weeks old. After all, even though I love Cory, I can now see we’d never go the distance anyway. After one hiccup, he needs to break things off with me. After one hiccup, he was done. So, that doesn’t speak long-term to me.
Eventually, I’ll believe all those words and know I’m better off.
I’d be lying, however, if a piece of me didn’t wish Cory’s performance had tanked after he sent me on my way, but he’s held pretty steady. Not outstanding, but not failing miserably either. You know how it is with every woman scorned, they want the man to disintegrate when they realize they just let go of the one person that was holding them together. Apparently, that wasn’t the case with Cory.
“Have you heard from him at all?” Monica asks, picking out a bright red lipstick that matches the Rebels jersey I’m wearing, the one with Orson on the back . . . not Potter.
I shake my head. “Pretty sure he deleted my number from his phone.”
“He’s such an idiot.”
I finish up my lipstick and cap it off then drop it in my small backpack. Taking a deep breath, I look at Monica and say, “Doesn’t matter. Jason is proposing tonight, and that’s what I want to focus on. This is a big day for our family.”
“You’re right.” Monica grips my shoulders and says, “I’m here for you, only a phone call away if you need to talk.”
“Thank you.” I give her an air kiss, not wanting to get my lipstick on her, and then head for the door of my apartment. “You’ll be here when I get back?”
“With buffalo wings and ice cream waiting for you.”
“Perfect.” I give her a quick wink and then take off. There’s a car waiting for me outside. Jason sent one for each of us so we didn’t have to drive, and I head down to it, nerves twisting and turning in my stomach.
I’m going to see him.
I just hope the makeshift wall I built around my heart doesn’t tumble with one flash of those devastating blue eyes of his.
* * *
“Oh my God, your hair is amazing,” Dottie says, pulling me into a hug before playing with the ends of my hair. “Seriously, the color suits you perfectly.”
“Thank you. It was a risk, but I needed the change.”
Dottie nods, understanding what I mean. We don’t talk about Cory, at all. Because what’s the point? When she was dating Jason early on, they had a massive breakup that devastated both of them, and the last thing either of them wanted to talk about was their breakup. So Dottie has tried to keep my mind on other things when we’ve hung out, even if it meant suggesting I peel myself off my couch and go for a walk. That was the first day I felt like maybe I could make it through this breakup, when I went for a walk around the block with Dottie, in my slippers and robe, looking like the crazy lady searching for her missing cat that she never had in the first place.
“God, I’m nervous. Why did Jason sign me up for this?”
I laugh and shake my head. “He’s a yes-man. They ask, he says yes.”
Jason told the front office that he wanted to propose to Dottie in front of the fans, to start the season on a high note given all the bad press they’ve received throughout the preseason, so the focus wasn’t all on Cory. I mean, the majority of it was centered around Cory, but the media painted the Rebels in a terrible picture, and Jason was sick of it. If he was going to be a Rebel, then he was going to make it crystal fucking clear that there was good news to report about too.
Also . . . he wanted to shock the thong right off Dottie—his words, not mine—so they set up a storyline of her throwing out the first pitch because Jason was the new catcher. I’m here to support her while the rest of my family is in a suite waiting to offer their congratulations.
“Did I tell you Jason made me practice?”
“He’s no fool. He doesn’t want you embarrassing him.”
“Gee, thanks a lot.” Dottie laughs, as an on-field correspondent comes up to us. “Are you ready, Miss Domico? All warmed up?”
Dottie smiles. “I hope so.”
“Okay, well, we’re going to take you to the dugout right now. Miss Meyers, you can come with us.”
We walk through the halls of the stadium, the black cinder block hallways seeming more menacing than they actually are as they fade into red that leads to the dugout. The lights of the stadium are the first thing I see, followed by the sound of the announcer pumping up the crowd.
“You two can stand here, the players will be out shortly.”
Nerves twist in my stomach from the knowledge that Cory will be near me soon, that I’m going to see him in person for the first time in over a month since I left his hotel room. And even though I felt like I was ready for this, I’m suddenly regretting my decision to be brave.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t read every article written about him, if I hadn’t tracked the truths and the lies, if I hadn’t stared at the pictures of him posted, wondering if it was an off picture, or if his hair had grayed over the last month.
I gnaw on my bottom lip, my heart beating so hard it feels like it’s climbing up my throat, closing off the air to my lungs.
“Hey,” Dottie says, tugging on my hand. “Breathe, Nat. It’s going to be okay.”
“I don’t know,” I say, looking toward the dugout entrance. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Then head back to the waiting room; you don’t need to worry about me.”
I’m about to do just that when we hear cleats clacking down the hallway and the sound of male voices making their way toward the field.
It feels like someone is slowly taking a hammer to my stomach. Light taps, just tiny ones reminding me that something impactful is going to happen, that I’m being prepped for a world of hurt. The first uniform appears and the hammering grows heavier, harder. Another uniform, and another, and another, until Jason steps out into the dugout, followed by number 24, Cory Potter.
Pound.
Pound.
Pound.
Nausea rolls around inside me from the mere sight of him. He looks no different, other than the smallest amount of gray at his temples and the thickness of his trimmed beard. His uniform is tailored to fit him the way he wants, showing off his broad, muscular frame and strong, long legs.
If I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to see him or not, I know now that I wasn’t.
“Hey baby,” Jason says, taking Dottie into his arms. He looks so happy, so excited, and here I am, staring like a moron at Cory who hasn’t seen me yet.
And when he does?
Nothing.
No expression, almost as if he put on a shield and is blocking any emotion from leaving or entering him.
Or he’s already over me and doesn’t have a reaction to seeing me at all.
“Natalie,” he says curtly, with a head tilt.
“Hi,” I say so quietly that I’m not sure he even heard it.
He stares at me for a few more seconds before patting Jason on the back and making his way down the dugout where he starts preparing for the game.
A cold, soulless wave rolls over me. Nothing. He showed no sign of remorse, no sign of even missing me. There was no hi, how are you, no full scan of my body, not even a mention of my hair—not that I needed one from him. He was distant, robotic, and not the man I fell in love with. Not even close.
The man I fell in love with would have struck up a conversation. He would have smiled even if it pained him. He would have put on a good face, because that’s the polite human he is. That’s what I was expecting, not the unemotional, stoic man that just walked away. The man who let me walk away without a call or a text or . . . anything. Like I was with my ex-husband, I was easy to cast aside. To leave. And possibly to replace.
My heart in my throat, tears threatening to fall down my cheeks, I clasp my hands in front of me and take a few deep breaths. You’re here for Jason. You’re here for Jason. This is almost over. You got this, Natalie.
When Jason turns to me, I plaster on a smile and rub Dottie’s arm. “Think she’s ready, Coach?”
Jason studies me, sees right through my act, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans in, gives me a hug and whispers, “He’s not the same. Don’t let it hurt you. Just use it to move on.”
Oh . . . hell.
Tears hover on the brink and with that one sentence—Just use it and move on—they fall, but I quickly wipe them away before they can ruin any of my makeup or even be seen by another person. When Jason pulls away, he tips my chin up and says, “You’re strong. You got this.”
I’m glad he thinks so, because I really don’t think I do.
* * *
“I really think my heart is about to explode,” Dottie says, staring down at the massive ring on her finger. She turns toward me and says, “I can’t believe you knew about this and thought it was a good idea for him to propose on Opening Day.”
I laugh and shrug. “It’s Jason. He’s a romantic and he’s also dramatic, there was no way of stopping him.”
And frankly, it was the most romantic proposal I ever witnessed. It was as if the Rebels fans dropped their machetes and destructive voices for a few minutes to take in real life on the field. Music played, the crowd cheered so loud I thought my eardrums were going to burst, and it was the perfect moment. Special and with a side of hope, just what the Rebels needed to start the season.
Joseph comes up to Dottie and me in his walker and sits on the attached seat. He wraps his arm around Dottie and says, “You’ll be my favorite sister.”
“Hey.” I laugh, loving that Joseph has the best sense of humor out of all of us.
“What?” he asks, his voice shaky but still clear. “She’s never given me shit like you have on a daily basis.”
“Given you shit? That’s called love, brother dearest.”
“Hell, you can take your love and shove it back up where it came from.”
Dottie laughs and says, “Pretty sure you’re my favorite Orson too.”
“Hard not to be with a face like this,” he says, framing his face. God, I love him.
The Rebels are up by five runs, Jason has gone two for three, and seems to have an extra pep in his step when running the bases, which seems odd for him since he’s the slowest runner I know. But then again, the love of his life just said yes to his proposal in front of a sold-out stadium. Of course he’s going to book it a little harder today.
And the crowd loves him. Absolutely adores Jason. Maybe it’s his quirky personality, or the fun preseason ads the team has been doing with him, but whatever it is, he’s won them over quickly, which makes me feel incredibly sad for Cory as he steps up to the plate.
“Number twenty-four, Cory Potter.” Some rock song plays but I can barely hear it over the collection of boos throughout the stadium. The hatred for him is so loud, that it causes my heart to seize in my chest.
“I don’t get it,” Joseph says. “He’s three for three today with two RBIs. They should be cheering for him.”
I couldn’t agree more, even though it feels like I’m being peeled like an onion from the sight of him, exposing every raw layer one after another. I was the distraction that once eradicated, was meant to improve the attention he received. To enable him to get his shit together. But why are they still giving him shit? Why? How has our break benefitted him?
Stepping into the batter’s box, he adjusts his hat, waves his bat to his shoulder and on the first pitch, he cracks the ball, sailing it over the right field wall. It happened in a matter of seconds. So quick that I blink to make sure he just hit a three-run homerun, because the boos don’t stop. There’s no cheering, there’s no celebration, only hatred filtering onto the field as Cory’s strong body rounds the bases, his head down, not showing an ounce of celebration, but instead, just going through the motions of his job.
The fan who caught the ball, throws it back on the field.
Cory crosses the plate and the boos grow louder.
I look at the TV screen in the suite we’re in and watch as he gets high fives from his teammates as he
takes his helmet and batting gloves off and stuffs them back into his cubby.
No smile.
No excitement.
No emotion.
The announcers talk about Cory’s performance in spring training, how they think he’s going to be a force to be reckoned with, and the fans shouldn’t be booing. They should be cheering. They have the best first baseman in baseball on their team.
“Such a shame.” My mom comes up to me, hand on my shoulder, then pulls me into a hug.
“Shame that we broke up, or shame that he’s getting treated the way he is?”
“Both,” she says in a soft tone only a mother can master. “Have you spoken to him?”
I shake my head. “No. We exchanged curt nods in the dugout but that was it.” My lip trembles as I turn into my mom’s embrace. “I really think it’s over.”
“Oh honey.” My mom shifts me away from the field, deeper into the suite. “Did you have hope that maybe you would get back together?”
“Stupidly, yes,” I say, swiping at my eyes. “I just . . .” I let out a shaky breath. “I wasn’t expecting to fall in love so quickly and so hard, and losing Cory feels ten times more painful than my divorce from Ansel.”
“Well, you said it yourself that you two were drifting apart, finding that you had more in common when you were younger, so it makes sense that this loss of Cory is hitting you harder. It was unexpected, and it was real.”
“So real.” More tears well in my eyes.
“Then why don’t you talk to him, sweetie? Maybe he’s not reaching out to you because he’s nervous after everything that happened between you two.”
“I thought about that,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and looking out toward the field. “It’s why I went to the dugout, because not only did I want to support Jason and Dottie, but I wanted to gauge Cory’s reaction to seeing me.”
“And . . .” my mom urges.
The Trade Page 34
