“You’re not suggesting I break it off with him?” I could hardly believe she wasn't pushing me to end it.
Maybe she knows it's already over.
“That’s not my call.” She tugged on her sleeve as if she was still trying to get over the same hurt feelings. "You just went through an experience that should be talking to you—actually screaming at you. In your gut, you should discover your own answer."
“What are you suggesting?” My neck stiffened.
“Take the time you need to make the right decision." She got up from my bed. "I think you know what that is. Let me know if you need anything or want to talk.” She closed my bedroom door.
After she left my room, I let out the full onslaught of my emotions. There was more to it than an evening of mistakes with Ryan. Feelings I'd held back were making themselves known.
You have to deal with your fears and sadness. The time is here.
I screamed and slammed my pillow into the wall, pounded my bed and ripped off the covers. I wrote depressive, hellish poetry.
I listened to the saddest songs I could find.
Finally, as they inevitably do, my tears stopped.
I began taking full breaths.
When I thought about how matter-of-factly Mom handled herself and the courage it took to knock on my door, I actually admired her boldness.
Using the time I needed to heal, I moved slowly. I took a bath, gave myself a facial, super-conditioned my hair, and then styled it.
Was our relationship changing?
Three sniffles turned into two and two into one.
The eye of the storm settled on me.
My mind began to clear.
I tried to stay home.
I did my best to relax.
Continuing to spin, the mist of sadness crept into my body along with a sinister and dark sensation that took the place of my hurt.
Anger.
Starting as a simmer, almost immediately it pushed outward and demanded release.
Soon, I boiled with fury.
My vast emotions, usually shoved far underneath my surface, were ready to explode.
Symbolically, I closed the new, white leather journal I’d purchased and titled, “My memories of Ryan Tilton.” Although angry, I was sad that our story was shorter than I’d ever imagined.
I hesitated.
Ran my hands over the cover.
Lifted it to my nose and smelled it.
Flipped through its pages, reading about the days we'd spent together, when the promise of love was still ahead of us.
Finally, I threw it in my hope chest, forever merged with all the journals from my past.
Ryan Tilton was now my past.
I hated even the way it sounded and couldn’t consider the concept for too long.
“He’s a wild boy, Nicky,” Tara had warned. “Stay away from him.”
“He’s not the right man for your first experience,” Alex had confided. “He’s been with too many women.”
“Go with a boy your age and experience things together,” Dad had cautioned.
My mind focused on Jerry. I knew he’d never abandon me the way Ryan had. In addition to experiencing everything new with my childhood friend, I could safely walk through my life in control. I lost my vision and allowed myself to become hypnotized. I'd been too vulnerable. I wouldn't make that mistake again.
Jerry already knew the darkness of my family and I knew his. There would be no surprises. Each of us would have a say so in decisions we made. We'd never turn our backs on each other because we were friends and the security each of us needed.
I vowed never again to lose my focus.
From now on, one hundred percent of my efforts would be on my future and college. After all, what did love do for my parents and their happy endings?
My Evil Twin slowly wrapped her arms around me.
Within her dark embrace, I realized anger was necessary for recovery.
It’s the baby steps, Nicky. They begin with the rush of confusion, tears, sadness, and harrowing feeling of emptiness. But soon, your head and heart will fill up again.
Lessons of how these little steps forward could transform me into a fearless woman had begun their reveal. Taking a little risk towards being open and vulnerable to love, daring to expose myself for a chance to have intimacy—could these dreams actually be a part of my future? Could I ever embrace them?
Even as my insides swirled, I was gaining strength.
I'd taken my first step into a minefield.
I knew if I didn't march ahead, my fears would permanently rip me apart without a chance of healing until many years into my future.
For now, I'd made the decision to walk quietly and gather my courage. So when the next cycle of grief came over me, I knew that being alone wouldn’t soothe my raw and aching soul. My sister wasn’t home and I couldn’t reach my friends. Plus, there was no way I could talk to Tara and Alex about Ryan. They'd done nothing but discourage me from seeing him. I didn't need to hear I told you so, when I'd already said those words to myself dozens of times.
Surrounded by hundreds of people was what I needed. People I didn't know to be exact.
It was time to leave the house and do what was comfortable—have coffee at Java House on the Embarcadero.
I put on a nice pair of jeans, a form-fitting white blouse, and a navy blue, down-style vest that was thick, quilted, and warm. I grabbed a new journal and tucked it into my backpack.
On my way out, I saw Dad sitting in his recliner.
What if it’s too late and he's already been terminated? Now that we’ve crossed each other off of our invisible checklists, would Ryan tell Sid Freeman to stop helping my family?
The night on my front porch after I sung the National Anthem, at Sammy’s, and in the Embarcadero Hotel Lounge, he'd asked me to give him a chance. I did.
Someone that was kind enough to give his time to veterans wouldn't be so cruel as to punish my entire family because I didn’t give in to sex—would he?
Should I talk with my guidance counselor at Stanford and admit I may need financial help? Will they take me if my tuition isn’t fully funded by my parents? Maybe I should look for a job so I can put away some money. That way, I’ll have at least half of the first semester's fees and can hopefully negotiate for a loan.
New surges of dark emotions crested as I tried to erase the sweet memories of my night on the beach with Ryan. Before they could take hold and drag me under, I quickly swept everything that had been lovely out to sea.
I need a battleship to ride these giant waves.
Dad wasn't drunk yet, but judging by his facial expression he was in the first stages. Before I could hear his slurred voice, I nodded to him and then headed out.
People chatted around me, carrying on with their lives as I waited at the streetcar stop. Couldn't they feel my pain? How was it the world hadn't stopped for any of them like it had for me? In only minutes, I boarded and rode through the Twin Peaks Tunnel, into another world.
When I stepped off?
I was on the waterfront.
People passed me.
I didn’t notice their faces.
My thoughts followed the rhythm of my steps—purposeful and head-on. This time, no one would tie me down or share myself so carelessly and openly. My heart was my own.
I walked to the Java House.
Didn’t stop.
Something more powerful, something I didn't fully understand, was driving me that day.
I continued to the Goliaths’ stadium.
Committing to face my fears of abandonment head on, I was determined to witness the speed with which Ryan would bounce back from my rejection. I had to know. Had to see—and witness—him focusing on a woman with more experience.
At the railings where the gorgeous women stood, I'd see it all unfold. It would be a matter of moments. He’d pick from the lineup of ladies—fun loving, easy to be with, always present, and waiting. There was no doubt in my mind Ry
an would run to his peers—peers like Tabitha Sable, the exotic dancer who'd come to our table at the Embarcadero Lounge and reminded Ryan to come see her. She could play the games he was used to. She would help him shake off the disappointment of the woman who'd rejected him.
Or perhaps it would be in the players’ lot, where after the game, the lovely blonde I saw from before would be at his side, waiting to take his hand.
I needed to be validated. Seeing him move on quickly would let me recover completely free from the guilt I was still feeling from our last evening together. Shifting into automatic as I sped headfirst into my darkness, I arrived at the Bay Gate.
The twists and turns of getting there must have been erased from my memory. It seemed I was magically there as if I had awakened from a daydream.
When I “snapped to,” I found James, the head of gate security.
“How ya’ll doin’, baby?” I loved his charming Southern accent.
“Shitty, James. Real shitty.” The edge in my voice was undeniable.
“What’s wrong, honey?” He looked at me as if I was a stranger. Maybe that wasn't exactly right—it was more that I wasn't a child but not quite a woman—a stranger I needed to get to know. She was new and edgy, no longer passive, hesitant, or soft.
That girl had vanished.
“A friend betrayed me, James. At least, someone I thought was a friend. I don’t know what to do with myself.” I took a breath. “None of my friends are around, so here I am.”
"What can I do, baby?" He pulled me close for a hug.
I was always uneasy when asking for help. To me, it was a sign of weakness, manipulation, and a way to use people. Just as I was about to dismiss his kindness with my patented answer, "I'm okay," the story my sister shared with me rushed into my mind. She told me she couldn’t have recovered from being raped without the help of others. She opened up because a variety of people helped her to trust and take chances once again.
Maybe asking James to help me wasn’t weakness at all.
Maybe, there was an immense strength in being vulnerable.
Even in my anger, the door creaked open.
“Do you think there might be a free ticket floating around?" I held my breath waiting for him to say no. "Maybe one by the visitors’ dugout or . . . anywhere, really?”
“Let me see what I can do. I think we have a single for an occasion just like this one.” He winked and then radioed an usher somewhere in the ballpark.
Taking that simple chance, asking for help and then receiving it, I knew I was walking into the pain—and light—of risk.
My heart beat with the power of thunder.
Chapter 4
A New Friend
Management could have dismissed the entire cheer team and withdrawn their letters of reference to our colleges if they’d known about the free ticket James had just given me.
Even more serious, was my dating Ryan.
Both actions were completely against policy—and I knew the policy.
Before our first game, my teammates and I were called into the Goliaths Entertainment Department. We met with the managers, Jose and Sy, and signed a document stating we understood the team’s position on fraternizing and we couldn't receive freebies from the team or enter their contests.
“Come on through, baby,” James waved a pass in the air.
“Thanks, James.” I already felt better.
You took a risk and got what you wanted! My evil twin happily pushed me forward.
“Sure, baby. Just ask and I’ll take care of you.” His broad smile was welcoming. I followed him through the gate. We walked toward a corner away from the incoming fans. Once again, he radioed ahead. This time it was to an usher in the area where I'd be sitting. “You’re all set. Check in with Mark in 108. He'll show you to your seat.”
“Thanks, James. Don't worry, I won’t ask you for a favor like this again.” I tucked the ticket in my vest pocket.
Well, maybe I will . . . this was pretty easy.
“No prob," he smiled. “Ya haven’t asked me for diddlysquat in over a year. Enjoy the game, honey.”
As I stood in line to buy a crab sandwich, I considered how lucky those of us who lived in the Bay Area were to have such a wide variety of fresh fish available. I’d taken for granted how abundant it was—so much so that it was sold in a San Francisco baseball stadium.
In addition to seafood, one of the unique things about the Goliaths' ballpark was the great cuisine from the city’s pocket neighborhoods. There were stands that offered fresh pastas and cioppino from North Beach, Thai and Mandarin Cuisine from Chinatown, Pub Fair representative of the small pockets in the Irish Sunset and old Mission District, Mexican Food from the new Mission District and wonderful Soul Food from the Fillmore.
Although I was alone this time, it felt similar to a few weeks back when I'd brought Jerry to a game so I could spy on Ryan. While waiting for my sandwich I took several deep breaths, preparing myself for disappointment as I witnessed the proof that I was never a serious consideration in Ryan's life.
You’re repeating a pattern, Nicky. Break down that damn door!
When I arrived at Section 108, Mark let me through. Although my purpose in being there was to witness how quickly the man I had fallen in love with would move on to another woman, I was torn about it. I hadn’t formally committed to him. I got that. He told me he loved me and my response was how I loved him as a friend. All in all, he had the right to see other people.
Honesty, if he'd been up front about what he wanted, I might not have been so upset. I was prepared for that initially and told him as much the first night we'd talked on the beach. When he promised he'd given up seeing other women, I had different expectations and I let myself sink deeply into what seemed like love. Admittedly, it would be difficult to watch him join his bachelor teammates as they leaned on the railings to survey women. Because of the things he said, I'd built up my hopes, dreaming I might be his person and he mine—at least for a little while.
It would have been lovely to be the only one to hold his hand.
The choice wasn't mine.
He'd cut me off.
I had to face our end.
And I knew the exact moment it would happen.
The thing was, I didn’t believe Ryan intentionally played me for sex. I was convinced he'd discovered a side of himself he hadn’t been aware of—until he tried to have a serious relationship with me. He had to be with someone who wanted sex, and lots of it. Plus, she needed to be comfortable in the spotlight and handle all the attention.
I knew that all too soon I’d see Ryan look into the crowd and wink or smile at his choice of lady, beckon them with a finger to come to the railing, and that would be that.
The pattern went like this: a ballplayer casually identified two or three women he considered attractive. If she responded to him, he made his move by tossing a baseball to her. Sometimes she'd rush down to the railing to talk with him. If the game was on, there was a note attached.
She’d read: Sweetheart, I can’t keep my eyes off you. Meet me in the tunnel behind section 123 after the game? Be sure to write down your number and give it to the usher for me. You are so beautiful!
Little did she know that unless he flashed his wry smile or gave her a wink or two during the game, he’d spotted another woman and she would be left alone in the tunnel. The new woman was invited to meet him at a different place. If he were one of the more "polite" jocks, he'd ask a security guard to hand her a note that asked for her phone number. If receptive, she'd write it down and it would be returned to the player. He'd go into the clubhouse and call her from there, using a phone with a blocked number.
Easy as 1-2-3. That's all it took to line up after-the-game entertainment if he wasn't going to a club. There were long lines of prospects that hoped for a baseball or a wave. Women positioned themselves to be noticed near the railings throughout the stadium every game.
If he’d already had sex with her and they were re
connecting at the ballpark? She’d just meet him in the tunnel, already understanding what his nod, wink, or other signal meant.
Of course, he didn’t want any lingering possibilities by taking her to his apartment. No, only when he knew she wasn’t interested in a commitment was she allowed inside his world—well, unless the sex was so exceptional that he stored her number for the inevitable booty call when he was in town.
As I finished running through the scenario that was certain to be mere seconds away, I didn’t know what to do with my restlessness.
Acid churned in my stomach.
My legs were restless.
I felt as if my skeleton was trying to crawl out of my body and run away.
Off-center and shaken and more than forty-five minutes to go before the start of the game, I couldn’t sit still. I hadn’t been able to shake the spinning feeling in my body.
“Excuse me, miss?” The Oakland Avengers were the visiting team and were taking batting practice. One of them came to the railing just as I got up to walk around the stadium.
Oh, damn, not another one. Just leave me alone.
“Yeah?” I asked dully.
“Are you with anyone?” His big, brown eyes were thickly lashed and freckles dotted his face. Dark brown hair peeked from his cap and fell to the nape of his neck.
“Yes.”
Just act disgusted and he’ll go away. Damn it, another jock searching the railings. And yet . . . here I am sitting at them.
“Sorry,” he shuffled his feet. “It didn’t look like—”
Not understanding why, I felt compelled to tell him the truth. His nervousness was unlike Ryan's confidence and was refreshing.
“No, you’re right. I’m here by myself. Honestly, I um, I came here to be by myself. I was just getting up to walk around." I grabbed my backpack. “So, I guess . . . have a good game.”
“Wait!" He put his head down. "I know this is forward. Well, actually, this is really forward. You’ll think I’m lulu.”
Jagged Heart (Broken Bottles Series Book 3) Page 3
