“Well, I’ll see ya tomorrow night at the game?” he asked.
“Yep, be there with bells on.” I gathered my backpack. “By the way, a few of my friends don’t have boyfriends, so if you want to go on a date, let me know. You’ve probably got plenty of women vying for your attention, but . . .”
“You never did tell me how old you are,” he grinned.
“I wasn’t going to before we talked."
“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Because when someone older finds out I’m eighteen their face shows the obvious—nothing I say matters anymore. I’m suddenly too young and it makes me feel insignificant. I know that’s weird. It’s my hang-up.”
“I’d never classify anyone as insignificant, especially you,” he emphasized. “Anyone can see you’re someone to reckon with as soon ya start talkin'.”
“You just earned yourself a gold star,” I praised. “That’s good news, because when I start talking, I can really speed along.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I did.” The waiter filled my cup with regular coffee. “Well, kind of." I poured in some cream. "I’m not looking for a boyfriend, only a friend who happens to be a boy. I’ve always enjoyed having male friends.”
“Me, too. Ya know, friends who are girls. Um, I mean ladies.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I really mean women. Sorry, I don’t mean to be offensive.”
“No offense taken," I reassured. “Being politically correct is a challenge. If it comes from someone with a good heart or someone I’ve known a while, I don’t care. Like um . . . James at the Bay Gate. He’s a southern man and it’s part of his culture and charm. He calls everyone baby or honey; even the fans. It’s just his thing and it doesn't take long to realize that about him. What irks me, is when the term ‘girls’ is used condescendingly, as if we’re only cute little things—like we’re property to be played with. You know what I mean?”
“Explain.”
“The Victoria Secret syndrome," I stated simply. "Here I am for your pleasure, come and play with me."
"Another example, please," he requested.
"Okay, let’s say I'm with my friends. You walk by and ask, ‘How’s it goin’ girls?' That's condescending. Or if my teammates and me are cheering and one of the guys says, ‘Lookin’ good girls.’ That’s not okay—unless we were still in our junior year of high school. The correct comment would be, ‘nice job’ or ‘hello ladies.’ You see? If you don't know a woman, don't call her girl."
"I see."
“And here’s the rub, Ethan. If we were at a party together with people our age, it would be okay. But if you're with another guy, older than you? It would be rude. So now that you’re totally confused, do I make any sense at all?”
I laughed silently that my detailed explanation might have his head spinning.
“Yeah, I think I've got it.” He finished his coffee.
“Well, friend, I’m glad you asked me to coffee, but I’m spent for sure now. You can talk longer than I can and that’s a feat!” I put my hand out to shake his. “Really nice to meet you.”
“You, too.” He pushed out his chair and then stood. “Did you think I was a weirdo coming up to you at the railing?”
“I was put off by it at first. It’s just, the railings, you know. Well, do you know? Sitting there, the people, women actually . . . I’m sorry; I’m difficult to get to know. It’s just . . . well, I’m difficult, that’s all.”
“I don’t agree with that. Hey, Nicky?” He looked bashfully at the ground.
Ooh, how cute!
“Yes, Ethan?” I teased.
“Would ya have breakfast with me tomorrow? You choose the place. I can pick you up or you can meet me if that makes you more comfortable. I don’t have a morning game, well, you’re cheering, so you know. I think we have a lot in common, don't you? I’d love ta hear more about your plans.”
“Oh, you don’t know what you’re saying.” I started to laugh. “I could bore you to tears. You’ll be sorry."
“I have a car. I can pick you up.”
“You said that.” I teased him even more.
“Yeah,” he blushed.
“Give me your cell phone." I held out my hand. "I’ll enter my address and phone number. What time do you have to be at the ballpark today?”
“Between two and three,” he said.
“So let’s do . . . 9:30?” I handed his phone back to him. “There’s a great breakfast place close to my house.”
“Sounds perfect.” Ethan looked at his phone as if studying my address. “You’d better let me drop you home tonight. It’s too late to be out walking alone.”
“Thanks, I was going to ask if you wouldn't mind.” I got up.
Each of us left the money for our coffees and started our walk back to the players’ lot.
Just as we reached the gate, Ryan, Chris and Frances were coming from the other direction.
My Evil Twin licked her lips and my mind raced in the many wicked ways I could lash out at the man who had just abandoned me.
I know my eyes must have narrowed and turned demon-red, as the dark deliciousness of revenge consumed my entire body.
Chapter 6
I’ll Leave Your Jacket At The Door
The smiles on the faces of Chris and Frances were growing with each step that brought us closer. As we slowed to a stop, I looked straight at Ryan. It was obvious he was nervous. For the first time since I'd known him, he couldn't look at me. His eyes alternated from my face to the ground. For me, it was the opposite—I had no trouble staring directly into his eyes—they were no longer on fire for me.
Ethan, who was talking rapidly, looked at the harbor, the lights, the streets, me and everywhere else. He didn’t know how badly his new friend had been hurt, or that she couldn’t yet process unfamiliar feelings rising up from her darkness.
“Nicky!” Frances called to me sweetly. “Why aren’t you out with us tonight?”
“Ask your brother-in-law." The anger simmered. All I wanted was to make a verbal attack on Ryan so he could feel a little of the pain that earlier, had taken me over.
Is this how my father feels when he begins to rage?
“Why?” She looked at Ryan with obvious confusion.
Surfacing from a tender place in my heart and for reasons I didn't yet understand, I couldn’t watch Ryan suffer. Instead of my emotional dodging, weaving, and hiding, I answered her question calmly; defending the man I still loved. We were both at fault. I needed to share in the responsibility.
“Oh, I, you know . . . wasn’t invited.” I fumbled with my response and watched the anxiety cross Ryan’s face.
“Why didn’t you invite her, brother?” Chris’s question was woven with tones of dare and sarcasm. I was aware of how awful the sarcastic comment sounded. Hearing someone I didn't know well throw out a comment like that to his own brother made me wince.
Ryan seemed caught in between decisions, unsure of what to say, how to move, and where to look. He chose to remain silent.
“He was caught between taking a chance he'd hurt my feelings or being with you guys. I sensed he really wanted to be with his loved ones.” I felt compelled to say something. I couldn't leave him so defenseless, watching him shift uncomfortably, while trying to hide our disaster from Chris and Frances. I wasn't about to let them put him on trial.
“We wouldn’t have minded you coming with us,” Frances scolded. “Ryan, what were you thinking?”
“I’m the one who encouraged it," I countered. “I know if it were my family I’d want to spend at least a night or two alone with you.”
“How sweet,” Frances said. “Thank you, Nicky.”
"Sure." I cleared my throat. “By the way, this is my new friend, Ethan. You probably know he’s on the Avengers, Ryan, but Chris and Frances, he played right field tonight in the eighth inning.”
“Wow!” Chris said. “Cool." He and Frances took turns shaking Ethan’s hand.
"Good game, Ethan,” Ryan did the soul shake with him and then let go quickly.
“Thanks, Mr. Tilton," Ethan said timidly. "Congratulations on the awesome year you're having. I hope to give ya some competition at the plate someday."
"Look forward to it," Ryan challenged.
"It'll be a highlight of my career," Ethan smiled and then patted me on the back. "Speaking of highlights, meeting my new friend was sure a nice surprise."
I smiled nervously.
Ryan’s blue eyes scanned my new acquaintance more closely now that I had stepped nearer to my new buddy.
“Well, glad you had a nice time out,” I said, wanting nothing more than to move away from the awkward gathering. My voice cracked. Ryan stepped closer, as if ready to offer some gesture of kindness. “I’ll leave your jacket and the necklace you bought outside my front door," I whispered. "I won’t ruin them.” The harder I tried to hold them back, the more my tears threatened to fall.
“Nicky—” Ryan positioned himself between Ethan and me and started to raise his arms to gather me inside of them.
I grabbed his wrists to stop him.
Letting Ryan embrace my body would warm my heart again. Although he still had it, I couldn't let that happen outwardly.
After all, wasn't my recovery synonymous with resisting his touch? Didn't I need to protect myself that way?
He’d been right to break it off.
I knew, even when I came back from LA—felt it in my gut—that we weren't right for each other.
We were at two different places in our lives and the timing wasn’t right for either of us.
"Wait!" Frances seemed worried. Perhaps she'd picked up on the tension. "Why don't you join—"
"Ethan and I have to go,” I announced. I fought hard to stay strong, hiding the upset and sadness inside of me. “Have a nice evening. Chris, Frances, if I don't see you before you leave, it was great meeting you both.”
I turned away.
Tears began their descent.
As I walked to Ethan's car, the only sounds I heard were our feet as they hit the ground. I could feel the three of them—Chris, Frances, and Ryan—standing in silence behind us. I didn’t turn around to look at their faces.
“Were you seeing Ryan Tilton?” Ethan finally broke the silence when we settled in his car.
Oh God. Well, there goes my new friend.
“We were um . . . friends," I admitted. “Well, more than friends. I thought we were headed for something special.”
“I don’t want to be in the middle of anything,” he gripped the steering wheel. “That was, uh . . . what did he do?”
“He broke a promise,” I mourned.
“What was it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“He told me he wouldn’t overstep the boundaries we had agreed on and did anyway,” I fumbled. “When I didn’t give in, he went cold. I think it’s . . . well, you guys have so much coming at you. I guess sex is assumed when there are so many opportunities. Um . . . it was about sex. The cat is out of the bag. I didn't mean to say that, but too late now. You know, the thing is, I told him. Right from the beginning I said that we should only be friends. He really hurt me.” Without hesitation, I added, “Actually, we hurt each other.”
I shocked even myself as I said the words. I hadn’t considered how it would feel to say them. I hadn’t planned them. They were spoken from my heart.
That's being vulnerable, Nick.
We pulled away from the players’ lot. I thought more about what had happened. Like me, Ryan was abandoned. Instead of living with a parent battling addiction, his pain came from his father’s early death and not being able to say goodbye. At fourteen, he cursed his dad for leaving on another tour of duty to the Middle East. Those words served as Ryan's final farewell to his father; he could never take them back.
Why couldn't Ryan talk about it when I refused his advances? Was it because no one had turned him down—probably since high school? Did sex mean acceptance and approval? Maybe what I'd done meant complete rejection and he didn't know how to put his feelings into words. Maybe, because of the ending with his father, he was afraid to say anything.
“Yeah,” Ethan broke the silence. “But uh . . . wow! That seemed way deeper than just heading somewhere.” He shook his head. “The gentle way you took his wrists in your hands, that seemed like love back there.”
Run while you still can, Ethan! I’m a mess!
“Let’s not talk about it.” My voice was almost inaudible.
“Let’s do, okay? I need to know you’re all right,” he insisted. “You seem shaken.”
“I am.” I’m miserable.
“I’d be happy to come in and keep talkin' with ya.” We arrived at my house. He didn’t hesitate to follow me to my front door. “Or we can continue in my car if you’re uncomfortable havin' me in your house. I have plenty of time before I need to get to sleep.”
“I’d love that. Come in.”
He followed me through my front door and into the kitchen. After I put my backpack one if the chairs, I got each of us a glass of water and we sat down.
“Well, where do I begin?” I circled the marks on the wooden tabletop with my finger—hot pans, red wine stains, and the beads of water from the bottom of a glass that sat too long.
“I say dive in.” Ethan’s warm smile was so friendly that I didn’t hesitate. His hands rested on mine; patting them as if quietly telling me, it’s all right.
“We volunteered together last year at the Veterans’ Hospital. He was warm, funny . . . I thought he was a real gentleman. He even made sure to introduce himself to my family after our first visit together. I still don’t understand everything . . . not completely. Anyway, the Goliaths threw an appreciation party for their employees and volunteers last November and some of the players came. He sat down with me when I was by myself and told me he'd like to ask me out when I turned eighteen."
Ethan's face flushed.
"What's wrong?" I probed.
"Not likin' that," he confessed. "It's like, no offense but . . ." He shook his head. "Never mind."
"Like I'm fresh meat?"
He nodded.
"I understand why you'd think that but he's a good man."
"You sure about that?" Ethan challenged.
"I'm sure. He literally blew me away when he held my hands and revealed his feelings.” A wave of sadness washed through me. “Then after I sang the National Anthem this year, he did it again, making sure he caught me in the tunnel on my way back to my teammates. You know, we wait in the outfield, behind the fence where that big double gate is? Well, that’s where we sit and I had to walk back there. The Goliaths actually got us chairs this year. Before, we had to stand up. You didn’t need to know that, but anyway, he really got me was a few days ago. Truthfully?”
“Yeah?” Ethan seemed anxious to hear the end of my story.
“I liked him last year when he kissed my hand. He introduced himself that way. Can you imagine?” I stopped for a moment to relish the sweet memory.
“And?” He nudged my arm.
“Yeah." Although I was in turmoil, I caught myself smiling. "So a few nights ago, Ryan and I were in Half Moon Bay. We sat on the beach together and he poured out his soul to me. What he revealed, they aren't the things you talk about unless you feel a close connection with the other person. Why go to all that trouble? It’s crazy, right? Am I crazy? Maybe it's me. Just tell me if it's me.”
“Sounds like he had, or has feelings for you.” He spun his phone in his hands.
“Maybe. In the end I guess it meant nothing without sex.” I resigned myself to the inevitable. “I knew this would happen, but he kept asking me to give us a try. There was something so unusual about him. We just clicked. You know what I mean?” A tear left its trail down to my chin. “It’s that we don’t mesh. No, that’s not it," I reconsidered. "We did mesh. I guess—”
“You’re both at two different places in your lives,” Ethan interjected.
&
nbsp; “Yes, that’s it exactly,” I wiped another tear.
“I can understand how you’d feel that way,” he counseled. “He’s almost eight years older than you and been through things you’ve never experienced. I'm sure he's charming, but I'll bet he's also a lot to handle.”
Remember hearing that from your parents, Nick?
“How do you know how old he is?” My voice sounded unsteady.
“Nicky, all the players know each other’s age; especially the prominent ones. Even in the semi-pro leagues, we know.”
“You think he's a prominent player?"
"Duh," he smiled.
"Hmm. I never thought of him like that."
"Why not? You follow baseball.”
"Yeah, I know. I guess . . . he's humble and doesn't seem to get caught up in the star syndrome. Anyway, on his age . . ."
“We keep track because we can’t wait to replace them,” he chuckled. “At least that’s our hope.”
“That makes sense.” I blew my nose in a napkin and threw it in the trashcan.
“I can see you're in pain.” Ethan squeezed my hand. “Sorry for whatever happened. You sure you don’t want to be alone?”
“I’m sick of being alone,” I stated. “In fact, that’s why I went to the game tonight—to be around people. Stay a while, okay?”
“You’re alone?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You don’t have many friends?”
“It’s not that. Well, in some ways that’s true. My friends from school—we’re drifting away from each other. I know it's natural. We've all graduated and we're going onto other things, but . . ." I sighed in appreciation of my friends. "I'll sure miss my girls. At least I’ve got my sister, Tara, and Alex.”
“Who are Tara and Alex?”
“Tara Summers and Alexandra Flowers,” I informed. “Tara is Matt Summers' wife and Alex is Darrell Sweet's fiancé.”
“Damn, woman! You sure have powerful friends.”
“Well, I never thought about it that way. But yeah, I guess so.” I grabbed my glass of water.
Jagged Heart (Broken Bottles Series Book 3) Page 5
