The Hot Corner

by Amy Noelle

  I let the tears fall then, as I picked up the photo he’d just held and clutched it to me. For the second time in my life, I’d pushed away the man I loved. Strike two sure felt a lot like strike three. I was out.

  Chapter 26

  Each second that ticked by was interminable. I didn’t know what to do. I thought about leaving, since it was his place, technically, and I doubted he’d want me there when he returned. He had to come back at some point, right? He needed clothes, and all his things were here. Unless he went back to Malibu.

  Three hours. He’d been gone for three hours. It was late on the east coast, but I was tempted to call my mom. Or Bec. Or both. But what could they say that Brad hadn’t already? I’d done this. Me. I didn’t need to hear them confirm that.

  I thought about going back to the hotel. I thought about calling him, but I doubted he’d answer. He needed time and I needed to respect that, even though time felt like the enemy. Seven years felt like more than enough time apart to me, but since it was my fault, I could hardly blame him for needing his own time to wrap his head around what I’d done.

  How could I have assumed he’d cheat on me? I knew him. I’d never been closer to anyone before or since. Until now, of course, until the same man maneuvered his way back into my life. Falling for him again had been so damn easy, despite that I’d tried to fight it every step of the way. If only he hadn’t seen me on television. If only I hadn’t come.

  But I wasn’t sorry for that. I’d needed to know what a fool I was, how I’d thrown away the best thing that ever happened to me based on a few seconds of what I thought I saw. Brad was right. I was an ass.

  I scrubbed at my face, which I knew was blotchy from all the crying I’d been doing since he walked out. My head hurt. I thought about taking some medicine and lying down. In Brad’s room, or the guest room? Or the hotel? God, this was hard. I needed him to come back and tell me to get the hell out, that he didn’t want to see me ever again. Or, better, to forgive me, to let me make it up to him, or to try, at least.

  No sooner had I finished that thought than I heard keys in the door. My whole body jerked and I stood. Thank God. He was back. The front door began to open and I started speaking even before he stepped foot inside.

  “Brad, I’m so sorry. Please, let me—” The door pushed open all the way to reveal one very beautiful blond woman. “Pam.” I didn’t know whether to be relieved, disappointed, or scared. She’d warned me that if I hurt him, she’d come after me. Well, I’d done my worst and I’d take hers if I had to. I deserved it.

  She shut the door and strode into the room like a tiger stalking its prey. She stopped in the doorway, crossing her arms over her perky breasts, and cocked her head to the side to look at me expectantly. She was wearing gray pajama pants and a light blue T-shirt—not the glamorous Pam I was used to seeing. Perhaps she didn’t want to get my blood on her designer duds.

  “If you’re here to kick my ass, go ahead. But first, tell me if he’s okay.”

  Pam looked me over for several seconds. “I haven’t decided yet. You look like shit.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “How do you think he is? He just found out the woman he loves thought so little of him she assumed he was cheating on her and didn’t have the balls to tell him what was really going on when she broke his heart. He’s hurting.”

  “Where is he? I need to go to him.”

  She crossed the room and dropped gracefully onto the couch Brad had been sitting on not so long ago. “He’s at my place.” Of course he was. “And before you jump to the wrong conclusion, he isn’t looking to warm my bed, though it would serve you right if he was.”

  I winced and sank back into the uncomfortable chair. “Maybe I deserve that, but not from you.”

  Pam shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll see.”

  At least she wasn’t throwing punches, yet. “Did he send you here to kick me out? I thought about leaving—”

  “Is that your standard MO?” Pam asked, her voice rising. “The going gets tough and you run away? Because if that’s the case, I’ll help you pack your bags and you can get on the next plane out of town. You’re not worthy of Brad if you’re not willing to stay and fight for him. You didn’t last time, and what has that gotten either one of you?”

  A whole fat lot of nothing. Empty nights with random women for him, lonely nights with the wrong guy for me.

  “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be without him. But if he hates me—”

  “He’s never been able to hate you. He doesn’t hate you now. He’s upset and confused, but he doesn’t hate you.”

  Relief swamped me. “What did he say?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are we in junior high? He gave me a play by play. Hell, Dani, I never had a true relationship with the guy, but even I knew he’d never cheat on a woman, least of all you. How could you?”

  “I don’t know. At the time it just made perfect sense to me, that Brad would move on, or fall for someone else. There were always girls around, just waiting for him to come to his senses and dump me. You should have seen them. And I handled it. Or I thought I did.”

  “Apparently not. Come to his senses and dump you? Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t think it was a conscious thought. It was something I came to after we broke up. Like, of course he’d find someone better. Lots of someones. He could have any girl he wanted.”

  “He wanted you. He wants you. He’s had every woman he’s desired and then some, but it’s you he fell for. Twice.”

  “I know. And I didn’t deserve him either time.”

  She sighed and shifted, curling her legs underneath her. “Maybe not. Most certainly not if you’re just going to leave again.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Squat in his home until he comes back and has to face me? Plant myself outside the locker room at the stadium? Go to your place and beg him to listen? He’d have me arrested for stalking.”

  Pam laughed. “So dramatic. You should get into acting.” I glared at her and she shrugged. “What? It’s true. You’ll stay here for a few days. He’ll stay at my place while you figure out a way to make it right.”

  Hope bloomed in my heart but I squished it before I could let myself believe it. “How do I fix it? I can’t go back in time and take it all back. I’d give anything to do that, but it’s just not possible.”

  She rested her chin in her hands, her elbows on her knees. “First, you decide if you want to fight for him. Because I mean it. If you’re just going to give up, do it now. He doesn’t need to see you walk away again.”

  “Technically, he didn’t see it the first time.” At the thunderous look on her face, I hurried on. “I don’t want to give up. I want Brad. I’ll fight for him, but I don’t know what to do.”

  “Show him you love him. I don’t have the answers any more than you do, but I know that if you walk away again, it could ruin him forever. I’ve known Brad a long time, and I’ve never seen him the way he is with you. I want that for him, permanently. He deserves happiness. That seems to equate to being with you. I honestly don’t know who he’ll be if you leave again. It scares me to think about it.”

  I knew what she meant. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it if he reverted back to his old ways, if I saw him in magazines with new women every week. Not knowing the part I’d played in it the first time and the part I’d be playing again.

  “I couldn’t handle it,” I admitted. “Seeing him with all those women, knowing if I hadn’t been a colossal idiot that we’d be together instead. It would kill me.”

  “So tell him that. Tell him that just because you fucked up seven years ago doesn’t mean he needs to fuck it up now. Haven’t you both wasted enough time?”

  “God, yes, but he deserves time to deal with it and hate me for what I did. I didn’t trust him, not really, despite that I said I did. That’s huge to him. You know what I found out when I came here?”

  Pam smiled. “Other than that I’m a
wesome?”

  That actually got a small laugh out of me. “Yes, other than that.”

  “What?”

  “That the trait most people associate with him, one of the first things they say about him, is that he’s loyal. And I knew that. I saw it every day. Brad would go to the mat for his teammates and his friends. He helped the center fielder pass calculus. He loaned the catcher his car so he could visit his mom in the hospital. He didn’t even think of leaving the team when agents started to circle. How could I have forgotten that when I saw someone else in his arms, even hearing him say he loved her? He would never do that to me. Even if he did fall in love with someone else, he wouldn’t have laid a hand on her until he told me the truth. I hate that I didn’t see it. I hate that I didn’t listen to my mother when she tried to tell me that. I knew what I saw, and when he didn’t tell me about Bailey, that damned him in my eyes and I ended it. I was a fool.”

  Pam sighed. “Don’t make me defend you when I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

  I looked at her in surprise. “What? Why would you defend me?”

  “Well, not defend as much as understand. You were a kid. And if I saw what you’d seen and heard, I’m sure I would have assumed the worst as well. Of course, I would have ripped her hair out and punched him in the eye, but we all have our ways of coping. You just picked the wrong one. Had the timing been better, Brad would have come to you and you two would have hashed it out and made it right. And he’d have forgiven you for assuming the worst. I’m sure of it.”

  So was I. “That’s what makes it worse. Had one little thing been different, where would we be now? Had I just walked up and confronted them, I’d have looked like a giant jackass, but we’d have been fine in the end. Had Brad’s dad not been sick, he’d have gotten on that plane and confronted me. The reason I ran is because I knew I didn’t have the strength to end it in person, to be told it was over. It took everything I had just to do it over the phone. I guess I’m a coward.”

  “Hey, don’t talk about my best friend’s girl like that.” She gave me a half smile. “We all have our insecurities.” When I shot her a look, she grinned. “Even me. One of the tabs ran a picture of Maxwell with his wife the other day, with the word ‘Reconciling?’ as the headline. Do you think that didn’t devastate me?”

  “What did you do?”

  “I called him. Turned out the picture was an old one, which is a damn good thing because they were smiling and all over one another. And they’re not reconciling, but they are in some kind of counseling. A last ditch effort dreamed up by his publicist to show he fought to keep his marriage. He says he’s done, but . . .” She shrugged. “He plays the media game in a way I don’t. I don’t see the point in putting on a show for the public. Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he’s not. All I can do is go on with my life and see if I mean as much to him as he claims.” Pam’s voice was smooth but I saw the way her mouth tightened.

  “It hurts you.”

  “Very much. Falling for a man like Max . . . well, I don’t think it’s much different from what you feel about Brad. Everybody wants him, and what’s worse for me is that he’s already had that one true love, enough to marry her. At least Brad’s never loved anyone else.”

  “When I thought he did, it nearly killed me.”

  “Yeah. I get that. Which is why I’m here talking to you instead of kicking your ass. As I said, we all have our insecurities. You might have been entitled to them then. You were young and in love for the first time with a superstar in the making. It’s intimidating and enough to make you question your appeal. You have that excuse from the past. You don’t have it now. You know your appeal to him. You know he’s already played the field and ended up right back where he started, where he always wanted to be, with you.”

  When she put it that way, it made a lot of sense. “I need to find a way to make him see that I won’t ever think that way again. I do trust him. I never should have stopped.”

  “No. And trust is important in his world. He’s on the road for what, five months of the year? You can’t be with him for every game, though he’d probably welcome it. The truth is, there will be rumors about him no matter if he never even speaks to another woman. One photographer will capture a picture that looks damning, and you’ll have to know it’s not what it seems. Can you deal with it?”

  I thought about it. “I can’t say I’ll like it, but I do trust him. So yes, I can deal with it, if he’ll let me.”

  “Good. You need to show him that.”

  A germ of an idea started to form. “I haven’t written the chapter about his love life yet.”

  A slow smile spread across her face. “There you go, Ms. Writer. You are his love life, so that’s perfect. Show him what you’ve learned about him.”

  I’d show him I’d always loved him, even when I’d thought I hated him. I’d show him I no longer saw him as the playboy he’d tried to portray to the world. I’d show him I was in it for the long haul, if he was willing to give me another chance.

  “I can do that.” I got to my feet and headed toward the office to retrieve my laptop when Pam’s laugh stopped me. “Oh, sorry.”

  She grinned as she stood. “Don’t be. You’ve just answered my concerns. You’re going to fight for your man. Call me when you have it done and I’ll come get it.”

  “Does he know you came to talk to me?”

  She shook her head. “Nah, I gave him a beer and a Xanax and sent him to bed while I stole his keys.”

  I laughed. “I like your style, Pam.”

  “I think I like yours, too. As long as you’re going to keep fighting.”

  “I haven’t even started.”

  She smirked. “Go to it, then. Happy writing.” She shot me a wave and left.

  Pride wasn’t going to get in my way this time. I had none left and I didn’t want it. I only wanted Brad.

  Chapter 27

  Countless stories have been written about Bradley Reynolds’ love life over the years. I could tell you most of the women from his past have fond memories of him, and some even maintain friendships with him to this day. I could tell you one or two may bear him ill will because he couldn’t give them what they wanted, a committed relationship. I could tell you any number of exciting stories about romantic getaways or trysts in public restrooms, but you can get all that on the Internet. It’s funny how the media uses the phrase “love life” to talk about the newest, hottest celebrity relationships that end before the ink dries on the page. Shouldn’t they just call it what it is? A sex life. It’s fun and exciting, and maybe it’ll climb to love status, but nine times out of ten, it won’t. The simple truth is Brad’s love life begins and ends with one person. That person is me.

  The first time I set eyes on Brad was in our sophomore English class. The girl next to me was swooning over him, and I looked to see what she found so awe-inspiring. When he turned around, I saw it, all right. Our eyes met. Then he smiled, and I was done.

  I wasn’t surprised to find him waiting for me in the hallway. I was nervous, because he was easily the most beautiful guy I’d ever spoken to. I stammered my way through a couple of embarrassing sentences that didn’t put him off. He asked me to dinner, and so it began.

  I’m pretty sure I fell in love with him over that first dinner, while he regaled me with stories of pranks pulled on road trips, rookie hazing, and growing up in a life of baseball. He was like a little boy when he talked about the sport. Despite all the hard work he put into it, he still had that refreshing love for the game that often goes away as players get older and more jaded. Not surprisingly, he still has that same love for the game now.

  The first time I acknowledged I was in love with him was in English class. We had to pick a famous poem and read it out loud. Every guy in the class went with Robert Frost or Emerson for the nature-type stuff, rather than gooey romance. But Brad stood in front of the class with no notes and spouted off “A Red, Red Rose,” by Robert Burns, his eyes on me the whole time.
I felt like I was going to overheat and melt into a puddle right there at my desk, which might have been preferable to what I did do, which was launch myself into his arms and kiss him in front of the entire classroom. Brad, being Brad, just kissed me back, then turned to the class and told them that was how it was done.

  I couldn’t stop touching him, so we held hands through the rest of class. When class was over, we didn’t have to say anything. It was like we both knew we needed to be alone, so we headed straight to his dorm room.

  I asked him if he’d meant it. I knew. I could feel it in the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, and the way he treated me, but I’d needed to hear it. I can still remember the moment as if it was yesterday instead of nearly a decade ago. “Of course I mean it. You’re my red, red rose. My Red. I love you.”

  It would take a stronger woman than I not to fall in love with a boy who’d get up in front of a classroom and give a girl his heart, and then again so sweetly in private. I told him I loved him, too. And I’ve never ever felt for another man what I felt for him in that moment and every single moment afterward.

  If we’d been nearly inseparable before that perfect October day, we became even more attached at the hip, or lip, after that. Brad and Dani, Dani and Brad; our names were interchangeable on people’s tongues. We were a unit. Solid. That’s not to say we never argued. We could throw down with the best of them. We were both stubborn, strong-willed people, so a fight was always full of drama, but making up was a lot of fun.

  Brad was, for the most part, an amazing boyfriend. He never forgot the little things—whether it was showing up outside my class to walk me home, picking up a flower for me at the grocery store, or writing me a sweet note on a baseball, he always made me feel loved.

  He showed me in so many ways that he loved me, from taking care of me when I had the flu to cheering me up when I was down. Once, I had one of those weeks that felt like everything went wrong. The computer ate a paper I’d spent hours on, I failed a calculus test, and I got into a fight with my mother over something trivial. And, of course, I dumped on Brad about it. He listened, held me when I cried, and wisely didn’t ask if I was PMSing. When I was done, he told me to pack a bag. Despite my protests of our being short on cash, off we went to Panama City. Brad used his “emergency” credit card to get us a hotel room on the beach, and he proceeded to make me forget all about papers and tests and angry mothers. Of course, he had one angry father to deal with the next month when the bill came, but Brad just laughed and said it was worth it. And it was.