by Tessa Bailey
“What? What the—” Louis sputtered. “No. No. You are both fired. I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, Ben, because there’s this little thing called boyfriend-girlfriend privilege, which is apparently just as binding as attorney-client privilege—”
“The point,” Ben muttered. “Get to it.”
“Honey is in New York.” Louis paused to let that sink in, but it didn’t. Not right away, at least. It poked holes in him, head to toe, and let him bleed out onto the floor before rocketing straight to his gut. “She landed this afternoon,” Louis continued. “Rox doesn’t know if she’s staying permanently or just collecting her things, but—”
“She needs to stay,” Ben shouted, loud enough to make both of his friends jump.
Russell gestured at him with his beer. “Why, Ben? Why does Honey need to stay?”
For me. She needs to stay for me. Even if I don’t see her, at least there will be a chance I might see her. At least I’ll know she’s there. Selfish, selfish thoughts. He couldn’t be selfish anymore when it came to her. He’d done enough. “School, for one. She . . . she can’t just start over somewhere else.”
“Actually, she can.” Louis lifted a dark eyebrow. “It’s called a transfer.”
“That’s something a professor should probably know,” Russell observed with a smirk.
Ben gave him a cursory middle finger. “What about her friends?”
“They’ll miss her. A lot. But she can make more,” Louis said, leaning forward. “Give her a fucking reason, Ben. She’s five blocks from here, man. Go get her.”
“You think it’s that easy?” Ben’s fist clenched with the need to hit the table. “This isn’t like you and Roxy. I didn’t just fuck up once. I had three strikes, and I used them all. One when I accused her of coming on to me for a better grade. Two when I showed up here with someone else. The letter makes three—” He shook his head. “I don’t have any strikes left. The game’s over.”
“Far be it from me to knock a baseball reference, but—”
“Wait.” Ben’s hand came up to quiet Russell. An idea had just winged through the fog surrounding his brain. Dots were connecting, stars aligning. A weight pressed down on his chest as tiny squares sewed themselves together into a patchwork quilt. It could work. This idea. This. Idea. Not to get them back together. He wouldn’t give himself a moment’s hope she would ever let him hold her again. Touch her, kiss her. But he wouldn’t be part of the reason she gave up and went home. No way. Never.
There might be a way, however, to keep her here. He thought back to her essays, the ones he’d read so many times the last three days that his vision had blurred. Above everything in this world, Honey valued being part of a team. Surrounding herself with people she could help. She loved her hometown so much because it was a community. Her community. Could he create that for her in New York City?
It was selfish to desire any kind of proximity to her, so that couldn’t be why he pulled this idea together. It had to be for her. It would be for her. An apology. A solution. An expression of how he felt about her, if nothing else.
He looked between Louis and Russell. “I need your help.”
“You’ve got it,” they said at the same time.
Chapter 21
“WHERE DID YOU say we’re going?”
Honey pulled her legs up onto the hard, plastic subway seat, unconcerned about taking up too much space, since she, Roxy, and Abby were the only souls left on the 7 train headed to Queens. Her roommates were behaving . . . strangely. To say the least.
“There’s a new Mexican place we want to try,” Roxy said without skipping a beat. “Abby had a craving for an enchilada.”
Abby gave her a serious look. “And guacamole.”
Honey played with the zipper of her leather boot. “We can’t get that in Manhattan?”
“Where’s your sense of spontaneity?” Abby asked her. “We had to learn to fend for ourselves when you left. Procure our own meals. There was a few minutes there where I didn’t think I was going to make it.”
“You’ve turned us into major food snobs. Look at us. One week without your cooking and we’re riding an hour on the train to get decent Mexican food.” Roxy made a sound of disgust. “I used to eat all my meals from food trucks.”
“Maybe,” Honey drew out the word, “if you hadn’t hidden my cooking utensils, I could have made us enchiladas from scratch.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Roxy said.
Abby, avoiding all eye contact, started to whistle.
Honey gave them both the stink eye. She’d been back in New York for three days, and slowly but surely, her possessions had started to disappear. One morning, she’d woken up and reached for her phone on the nightstand to find it gone. A search of the apartment had yielded no results. Then her favorite pair of Converse had vanished from her closet without a trace. When she’d asked Abby if she’d seen them, the leggy brunette had shoved a Saltine cracker into her mouth and given a helpless shrug.
At first, Honey thought maybe she’d been imagining their twitchy behavior whenever she walked into the room, but this afternoon had confirmed her suspicions. When she’d returned home from a meeting with her counselor at Columbia, they’d been lying in wait for her in the living room. Roxy had thrown her worn-in jean jacket at her and hustled her out the door, each of them sending what they thought were discreet text messages at their sides. Honey had an apprehensive feeling about this little adventure, but she was going along with it because she felt guilty.
Despite her assurances, they expected her to fly back to Kentucky at any second. If she’d been able to maintain an upbeat attitude, she might have convinced them to the contrary, but Ben was still there, blocking the positivity trying to push its way through. Returning to New York, going back to school, had clobbered her in memories, but she was working her way through it.
Abby and Roxy seemed to sense that, so they hadn’t pressured her to talk, choosing instead to hoard her possessions so she couldn’t leave. She kind of loved them for that. She owed them the truth, too, but when she started talking, Ben would appear, and that sealed bottle of emotions would shatter at her feet. He was already there every time she blinked or managed to fall asleep, and maintaining her sanity meant keeping the memory of him in check during daylight hours. Not that she was even remotely pulling it off.
The subway doors rolled open, and still neither Abby nor Roxy made a move to get off.
“Okay, are we going to Queens or Mexico for this Mexican food?”
Abby’s whistle turned into a giggle. “One more stop. Right, Roxy?”
Roxy eyeballed her phone. “I think so . . .”
“Okay, you two.” Honey couldn’t take the mysterious behavior anymore. When she thought of what could potentially lay on the other side of this subway ride, she started to panic. “I’m just going to come right out and ask. Does this little trip have something to do with Ben? Is he . . . going to be there?” She swallowed hard. “Because—”
“Honey.” Abby looked affronted. “Do you really think we’d blindside you like that? He won’t be there.”
“Good.” Oh, the sweeping disappointment she felt was so obnoxious and unwanted. “I just had to check. You guys have been acting weird since I got back.”
“We wouldn’t let that jerk near you.” Roxy’s expression was blank. “Not after what he did.”
“Yeah,” Abby said, once again refusing to meet Honey’s gaze. “I hope we never have to see him again.”
Indignation had the back of Honey’s neck turning red. It was all well and good for her to mentally refer to Ben as a jerk, but quite another for her friends to say it out loud. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t say anything. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, Abby.” Honey’s knee started to bounce. “You’ll have to see him sometime. He’s part of the supergroup.”
“Nope.” Roxy pursed her lips. “I told Louis that Ben was no longer welcome.”
“What?” Honey shot forward
on the seat. “He—that’s—not exactly fair. I mean . . . he only wrote the letter because he was scared. You don’t know everything that happened with his father. He had his reasons. For everything.”
Abby inspected her nails. “Not good enough. There’s no excuse for him hurting you.”
“I hurt him, too,” Honey whispered, but it got lost in the hum of the train, so she said it louder. “I hurt him, too.” The way he’d looked at her as she’d ordered him into the cab—completely devastated—came crashing down on her, and suddenly the subway car felt too close, stifling. It became difficult to inhale, as though someone had laid a metal plate down on top of her lungs. This was why she’d sealed everything up, because now the contents whooshed out and surrounded her on all sides. Honey looked up at her roommates. They were both staring back at her sympathetically. Holy shit, she’d walked right into an intervention. A Bentervention.
“Well played,” she murmured shakily, just in time for the subway doors to slide open. Roxy and Abby each grabbed one of her hands and tugged her off the train. She stayed lost in her own thoughts as they descended the stairs of the elevated train station and headed down a busy avenue.
Was she in the wrong here? Staying away from Ben had seemed like the best way to mend her heart, but every moment she spent away from him ruptured it a little more. Was he going through the same thing? Suddenly, she resented the fact that she’d been brought all the way to Queens. Not that she would go to Ben if she were in Manhattan, but at least she’d know he was close by.
“Guys, I think I’m going to head back.” As soon as she said it, she felt better. With every stop on the way back to Manhattan, she’d be closer to him. Too bad her friends shook their heads adamantly and continued to pull her down the avenue, turning into a side street after a few blocks. The sound of the rumbling train overhead and honking cars faded, and she could see the East River in the distance. Warehouses lined the block, but she could see a park up ahead. Or a field of some kind. Where were they taking her?
When they reached the field, Honey felt a small flutter in her throat. Not just any field. A baseball field. Roxy and Abby remained closemouthed as they pushed through a rusted metal gate and urged her inside. They got as far as the pitcher’s mound when Louis walked out of the dugout, carrying a mesh bag full of bats and baseball helmets. Honey could only watch in confusion as several kids, a variety of ages, followed him onto the field. Russell brought up the rear, tossing a baseball up in the air and catching it with his mitt, two smaller boys hanging off each of his shoulders.
“They need a place to play ball, Honey,” Louis called as he set the bag down near home plate. “What do you think? Can they play here?”
She shook her head slowly, at a complete loss as to what was happening. “Why are you asking me?”
Abby slipped an envelope into her hand. “Because it’s your field.”
“What?” She croaked the word, her pulse speeding to a frantic pace. This had to be a crazy dream. Yet she could feel the slope of the mound beneath her feet, the cool wind off the river. When Roxy nudged the envelope, Honey willed her fingers to open it. She tugged out a long yellow piece of paper. A deed? It had her name on it, though. That couldn’t be right. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s a letter in there, too,” Abby said. “Read it.”
Jogging off to join the guys, her friends left her standing dumbfounded on the pitcher’s mound. Honey reached back into the envelope and found a folded piece of notebook paper, the edges torn neatly off. Her fingers felt numb as she unfolded it and started to read.
What I Should Have Written by Ben Dawson.
Dean Mahoney,
There is this girl in my class. This brave, intelligent, golden-eyed girl who glows so brightly that once I saw her, I never had a chance. I’m being paid to teach her, when it should be the opposite. I’ve learned through her that we’re not the past that made us but the choices we make. I’ve learned what it means to forgive and be forgiven. I’ve learned what it’s like to live in the sun. Unfortunately, I hurt her in the process of learning those things, and now she’s gone. Once you’ve lived in the sun, anything else feels desolate. My hope is that she can live in it now for the both of us.
I fell in love with this girl in my class. I could have met her anywhere and I would have loved her. On a ship, passing her on Fifth Avenue, across a busy restaurant. She would have been loved by me in all those places. Any place I’m in for the rest of my life, wherever I’m standing, I will be standing there loving her. Because while I don’t deserve her love, she deserves mine, and she has every ounce of it.
I bought this girl a baseball field. She let me live in the sun for a while, and this is my attempt to return the favor, though it doesn’t compare. It took me some time to figure out what she missed back home that New York couldn’t offer. This girl needs to be needed. She cooks for the friends she loves, she farms for her family. She studies to become a doctor to mend their pain. Perhaps it took me so long to figure it out because I was busy needing her, too. Now these lucky kids get to live in the sun with her.
This girl is Honey Perribow, and she’s extraordinary.
Sincerely,
Professor Ben Dawson
Ben watched Honey through the chain-link fence, his fingers curled around the metal. Oh God, she looked gorgeous, but more fragile than usual. Eyes tired, skin pale. He wanted to press his lips to all of her, warm her, but he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He’d told himself he would come and make sure she received his gift, but that’s all he would allow. If he went in there now, she might feel obligated to give him another chance, and that’s not what this was about. This was atonement. It was giving her a reason to stay where she was loved. Knowing this city for the good in it, not the bad. Not what he’d done.
His mother had been shocked when he’d called to let her know he’d be withdrawing his portion of the money from the bank. It would have sat there forever if he hadn’t thought of the one use for it he could tolerate. It was kind of a relief, not having it there, actually. He hadn’t even realized how the very idea of such an excessive amount of money had been hanging over his head, taunting him. He’d always viewed the funds as tainted, but with the purchase of the ball field, he’d converted it. Made it new, he hoped.
Honey’s blond hair was whipping around her in the wind, obscuring the side of her face from his view on the sidewalk. Knowing she was reading his words made him ache everywhere, head to toe. Maybe it had been selfish of him to tell her he loved her, but there had been no help for it. The words had poured out onto the page, as if they’d been clamoring to get out. So now she knew. There was something freeing about having it out in the open, even if it made being without her somehow worse.
She swayed a little on the pitcher’s mound, and he shot forward on instinct, rattling the gate by accident. Honey’s head whipped around, and they locked eyes. His heart sped up . . . then dropped to his stomach. She looked . . . miserable. Jesus, had he been all wrong about this? Maybe he’d been presumptuous. Why would she want a single damn thing from the fucker who’d hurt her in the first place? Maybe she’d mentally moved on and he was dragging her back.
Ben backed away from the gate. This is why he shouldn’t have come. Should have left her with the gift and stayed away. Taking one last memorizing look at her, he turned and walked briskly toward the subway. He’d almost made it to the end of the block when he heard her.
“Ben.”
Damn. It felt painfully good to hear her say his name. It meant he was still in her consciousness, if nowhere else. He knew he should keep walking, let her off the hook from having to thank him, or, worse, making an attempt at friendship. They would never be friends. Not now, when he knew what it felt like to have it all. But he couldn’t leave her there on the sidewalk, calling after him. His entire being rebelled against it, so he turned around.
She was running, blond hair flying out behind her. So goddamn beautiful he cursed under his breath. For a split s
econd, he let himself imagine Honey throwing herself into his arms, but when she skidded to a stop a few yards away, the fantasy popped like a balloon over his head.
A sound of anguish fell from her mouth. “Where are you going?”
It took him a moment to speak. He hadn’t expected to have her this close ever again. “Home.”
“Home.” Her lips trembled. “I don’t even know where you live. I hate that.”
Something akin to hope flared to life in his stomach, but he doused it. “I hate it, too.”
Her eyes were bright with tears. “You bought me a baseball field.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want it.” Ben fell back a step on the sidewalk, positive no one could survive that kind of pain, but she followed him. And she kept coming. “Not without you, Ben. I don’t want it without you.” She wrapped her arms around him, followed by her legs, and then he had her full weight against his body and it was so fucking intoxicating it took all his willpower to stay standing. Her curves found his muscle and they reacquainted themselves, interlocking like they’d never been apart. He could feel her fingers in his hair, her lips kissing his cheek, his neck, and he could only stand there, stunned and grateful. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I shouldn’t have made you leave. I should have understood.”
“No,” he breathed into her hair, finally allowing his arms to wrap around her. Oh, God. It felt like everything good in the world was concentrated right where they were pressed together. “You’re not sorry. I can’t handle you being sorry.”
“No?” She pulled back to swipe at her eyes. “Can you handle me loving you? Because I do. I love you so much, Ben.” When his head dropped forward into her neck, a watery laugh bubbled from her lips. “Not because you bought me a baseball field, even if it’s the best—the best—gift I’ll ever get for the rest of my life. Thank you.” She slid her fingers into his hair. “I love you for knowing what I needed even when I didn’t. For stealing my alarm clock. Learning how to work the damn tractor. So many reasons. If you still need me, too, you have me. You never stopped having me.”
