Calling It

by Jen Doyle

  Settling into his seat, he actually laughed. “Almost.”

  But no, it hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t even close to what he’d felt with Dorie. And he had no doubt that if they had had that she never would have strayed—despite what Dorie obviously thought.

  He caught the waiter’s eye, handed over his credit card and was glad when the waiter had it back right away.

  Just as he was signing his name, Courtney asked, “Why aren’t you fighting for her?”

  The pen slipped out of his hand. “What?”

  “That woman. The one in Chicago. Dorie.” Her eyebrow quirked up. “The Sox fan.”

  Nate picked the pen up off the floor and laid it down on the table, suddenly unable to breathe. “I’m not sure what you mean.” That was a lie, of course. After Jim and Marco couldn’t get anything on Dorie—the town had closed ranks around her, apparently—they’d moved on to a daily comparison of his stats while with Courtney v those since. Dorie wasn’t faring well.

  Even though he could feel Courtney’s gaze on him, he didn’t look up. Not until the silence dragged into a full minute and it would have been ridiculous not to.

  A look came into her eyes, one that was both wistful and wicked at the same time. “I don’t take kindly to being second best. You know that.”

  “According to the radio, you’re winning,” he couldn’t help but say.

  Although she gave him a thin smile—yeah, he didn’t think it was that funny, either—she added, “If I didn’t know I’d still lose in the end, I’d fight harder for you. I’m just wondering why you’re not doing the same. I mean, that was the real thing, right? What we never had?”

  His mouth opened and then closed, all on its own accord as a series of excuses ran through his head, the strongest of which was that Dorie didn’t love him. That she didn’t want him as much as he wanted her. Or, rather, “She fell in love with a picture on the wall,” he said. “Not me.”

  Courtney leaned forward and reached for him. “Oh, baby.” Her hand cupped his jaw. “You couldn’t be more wrong. It just scares the hell out of her. It scared the hell out of me and I’m as perfect as you are.”

  Right. There was the Courtney he remembered. “Humble, too.”

  With a smile, she gathered up her things. “Take me home, Nate. We’ve both got early calls in the morning.”

  Standing up and pulling her chair out, the thought occurred to him, “Dorie has six brothers, you know.”

  “Oh, God, no,” Courtney muttered. Then she plastered that blinding smile on her face, turned away from him and dazzled her way out of the restaurant.

  But she’d gotten him thinking. And for the first time since that last night with Dorie, he tried to see beyond the words she’d said to him and instead to what they actually meant. He’d been so focused on convincing her that his feelings were real, that he’d never tried to understand why she was so adamantly working at not admitting hers were, too. That, as had been made so painfully clear, she’d never been in love before, except with the idea of someone she’d never met.

  And then he’d come in guns blazing, telling her that he was falling in love with her all of three days after they’d met. Right after he’d taken her on the hood of his million-dollar car in the middle of a cornfield, no less.

  Christ. He’d been freaked and he’d known exactly what was happening. But rather than allow for her to let it all sink in, he’d let pride and anger carry him away.

  Unbelievable. For over fifteen years he’d spent day in and day out building relationships, working at trust and reading the playing field. He knew full well that it took a good long time for a team to come together; a hell of a lot of effort on everyone’s part to make it into something sustainable—something great. Three weeks wasn’t a winning season, it was just a streak, especially for someone who couldn’t quite bring herself to believe.

  And then he’d gone and done exactly what she’d expected: no matter how many times he’d told her he wasn’t going anywhere, he’d still been the one to walk away.

  Chapter Thirty

  Two days after Rico and Troy had done their interfering bit, Nate was sitting in the locker room and staring at his phone. He wanted to call her; he truly did. He just couldn’t quite get to that next step. It still burned that she’d refused to even try.

  For as distracted as he’d been, he wasn’t paying attention to the guys’ chatter and it wasn’t until Rico slapped him on the back that he even had a clue something was wrong.

  “What?” he asked, warily taking note of Rico’s grin.

  “You should’ve told me you got yourself back in the game,” Rico said, nodding at Troy as the other man joined them.

  Belatedly, Nate noticed that two of the younger guys were hanging on every word. When one of them actually smiled and bowed down to him, Nate’s blood ran cold.

  What the fuck?

  Telling himself that he was clearly just misreading something, Nate took off the shirt he’d worn this morning and replaced it with his jersey. “What are you talking about?”

  Rico’s face froze. “You, uh...you don’t know?”

  Not missing the glance Rico shot over at Troy, Nate shook his head. “Not a clue.” The sinking feeling sank even further when a voice carried across the room. “Wait, Sports Illustrated? Two of them? Not the chicks from Playboy?” When Nate turned to see who had said it, he was almost blown over by the swoosh of wind as everyone quickly turned their heads away, trying to pretend they weren’t talking about him.

  He got up close and personal with Rico, practically hissing, “What’s going on?”

  Holding up his hand, Rico said, “Don’t kill the messenger, okay, bro?” Then he took out his phone, thumbed through a couple of screens and handed it over. And...

  Shit.

  Nate sank down to the bench as he stared down at the images. At the images of him with two women he barely even remembered meeting at a club he’d been at for all of thirty minutes. If it weren’t for Rico and Troy’s visit two nights before, he wouldn’t even have known who they were. But yes, there he was, his head bent down in a way that made it seem he was a hell of a lot more involved than the reality of the conversation that night, which had essentially been: nice to meet you both. Yeah, congrats on getting the cover. Time for me to head home.

  Alone.

  Shit. “Please tell me this is the worst of it.”

  Wordlessly, Rico took the phone, maneuvered through a few more screens and then handed it back.

  Goddamn it. Some fucking gossip site had gotten hold not just of those pictures but also one of him and Courtney at dinner. And, of course, the copy they were running was: Anyone still wondering where Nate’s golden glove has gone? #NatesGotHisOldGirlBack #MakeThatThree

  He wasn’t actually too concerned with the picture of the models. He was pretty sure Dorie wouldn’t believe that one. He could even picture the laughter in her eyes as she rolled them. Really, Hawkins? Swimsuit models? Try to be a bit more original next time.

  But the one with Courtney... The one that made it look like he and Courtney were together again...

  “Fuck.” He stood up and slammed the locker door. Opened it and slammed it shut again for good measure.

  Nate got ejected in the second inning. The coach was furious. “I don’t care how much you’re making, Hawk. I’ll send you down to Iowa so fast you won’t know what hit you. Get your head out of your ass and start playing, for fuck’s sake.”

  The problem, of course, was that Iowa was exactly where he wanted to be. But with Dorie in Inspiration; not playing Triple-A ball half an hour from home.

  Even though he’d probably be fined for it, he left the park after that. Went home, changed into shorts and a T-shirt and went off for a run that was more like a ten-mile sprint. He got home, stood in the shower until t
he water ran cold and then spent the next three hours watching House Hunters International and thinking about how he’d managed to get it all wrong with the one woman he wanted it to be right with. A woman that he still wanted. Needed.

  But God, how he did. He was driving his career directly into the ground and he couldn’t have cared less. At this point, it almost didn’t matter whether she believed him or not. He’d take whatever punishment she dealt out. He didn’t even care how pathetic that sounded; he just wanted her back.

  Well at least he hadn’t hit rock bottom; he wasn’t watching Full House. Yet.

  When the doorbell rang he almost didn’t answer it, especially considering what had happened last time around. But, hell. He needed something to distract him.

  FedEx, it turned out to be. A package from his mom.

  Nate took out the note first and unfolded it. My sweet Nate. I never knew you to give up on what you wanted. This doesn’t seem the time to start. Love you, honey. Mom.

  Then he reached in and took out...

  His heart thudded to a stop in his chest. The box looked older than sin, its velvet worn and faded. When he opened it, though, the ring inside sparkled. Thankfully, his dining room chairs were solid. It didn’t even budge when he dropped down to one.

  How could she know? He’d done just about everything possible not to let on to his mother what was going on. The night at the library had been the first time he was even sure that she knew there was something between him and Dorie in the first place.

  But, clearly, she did. And, equally clearly, despite what had passed since then, she seemed to think that it was something salvageable.

  He tried not to read too much into that. His mother wouldn’t interfere; not in a tracking-down-Dorie-and-making-her-have-a-talk kind of way. She was observant, though, the original Hawk. He had to believe that if she’d gone so far as to send him his grandmother’s ring, then there was a chance—even if it was just the slightest one—she knew something he didn’t. That maybe Dorie might be willing to hear him out.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dorie was fine. One hundred ten percent. Two hundred percent. As many percentages as there were, that’s how fine she was.

  The reopening of the library had been more successful than Dorie had dreamed and she threw herself into building upon that. Storytimes, visits from school groups, meetings with the local civic organizations. You name it, Dorie did it. She had to. There was all this rocket fuel burning up inside her and if she didn’t burn it off, she’d combust. Especially since when she stopped moving, she...

  She remembered what it felt like to be in Nate’s arms and she was afraid she might actually die.

  Which was ridiculous. She’d known him for three weeks—barely—and it had been more than that since he’d gone. Plus she’d been completely rational about all of it, thank you very much. He’d been the one to blow things out of proportion. And he should be grateful she hadn’t turned into a psychopath on him and demanded he follow through on all the things he’d said.

  So she tried not to think of it. Not to think of him.

  Pretty damn hard to do when there were reminders of him everywhere she turned, including the communiqués from Boston, to her dismay. Her brothers had informed her she was a topic on sports radio, although they’d kept it from her as long as they could. They’d finally had to tell her because although she didn’t listen to those shows their father did—he tended to have it on all day. They’d enlisted the kitchen staff in keeping him away from The Jim and Marco Show, but it was only a matter of time.

  Wonderful. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  Even limiting her entire life to the library and home wasn’t enough. The library was, of course, an issue because of Mr. and Mrs. Grimes, the rooms he’d helped paint, the reading room floor... The list went on. The only saving grace was that his sisters and friends had mostly stayed clear.

  To be safe, however, Dorie kept to her office whenever possible, and then headed directly home. But that hadn’t helped tonight when, after flipping the TV on to watch as she’d cooked dinner, she’d been too far away from the remote to fast forward through the commercial for the MLB channel. 30 Clubs in 30 Days. One glimpse of him was enough. She’d sat straight down on the floor and started crying. Sobbing. It was worse than the night she’d watched Toy Story 3. So she’d picked herself up and gone right back to work.

  Which was why it was so strange that her alarm clock was ringing. And it was even stranger because it was still dark out. It was the middle of March and, as of the week before, she was no longer supposed to be waking up before the sun.

  She fumbled for her phone, finally managing to shut the damn thing off. Except as she was doing so, she realized that she’d fallen asleep at her desk in the library. It was 12:52 a.m.

  As she was brushing off the two paper clips that were stuck to her face, she was also realizing that it wasn’t her cell that she was holding but, rather, her office phone. She put it to her ear. “Um... Hello?”

  Just as she was about to hang up, she heard, “Dorie?”

  Her heart suddenly pounding in her throat, she was glad she was already sitting down. Oh, God. Oh, God. “Nate?”

  He didn’t speak right away and she had a moment of wondering if she was still asleep. No matter how much she’d tried to keep him out of her head during the day, she hadn’t been able to keep from dreaming about him every night. She was already on the track to Crazy Town; it probably wasn’t that much further to actually hearing his voice in her head.

  But, no. There he was, saying, “Dorie. You’re still at work. It’s one in the morning.”

  Yes, well, being in a place where she could actually find activities other than cry herself to sleep was a better option than seeing him on TV. Or obsessively trolling the internet. Or actually seeking out anything she could find, no matter how much it upset her.

  “Mmm,” she answered, working very hard at not sounding like the world had just tilted on its axis. “The perfect time to call someone’s office phone if you don’t want to actually talk to them.”

  “Or if you’re trying to leave a message for someone who wouldn’t pick up the call if they saw who it was on the other end,” he replied, without missing a beat.

  Well, yes. “There is that,” she admitted, jumping up to her feet and beginning to pace. She felt dizzy. Light-headed. Probably better to stay seated, but she was already up. “So what message would that be? ‘You were right, Dorie? Turns out I do like the models after all?’”

  She could feel the rant coming on, what she’d tried so hard to contain for all these weeks. She knew he hadn’t done anything with them—knew it in the marrow of her bones. Yet here she was, getting herself all worked up. It didn’t seem to matter that he was here on the phone—that he’d actually been the one to reach out. The meltdown was coming and there was no way to stop it. She was about three seconds away from losing her shit; it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  “Or maybe it was more along the lines of, ‘So, thanks, Dorie, for the three weeks of reminding me what I really wanted,” she continued. “Like, for example, my fiancée, who’s actually even more beautiful than this year’s swimsuit issue cover girls. And, most likely, smarter. Definitely richer. Not that I need the money—’”

  “Dorie,” he said, cutting her off. He sounded like he was...

  “Are you smiling?” Yes. That’s exactly what it was. He actually sounded like he was smiling. “I swear to God, Nate, if you see even a bit of humor in this situation, I’m not just going to knee you in the balls, I’m going to cut them o—”

  “I love you.”

  Her mouth already having formed the O, she just stood there, gaping. Sucking in the air to replace what had just rushed out of her lungs. “What?” she asked, her voice barely even a whisper. She would have thought that by now she’d
be immune to the actual words.

  She wasn’t. Her whole world shattered into a million glimmering pieces around her.

  “I love you,” he said again, proving that she hadn’t dreamed it. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you standing there, holding my bat.”

  A nervous laugh escaped. He had not just said that.

  “Um, okay,” he muttered. “That wasn’t how I meant for that to come out.”

  Now it was her lips curving up into a smile.

  Oh, hell, no. She forced her lips straight again.

  “I love you,” he said yet another time, the words not having lost their power one bit as they were repeated. Her knees felt wobbly; she was afraid that if she didn’t sit down, she might actually fall. Having paced all the way across her office, she no longer had a chair available. She plopped directly down onto the floor.

  “I’ve spent the last month trying to tell myself you were right that we’d never work out, but you weren’t,” he said.

  Finally finding her voice, Dorie managed to eke out, “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “So then let me,” he answered. “Let me show it. Let me explain.”

  Oh, God, how she wanted him to. She wanted that more than anything she’d ever wanted in the entire world. But if she let him in—if she let him in even a little bit, it would hurt too much. She didn’t ever want to go through this again. “No.”

  “Dorie,” he pleaded. “They—”

  “No.” She got to her feet. Needed to find her strength from somewhere and sitting on the floor wasn’t going to do it. She had to hang up. If she didn’t hang up, he was going to—

  “Have I ever lied to you?” he asked, frustration in his voice. “Since day one I’ve been up-front with you.” Implying she hadn’t been, which, unfortunately, was true. “Can you at least give me that?”