I used to make bets with your mom. We’d try to bet on whom you would favor more, her or me. I’d tell her that I would be the one to get you to say your first word. She’d say she would be the one to get you to take your first steps. I’d bet that you’d like me more. (She really didn’t like that one, but it was fun to get her riled up.) All we really wanted though was to be your parents and to hopefully do a good job.
Unfortunately, we didn’t get to do those things. But sometimes I picture what life would have been with you here and compare it to how life is now. Life would’ve been amazing with you, Eden. Every single second of it. I hate that we’re all missing out on that life. The day we met and lost you was somehow the best and worst day of my life.
Honestly, I wish I could give you good news on our lives now. I wish I could tell you that we’re handling your loss better. I wish I could tell you that your mom and I are sticking together and that we’ve seen more of the good in life like we used to.
Life doesn’t always work the way we want.
If it did, I’d still have you and your mom with me. I’m thankful for the time I did have though. And at the end of the day, I don’t blame your mom for pulling away from me. The pain of losing you…it was a massive, gut wrenching, bone crushing kind of pain, and it was twice as bad for your mom. She hasn’t even begun to heal and I wish I could help her, do more for her, but I think I make it worse for her.
If I could have one request, my precious Eden, it’s that you continue being our little guardian angel. Soon, I probably won’t be able to look after your mom, so it makes me feel a little better to know she’ll have you watching. I’ve tried to fight for all of us, and I won’t stop until I have no other choice. I’m sorry I couldn’t make things better.
I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I failed your mom. I’m so sorry, Eden, and I hope you can forgive me for failing our family.
With all my love,
Dad
***
I WATCH EVERYONE walking up and down the halls and listen to the clicking of the employees on the keyboards. I’m waiting for Mr. Love, my divorce attorney, to call me back to his office. I need to make sure the divorce papers will be done soon. I need to cut my ties faster with Jordan so I can move on. Or, whatever it is I have planned.
After several more minutes, his secretary tells me I can go into the office. Mr. Love is a much older man with a big ol’ belly and stark white hair. In some ways, he reminds me of Harry Caray.
“Mrs. Johnson, please have a seat.” He points in front of his desk where there are a couple empty chairs. “Now, what can I help you with?”
“I want to see if we can speed things along,” I say anxiously.
“Well,” he sighs. “It actually might be longer.”
“Longer? What? I thought it was almost over.”
“It is. I think in about four more weeks, you’ll have the papers in your hands.”
“Another month?” I don’t think my heart can take it. “Why?”
“Oh, you know, this and that needs to be complete before we draw up the papers.”
This and that? What the hell? “Are you sure it’ll be done in a month?”
He nods. “Yep. And the bright side, it might be sooner.” He smiles, but I don’t care. I want this over.
I just nod and leave his office. I need to get back to the salon soon because I have a full afternoon booked. Kassy opened the salon up this morning since I wanted to come here. And then there is one more stop.
Today, the Angels have an open practice.
While I want to be as far away as I can be from Jordan, I miss baseball and the Angels are blowing up right now. Even Jordan is at the top of his game. He’s in the top five of RBIs and home runs. He’s been working so hard this past year, and it’s starting to pay off.
I hand my ticket to the young girl and make my way into the stadium. There are a lot of people here and I’m thankful for it because I don’t want Jordan to see me. I brought an Angels’ hat and keep my large, black sunglasses on. There’s no way he can recognize me.
I take a seat near the middle. Since it’s a practice, there isn’t any assigned seating. Almost everyone rushes to the lower level and near the dugout. A short while later, the Angels come running out onto the field. I find Jordan’s number fourteen quickly. He’s tossing a ball to Colby. I watch as they throw to each other. They are talking and I see Jordan throw his head back in a full laugh. A smile spreads on my face and I remember when we would lie in bed and he would laugh like that.
There are so many memories of us in bed, just talking and being in each other’s arms. I was never safer than in his arms. I’m never safer than in his arms. I could conquer the world with him by my side. Now, it’s different. I opened a business on my own. Even when I did, I wanted to call and tell Jordan. I’ve never stopped loving him.
But I can’t be with him. It’s best that I’m not with him.
I watch the team run through drills and then some take breaks to sign autographs for people hanging over the rail to reach them. Jordan is one of them. He’s always stopped for any and every fan. He’s always the sweetest to them.
When he finishes up, he jogs back to the dugout to join the team. My favorite part is coming up. It’s home run time. Well, that’s what I call it. Each player comes up to the plate and tries for a home run. If they succeed, then they continue into the next round until there’s only one. Jordan loves it too.
“First up to bat, Colby ‘Sugar Daddy’ Wilson.” The whole crowd, including me, bursts into laughter. Colby turns and points his bat to the dugout and mouths, ‘You’re dead’ to whoever is working the mic.
I’m still giggling when Colby swings, connecting with the ball, but it’s not enough to go over the wall. The cheer still claps for him.
“Next up, Blake ‘Grumpy’ Foster.”
Blake turns back to the dugout, and his face is stone. Wow, if looks could kill. Blake steps up to the plate, and on the second swing, knocks it clear out of the park. The crowd goes nuts. I even clap at the impressive home run.
“Heading to the plate, Tanner ‘The Kid’ Coats.” Tanner takes a bow and then takes his stance. Like Colby, he can’t get it over the wall.
“Now, we have Jordan ‘The Playa’ Johnson.”
The Playa? Jordan is not a player. Even when I first met him, he wasn’t sleeping around. Is he doing that now? No. I know him better than anyone. It has to be an inside joke or something dumb.
Jordan shakes his head as he reaches the plate. I hold my breath as he hits the ball. I’m up on my feet, and I watch it easily sail over the wall. I think it goes further than Blake’s. As Jordan comes back to the dugout, he stops and I think he’s looking right at me. I quickly take my seat and drop my head. He can’t tell it’s me. I’m too far up.
When I look up, the announcer calls out the next player. My heart is racing so fast, it’s thumping in my ear. Jordan didn’t see me. There’s no way. Soon, the first round is over. Blake, Jordan, and Roman are the only three to get it over the wall.
On Jordan’s next turn at the bat, he looks back up to where I’m sitting. Maybe he sees someone behind me he knows. Or maybe it’s not even me he’s staring at. He slams it out of the park again. Roman doesn’t make it when he’s up, leaving Blake and Jordan.
On the next round, Blake fouls out and Jordan hits it one more time over the wall, making him the winner. I stand with the rest of the crowd and cheer as he waves his hat to the crowd.
My first thought is: he’s still hot. My second thought: he needs a haircut.
I filter in with the crowd and escape the stadium. I’m thinking I’m in the clear; Jordan would never know I was here. Until I get to the car.
There’s a letter on my windshield.
“Damn,” I sigh out loud. How does he do this? I grab the letter and head to the salon. I’m not going to read it. I’m not doing it.
My feet hurt when I escort the last customer out the door. The convention worked
because we’re booked solid for the next two months. The girls and I are over the moon about it. I drag my feet into my office and try to finish up the paperwork quickly because I want to soak in a long bath.
Once I finally make it home, I drop everything onto my kitchen counter and of course, the contents of my purse fall out everywhere. The letter from Jordan is on top.
“Damn,” I cuss under my breath and pick it up. My curiosity always wins. I rip it open and fall to the floor right there in the kitchen.
It’s not to me. It’s to Eden. I cover my mouth and feel my body tremble as I read each word on the paper in Jordan’s handwriting. I sob and begin to rock back and forth.
He has no right. None at all.
I stand up, go to the fridge, and get a bottle of wine. When I open the cork, the smell makes me gag. It must have gone bad and I’m in no shape to go out and get more. I’m a wreck and mad.
I’m so very mad.
I take the bottle and fling it across the room and watch it shatter, splattering red wine everywhere. I grab the mugs from the cupboard and throw them with all my might. One right after the other. Once all of them are gone, I go into the living room and flip over my TV and throw my DVDs next, then the pictures on the wall, and then finally I pick up a wedding photo, which fell from the album, and tear it in two.
I suddenly stop.
The tears are burning my cheeks and my throat hurts. I just destroyed my favorite picture of Jordan and me. I turn around and look at the destruction behind me. What’s wrong with me? I’m not a violent person. I’ve never done anything like this. I sob harder and go to my bed, clutching the picture to my chest.
“Ms. Carington can see you now.” The older woman smiles at me.
I nod, stand, and slowly walk into the room.
“Mrs. Johnson.” Ms. Patty Carington holds out her hand. I gingerly take it. “Nice to meet you. Let’s sit here.” She guides me over to the couch, and she sits in a chair across from me. I look all around the tan and beige room. There are a lot of books and degrees on the wall. “Mrs. Johnson?”
I turn my attention to Ms. Carington. “Please, call me Heidi.”
“Sure. And you’re more than welcome to call me Patty.”
“Okay.”
“So, why are you here, Heidi?”
I take a deep breath and sit my purse by my feet. “I’m going crazy,” I speak honestly to the therapist.
“Okay. Why do you think you’re going crazy?”
I tell her what I did to my apartment.
“Why did you do it?”
“Jordan sent me a letter.”
“Who’s he?”
“My soon-to-be ex-husband.”
“And the letter was upsetting?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He wrote it to our daughter who died three years ago.”
“What did she die of?”
“She was stillborn. The doctors could never give us a clear answer.”
“So, your soon-to-be ex-husband wrote a letter to your dead daughter and you destroyed your apartment. Is that right?”
“Yep.”
“Why are you getting a divorce?”
I look at the woman whose brown hair is in a perfect bob. “Because I love him.”
She furrows her brow for a beat. “You still love him?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re divorcing him?”
“Yes.”
“Explain to me why.” She crosses her legs and rubs her chin.
“Jordan has always wanted a family. When I got pregnant, he was over the moon. Then when Eden died, it was as if the entire universe crashed on top of us. Now, I can’t give him any more kids because I won’t go through the pain again.” The first tear falls.
“You can’t give him children or won’t?”
“I can still have children, but I won’t because I’m afraid I did something to cause Eden to die and the pain is too much for me.”
“Was Jordan unsupportive toward you?”
“No.”
“Was he mean? Did he shut you out or blame you for Eden’s death?”
“No.” Actually, it was the opposite; Jordan did everything he could to help me.
“Have you been to therapy before?”
“No.”
“Why?” She sits back more in her chair.
“I thought it was unnecessary at the time. But now everything is falling apart.”
“How so?”
“My business is taking off. I mean, we’re doing great right now, and the only person I want to celebrate with is Jordan, but there’s no way, and I miss him terribly.”
“Does he want you back?”
I nod and tell her all about the letters, cards, and gifts he’s been sending me since I left him. I tell her how great Jordan is and how he’ll make someone happy someday.
“How does that make you feel?”
“What?”
“Jordan with another woman. How does it make you feel?”
I open my mouth to answer with my favorite word fine, but I stop.
“You don’t want to see him with someone else, do you?”
I turn my head away from her.
“Let’s try this, how did you feel when you were first with Jordan?”
The smile appears before I can stop it. “Great. Amazing. Outstanding. The best I ever felt.”
“I see.” She checks her watch. “Heidi, I want to see you again in a few days.” She stands, writes something on a card, and hands it to me. “I think we have a lot more to discuss.”
***
I’VE BEEN TEMPTED to write another letter to Heidi, but decide against it. She hasn’t contacted me since I caught her at my practice and left Eden’s letter on her car. I should probably give her a little break before the next one. I want to see her though. It’s as if the more days we’re apart, the closer we get to being divorced, the more I miss her. Our time in South Carolina sure didn’t help things.
She’s so close, just across town, yet she might as well be across the world. I was hoping against all hope that maybe things would change a little for the better between us. However, her lack of response to Eden’s letter has me worried. Maybe I shouldn’t have delivered that one.
Tanner clears his throat, gaining our attention in the locker room as we prepare for practice. “So, I need a place to crash for a few days.” Felix, Blake, Hector, Trent, and Roman all immediately turn toward their lockers. “Oh, c’mon!” Tanner objects. “We’re supposed to be friends and like family. You guys would rather I stay in a hotel instead of helping me out?”
“What’s wrong with your apartment?” Colby asks.
“Nothing. There’s something wrong with the one next door, and the landlord is kicking us all out for a few days while he brings in exterminators for the entire floor or something.”
Spencer laughs. “I told you to never get a place in that building. You need a nicer place. You can afford it, in case you didn’t realize that.”
Tanner narrows his eyes. “I’m looking! In the meantime, I’d rather one of my good teammates help me out.” The remaining guys turn toward their locker, leaving me the last dummy facing Tanner. He grins. “Jordan?”
“Don’t do it, man,” Roman says. “He’s a freak,” he laughs, shaking his head.
I’m not convinced when Tanner adds, “I can tone it down.”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug. Why not?
“Finally! Glad someone in this room cares about the youngest member.”
The guys laugh, but otherwise ignore him as he continues to rant about how we obviously don’t care about his wellbeing. He could very well go stay in a hotel room, but why waste the money? Hopefully, I won’t regret it.
What I do regret, however, is the fact that ever since Hector gave Colby his nickname, he’s given us all one. He dubbed me the playa because he said it might help me land a quick date. Because some girls like knowing a man won’t commit to her. When he said tha
t, my first thought was of Rosie from the hotel that night, and it wasn’t a good thing. Everyone thinks I need a date now apparently.
We do our usual drills in practice before hitting the weight room. Some of the guys are pulled into the video room to watch tapes, and I’ll probably head in there after my workout. The guys have consistently told me how letting Tanner stay at my house is a bad idea. It’s fun to see Tanner defend himself, but it’s got me a little worried.
Not much I can do about it now; I already told him he could come.
“That’s it. I’m tired of hearing this shit. I’m going to see Sofia,” Tanner says, making a show of being fed up. “The hands of a God always treat me well.”
“Not today, they aren’t,” Blake interrupts him. He hits the treadmill a bit too hard to turn it off, going from a full run to a complete stop. “She has an appointment with me.”
“Oh, come on! You can’t Sofia-block me,” Tanner protests. He doesn’t seem to believe he had an appointment, and I can’t blame him. Blake seemed lost in his running until Tanner mentioned going to see her.
Blake ignores him as he grabs a towel to wipes his face. He grabs his bottle of water, smirks, and leaves to see his girlfriend.
“What are my chances if I wait for him to leave her office?” Tanner asks once he’s out of the room.
“I wouldn’t test him,” Felix says with a laugh.
“Your chances would be a hell of a lot better if you’d stop moaning when you’re in there and stop mentioning her hands,” Colby tells him.
Tanner shrugs, not fazed at all. I just shake my head at all of them.
I call the salon and before the third ring, a woman answers, “This is Above a Dream salon. How may I help you?”
“I need to schedule an appointment with Heidi.”
“How soon would you like it?”
“This week?”
There’s a pause before she says, “I’m sorry. She’s booked with appointments for a while. I have an opening with Skye, if you don’t want to wait.”
I frown. I want Heidi to be the one who cuts it. “It’s Jordan, Heidi’s husband,” I say, as if that will fix the issue.
“Oh, well, I can ask if she wouldn’t mind switching some clients around, or if she wants to stay late to for you.”
Jordan Page 10
