by Debbie Burns
A smile curled on Megan’s lips as she refocused her attention on Max, who was lying on his back sandwiched between her legs with his feet in the air. She loved Craig’s dry and understated humor.
“Now it’s your turn,” he said. “And the question that’s much easier to ask after three…four…glasses of wine is why the hell are you single?”
A snort-laugh escaped, and Megan shook her head. “You’re definitely on the road to drunk, and you haven’t even tried my pizza. Save an ounce of sobriety for one slice, will you?”
“I will, but you’re evading.”
“I’m not evading.” She shrugged. “If you really want to know, I was engaged for two years, and now I’m not.”
More silent studying. Finally, he asked, “Are you okay to tell me why?”
“I am. It’s not that scandalous or anything. We worked long hours and had nearly opposite schedules. Officially, we grew apart and decided to take a break. Stay friends for life. I’m sure you’ve heard the drill.”
“And unofficially?”
Megan pressed her lips together and smoothed Max’s baby-fine stomach fur. “He came home one night and admitted his head was turned by an ambitious grad student who was working for him at the time.” She shrugged again and wished it didn’t hurt to say it all this time later. “He didn’t have an affair or anything. He just came out and said that if we were as good together as we were supposed to be, he shouldn’t want her as much as he did.”
Craig’s fingers tightened around his glass and his brow furrowed. She was left wondering what it meant for only a second. “Did you have anyone to kick his ass?”
Megan laughed. “No, it ended much more congenially than that. I didn’t fight to keep us together. A couple times I worried that was a mistake. But the truth is that I loved him, just not enough. Not enough to go the distance.”
He emptied his glass and ran his hand over his face. “Do you know who I’d like to meet?”
“Who?”
“The woman that someone left you over.”
Her heart did a flip, then a little skitter. Don’t let it go there. He asked for friendship, and now he’s on his way to being too drunk to hold himself to it. She forced herself to keep it playful. “I have a feeling there’s an insult in there, but I’ll let it slide.”
“Trust me. That was completely insult-free.”
Feeling a deep flush creep up her neck just as the oven timer buzzed, Megan dumped Max to the floor and stood up, brushing off her pants. While the pizza was cooling, she decided to brew a large pot of coffee. God knew they were both going to need it.
* * *
Working to suppress the shivers traversing her spine, Megan switched the travel mug of sweet-scented mocha to her free hand and tucked her half-frozen one into her coat pocket. She tried not to focus on how much warmer the shoulder was that was rubbing against Craig’s upper arm as they meandered the darkened streets of Webster Groves.
“I wish it were still Christmas so you could see it,” she said. “I always feel like I’m in a snow globe because the houses are done up so cute.”
“It’d be colder if it were Christmas. It’s mid-March, and I can’t feel my toes.”
“I told you that you needed a jacket.”
“Wearing your ex-fiancé’s left-behind and heavily sentimental hoodie didn’t have the right energy to it.”
“So now you’re freezing.”
“I’m still too drunk to be that cold.”
“Thus the walk and the coffee.” She wrinkled her nose at him, then grabbed his elbow to pull him to a stop. “We almost missed it.” She pointed through the darkness to a big house with white-painted brick, tall gables, glowing lamps in the windows, and a small porch lined with black rockers and big pots of seasonal greenery. “It’s one of my favorites. They decorate just right and never overdo it.”
Craig said nothing as he took it in, then nodded appreciatively. “You’re right. It’s well done. Want to knock on the door and introduce ourselves?”
“It’s almost ten o’clock, goober.”
He laughed. “I can’t remember being called a goober before. Ever.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“So,” he said, sipping his coffee as they started walking again, “did you grow up around here?”
“No. I grew up in the sticks. My house looked like a double-wide, like almost every other one in a ten-mile radius. Except that we were among the lucky ones and had a basement. And a tire swing.”
From her coat pocket, her phone chirped. She pulled it out and felt unease wash over her. “It’s Sophie,” she said. “I’m talking to her class tomorrow about the shelter.”
She stepped away to answer it, trying to sound chipper and sober and not out walking with Sophie’s dad. After assuring Sophie she wasn’t in bed yet, she listed the dogs she was bringing and reviewed the highlights of what Sophie wanted her to talk about. Once she hung up, Megan pulled in a breath before turning back to Craig, who was looking at her in a way she couldn’t decipher.
“When I’m with you, I keep forgetting about your relationship with her.”
“It’s weird. I know.” Megan dropped her phone back into her pocket and fell into step beside him again. “She’s a great kid. I really adore her.”
Craig’s arm brushed against her shoulder again. “You mean a lot to her. In fact, I’m pretty sure she idolizes you.”
“Well, I’m honored to be idolized, especially by someone like her. I want you to know I’m not… Well, I haven’t been…you know…”
“Leading her along to get on my good side?”
She nodded, pointing a finger his way. “Yeah, that.”
“There’s no need to state the obvious. But I’m honored you’re acknowledging I have a good side.”
Megan gave him her best mock-glower. “Now you’ve taken it too far.” With her attention off the sidewalk, she tripped on an uneven slab and went sprawling forward, splashing a stream of coffee over herself and slamming her knees and palms into the rough concrete. “Ouch.”
“You okay?” Craig’s hands closed over her sides as he helped her up. As soon as she was standing, he moved in front of her, reaching for her hands and turning them palms up. Nearby, her upturned coffee made gurgling sounds as it drained onto the sidewalk. Neither of them moved for it.
“I’m fine. And you’re supposed to be the drunk one.” Her hands stung like fire, but that paled in comparison to the fact he was so close, cupping them in his, the aroma of her spilled mocha heavy in the air.
What would he do if she slipped her arms around him and pressed her lips against his? Push her away? Pull her close? The urge to experience the pleasure of his mouth made her empty of everything but want.
One of his hands left hers, and he brushed a splash of coffee off her cheek. His fingertips traced the side of her face, traveling along her chin and down her neck until they were blocked by her coat collar.
He was so close. Twelve little inches separated them. That and a canyon between two different lives, one more in limbo than the other. His thumb circled the hollow of her neck, and he released a slow, controlled breath that washed against her forehead, smelling of wine and mocha. Would one kiss—one night—be enough? Why did it feel like moving on from anything with Craig would hurt more than her split with Paul had? That it’d be like being thirteen again and learning to live without the one person closest to her in all the world?
His other hand released hers and closed around her hip, claiming it and his desire for her in one fluid motion. He pulled her inward until their bodies pressed together. Megan’s pulse raced from the feel of his muscles taut against her. A groan filled the small space between them, but she wasn’t sure who it had come from. She knew the choice was to jump in and be engulfed, or step back and wither away from want.
Then, from inside her pocket, her phone chirped. She knew the answer before the phone chirped a second time, loud and demanding. It was Sophie, calling with something she’d forgotten to say or ask. Megan knew this even before pulling the phone out to check caller ID. Tonight wasn’t going to happen. They would come to their senses and wither away.
It couldn’t hurt forever though. Losing something you never had. Could it?
Chapter 13
The ping of metal bats connecting with baseballs greeted Craig as he stepped into the expansive warehouse of indoor batting cages. Reese trailed just behind. The building was a chorus of these pings, laughter, and the bursts from the pitching machines. Maybe because the scene was a throwback to his youth and the best times he’d had with his father, an unexpected calm blanketed Craig even before the door swung shut.
He’d distanced himself from this sort of energy for a while. Had almost forgotten what it felt like. Reese hadn’t wanted to play any sports in the last three years. Before that, he and Andrew had been on several teams together. But then Andrew had vanished into thin air, and no one was in the mood for camaraderie or team spirit or cheering for anything.
If it were up to Reese, they wouldn’t be here now. But this was a decision Craig and Jillian had made months ago. Since Reese wouldn’t choose a sport, he was being forced into rejoining his old baseball team. They were happy to have him back. Craig had even agreed to be the new assistant coach.
“Do you see your team?” Craig turned to Reese, who was dragging his brand-new gear bag on its side as they headed toward the crowds. He wanted to call Reese on it, make him flip it over and roll it on the wheels, but he suppressed the urge. Reese was here against his will. If he got through tonight with this small act of defiance, it wasn’t the end of the world. God knew, that was much worse.
Reese shrugged and scanned the groups hovering around the various cages. “Just look for a bunch of douche bags.”
“Hey!” Craig took his arm and turned him so they were facing each other. “Come on, Reese. Enough already. If I thought you actually knew what that meant, I’d ground you for a month.”
“From what?” It was a dare and came out with an anxious smile that showed a glimpse of the boyishness still hidden behind Reese’s usual impassive exterior.
Craig knew where this was headed. They’d tried it once, grounding Reese from his DS and other devices. But Reese loved to read and retreated into his books. It hadn’t changed anything. He hadn’t rejoined the world. If they took the books away, he’d only retreat deeper into himself.
Sighing, Craig told himself to face the facts. He was the grown-up here, forcing his son to shake things up. He needed to be the mature one. Surely he could handle that.
“From having fun,” he answered. “Oh, wait. You already grounded yourself from that three years ago, didn’t you?” It came out sounding snide and bitter and far from mature. Wonderful, Craig. Absolutely wonderful. Next time, see if you can make it all the way to the cages first.
“Like you’re any different.” His son’s cheeks and neck blossomed with red splotches, and Craig’s mounting anger receded abruptly.
It was the truth. Undeniably. He pulled in a long, deliberate breath. “You’re right. These last three years have sucked. But it doesn’t mean that every day from here on out has to suck, does it?”
Reese pulled his lips into a tight circle and rocked onto the sides of his shoes. Craig could tell he was dangerously close to crying. This was new territory. Reese hadn’t cried in forever. But crying meant caring. Feeling. Hope surged in Craig’s chest, and he closed one hand over Reese’s shoulder.
“Listen, forget it. Forget what I said. Just listen to the sounds a second. The pings of the balls and bats colliding. Do you hear them?”
Reese squinched up his face. “Uh, how could I not? They’re everywhere.”
Craig closed his other hand over Reese’s other shoulder. “Really listen, Reese. When it’s a wooden bat, the sound is a crack, and that’s way better, but for now the ping will do. Forget your teammates this season—the douche bags, if that’s what you want to call them. We’re going to start with the pings. That’s all we’re going to focus on this year.”
“Dad, you’re being weird.”
Craig knelt down, lowering himself to Reese’s eye level. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s time for weird. We’ve tried everything else, haven’t we?”
Reese chewed his lip, but the hint of an awkward smile pushed through. “What do you mean, ‘focus on pings’?”
“It boils down to physics. When a bat and a ball traveling in opposite directions and at different speeds collide, something happens. I’m going to teach you how to connect it with that ping.”
“Something happens like the ball heading to the outfield?” It was sarcastic, but he was making eye contact.
“Yes, but something happens inside you too.”
“I remember. Your hand hurts.”
Craig laughed. “At first, but you get used to that. Something good happens. Look, get through this next hour without making any new enemies. I’ll see if we can stay after, and I’ll show you what I mean. Okay?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Craig nodded. Yeah, whatever. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to start.
* * *
Nearly bounding with excitement, Craig reached for his phone for the third time in a handful of minutes. How he was so certain he wasn’t sure, but he was on the verge of a breakthrough. He’d swear to it. The truth of it was there, deep down, rolling around his gut. This was going to work. And he had an itch to tell someone.
And not just anyone.
His phone was locked, but his fingers danced over the screen, longing to enter his code and scroll through his call log for Megan’s number. But every time he considered it, his stomach would lurch in a different way and he’d put his phone away.
She’d care, of course. She’d listen. The same way she had when he’d told her how he’d gone to bed the night his world began to collapse. Told her how he’d ignored the warning signs screaming at him to fix things. To make things right. To never, ever let the boys go to bed angry.
The story had poured out of him on the walk the other night, after he came to his senses and remembered that sleeping with her was the worst of all ideas. She’d listened perfectly, as he knew she would. She took his hand and listened as they walked. The release he’d felt was indescribable. He’d been thinking about it ever since. He’d held his feelings in for too long. Way too long.
It was late that night—the night that was the beginning of an end no one could conceive was coming—and the boys were fighting over something stupid and inconsequential. Whose turn it had been to kick the last ball at recess, if he remembered correctly. They’d both been undeniably right, and Craig had been too tired to deal with it.
They’d been at school late for Sophie’s class play, and Craig had to pack for an early flight to Portland. Jillian was busy dealing with Sophie and some drama going on with her friends. No one had the time or energy for Reese and Andrew to fight about a dumb ball. They’d gone to bed angry, using words like idiot and hate that weren’t allowed in their seven-year-old vocabularies.
Craig had drifted off wondering if the boys were still awake, lying in their beds, holding on to their anger. He’d been close to getting up to check on them. To make them talk. Make them apologize. Remember that they loved each other best. More than a ball. More than a game. More than anything.
But he’d fallen asleep, and just before his alarm went off, Andrew woke everyone with his coughing. From what Jillian said later, the boys either made up that morning or had forgotten about it. They’d parted ways friends. Reese to school. Andrew to the doctor. Craig had left for the airport hours earlier, not thinking about the fight and only mildly worried about the cough.
He’d turned on his phone as soon as he landed a
nd heard a panic so deep in the message Jillian had left that he boarded the next flight home without setting foot outside PDX.
Nine surreal days later, he was sitting in disbelief at a funeral parlor, unconsciously glancing around for Andrew, uncomfortable that he was out of sight while Sophie and Reese sat together in a corner not moving and not smiling.
He’d confided all this to Megan on the walk back to her place. She’d listened without interruption, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. Afterward, they stood around her driveway, and he directed the conversation toward more inconsequential things. Things that didn’t split him in half to think about. Then, having proven his sobriety, he headed home. She’d asked him to come back inside, but he’d refused, unable to tell her that if he followed her through that door, he’d never want to leave.
Every hour of every day since, Craig had wanted to call or stop by the shelter or drive by her house. But this… This was different. He was on the verge of a breakthrough with his son. She’d want to hear. Hell, she was still young enough and optimistic enough to believe him. Or believe in him. Something he hadn’t felt for a long time.
He’d given her a stupid slate and asked for friendship but knew he couldn’t maintain it. It was all or nothing, and both scared the hell out of him. Since he kept putting his phone away and not driving by her house or the shelter, he figured all scared him more than nothing.
Keeping his phone in his pocket and forcing away the urge to hear her voice, he watched Reese endure the next hour. He seemed comfortable in his peculiar world of not fitting in with the other kids, not having a good time, and not hitting the majority of the balls that came his way. How long would he stay like this if someone couldn’t reach him?
It’s okay. This too shall pass. Maybe he was too old, too agnostic, to be silently quoting the Bible, but Craig believed it anyway. He was inspired. And he was about to have a breakthrough with his son.
* * *
“So,” Craig said, brushing the salt from the pretzel off his fingertips. “Ready? Our cage is open now.”
