by K. Bromberg
“And you keep on talking yourself out of every coherent reason why it might be feasible.” My loud exhale is the only response I give. “People change, Gun. And to use your words, she came looking for the old you. What if the woman who showed up here originally was the old her? A different version of herself from before she met you that she’s not one hundred percent proud of anymore? What if meeting you made her look through a different lens? A lens that changed how she viewed things. Viewed Ryan Camden?”
I hate that I want to hold on to Ellie’s words and take them as truth, but more than anything, I want to stop talking about this. About her.
As it is, Chase owns my thoughts more than I want her to.
“Yeah. Sure. Perhaps,” I say and head out the door toward the parking lot where a big moving truck has just blocked the entrance to the gym area.
“Hey!” I say, waving my hands to catch the attention of the driver. “I can’t have you parking here. If you have a delivery, go to the main office on the other side.” I point.
The burly-looking guy looks at the top page on his clipboard. “I’m looking for Gunner Camden or uh, a Chase Kincade with The Center. You one of them?”
Jesus. Can I not talk to anyone without the mention of her name?
“Uh—yeah. I wasn’t expecting any deliveries though.”
“Well, I have a big one for you.”
Have I been so distracted with everything with Chase that I missed something?
“It says here the delivery is from Major League Baseball care of Easton Wylder.”
“Easton Wylder?” I ask, the name of the former MLB catcher and now sports announcer taking me by surprise.
But it shouldn’t now that I know who Chase is. Now that I know athletes like him are just a phone call away for her.
“I think you have that wrong.”
I war with indecision. With accepting something from the woman who currently crushed me and thinking this is something for The Center and the kids here.
Me or them.
“Here. The list is too long to read.” I shove my pride aside as he hands the clipboard to me. My own hurt doesn’t matter in the moment. Only the kids. Only fixing their hurt.
The two delivery guys start rolling up the back door of the truck while I look at the contents list. My jaw drops. There’s a detailed inventory of new uniforms, cleats, bats, gloves, baseballs, practice equipment like tees and fungo bats—more than I could ever imagine. And the quantities and the sizes provided are so vast that we’ll be able to outfit kids and those without for years and years.
I open my mouth to speak and then close it, overwhelmed by it all.
“See? I told you it was a lot of shit.” The driver points to the clipboard again. “Pages two and three have even more.”
“Pages two and three?”
When I lift the top sheet, I’m greeted with specifics on more ridiculous quantities of sports equipment—and not just baseball gear. There’s basketball and soccer equipment, cones and goal nets, field hockey sticks . . . and the list goes on and on.
“What in the—” Ellie asks as she walks outside. When she sees the first pallet of gear being offloaded from the truck on a pallet jack, her smile is slow and steady. “She wasn’t lying about this, now was she?”
My sigh is heavy. “No. No, she wasn’t.”
“Uh-uh. Don’t you get that look on your face, Gunner. Don’t you start wondering if she did all of this to get back in your good graces.” She grabs the clipboard from me and starts searching for something. “Aha. Right there.” She points. “This has been in shipment since last week. There is no way she could have coordinated all of this just to win you back.”
“I never thought that.” But I did.
And now I feel like shit for it.
It’s so freaking confusing to want someone and hate someone at the same time. Even worse is almost wanting my theory to be right so there’s justification for hating her.
“You know you have to call her and thank her, right?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, knowing it’s going to kill me to hear her voice. That’s why I’ve deleted all of her voicemails. Her voice was sunshine.
But she took that away when she left.
Hell, I couldn’t even welcome the gloomy skies and sprinkles that hit this morning, because she changed how I look at rain too.
So I deleted her voicemails because hearing them, listening to them, is a reminder that life will once again go on without her. It will go on, but will be lacking something crucial.
Joy.
Her.
The better man she made me become even in such a short time.
But despite her deceit, this incredible truckload of generosity—of thoughtfulness—needs to be acknowledged.
Despite my agony, Chase’s goodness needs to be thanked.
Shit.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Chase
“No. That’s not an acceptable counteroffer. I won’t even bring it to Jorge. He’s worth more than that. I know it. You know it. And he most definitely knows it,” I say to the GM of the Pittsburgh Steelers. His shirt is stretched tight over his belly, the buttons straining against it, his mouth pulled just as tight.
“I don’t have any wiggle room, Chase.”
“Sure you do, Larry.” I take a step back from his desk and shrug. “A lot of other teams would love to have a former Heisman Winner and last year’s NFC Player of the Year on their roster. He’s yours to lose.”
“You love to just grab on tight and not let go, don’t you?” He laughs.
“It’s one of the perks of the job. If you’re lucky I’ll twist them while I’m at it.” I give a sharp smile and stride out of the room.
He’ll call.
I give him twenty-four hours, and he’ll call me with a salary figure more suitable for Jorge.
I walk outside the Steelers’ front office and take a deep breath. It feels good to be back negotiating. To feel normal. To try and control something when my emotions still feel raw and out of control.
But I haven’t cried today. That’s a step.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
My entire body freezes at the sound of my ex’s voice. My cheating ex’s voice I should say. “Finn. I would say it’s a pleasure meeting you here . . . but it’s not.” The smile I offer is bright enough to rival the sun.
“I thought we’d be over this hostility by now,” he teases in that smooth, charming way he has. The same smooth, charming way that won me over—until I found out that monogamy wasn’t something Finn thought was important.
“Women never forget a man, what he’s done to her—good or bad—and especially if he’s an asshole. Plus you know me well enough to know I hold grudges well.”
“Obviously.” He laughs, completely unfazed by my comments.
Finn Sanderson stands before me, handsome as ever with a devilish smirk on his face that still gets to me even after he stomped all over my heart without so much as an apology.
“Can’t we call a truce? Is that in your heart?” he asks.
I’m about to tell him that there’s not a chance in hell when something else strikes me. “You know what?”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?” His expression reads confused, as it should from my one-eighty turnaround.
But Brexton’s words run through my mind, and for the first time, I realize she’s right.
“I always thought I wanted a guy like you. Driven. Professional. Structured in business and in your personal life. I was wrong. Thank you for breaking my heart. Thank you for hardening it so that it took the right one to break down the walls that needed to be broken down again.”
Finn nods but his eyes narrow as he studies me. “You okay?” The concern in his voice is unexpected and hits me harder than it should.
I bite my bottom lip and nod. “I will be.”
I turn to walk away when he calls my name. “Chase?”
/> “Hmm?” I look over my shoulder at him.
“Whoever he is, I hope he treats you well. You deserve that and so much more.”
Our eyes hold for a beat, before Finn gives a brief nod and then walks toward the office door.
I stare after him for a moment, curious over his about-face. His words shouldn’t faze me. I shouldn’t even think twice about them after everything we’ve been through and yet, I stand in the sunshine staring after him.
Was that regret in his voice? Apology?
And why do I suddenly care if it was?
Because we all make mistakes. Isn’t that the one thing I’ve learned over the past few months? That sometimes what starts out with the best intentions can turn into a disaster of epic proportions? That what you thought was going to happen morphs into something completely different?
I’m not justifying that as an excuse for what Finn did to me, but at the same time . . . didn’t I just screw someone over just as badly? Didn’t I hurt Gunner like Finn hurt me? It’s not like you can rank lies and deceit on a scale, but didn’t that happen in both instances?
Who am I to ask Gunner for forgiveness if I can’t look at Finn and give a little as well?
My sigh is loud.
Christ. Maybe Gunner has changed me. Made me into a better human.
I take my first step toward my car when my cell phone ringing startles me out of my thoughts.
But when I look at the screen, I can’t move fast enough to answer it.
“Gunner.” My heart leaps into my throat, and I don’t give a shit that I sound desperate and breathless when I say his name—because I’m both. “Hi.”
There’s silence, and I’m almost afraid to breathe for fear of ruining it.
“I wanted to call to say thank you,” he finally says, his voice raspy, timid, but freaking music to my ears. I blink back the tears and, before I can find my voice to speak, he continues. “A huge shipment of donations arrived at The Center today. It was unexpected and incredibly generous, so yeah, I wanted to thank you for arranging that.”
“The kids deserve it. It’s an incredible program you’ve created and run.” I take in a fortifying breath. “How are you?”
“They’ll be excited when they see it later.”
His voice is stoic. No emotion. And not even when I first met Gunner did he sound so . . . empty. Passionless.
I did that to him.
My hope crashes.
This is the only reason he’s calling.
Not to talk about things between us.
Not to let me explain.
But purely because he has good manners and it’s the right thing to do.
“Gunner?”
“I’ve got to go, but I wanted to thank you.”
“Okay.” My voice squeaks. I try not to start crying as I walk through the parking lot to my car.
But rather than him ending the call like I expected, there’s another long silence that stretches between us.
“You know the one thing I can’t wrap my head around?” he asks and my feet stop. “Was it all a lie, Chase? Did you look at me and see a sucker who could be manipulated, or did we ever really have a chance? Because when you love someone, you don’t go into it knowing you’re going to hurt them at some point. And that’s what you did. You loved me, you let me love you, knowing you were going to hurt me . . . and that’s something I can’t bring myself to get over.”
When the call ends, I’m left with a hand to my lips, tears spilling over. The hope I had in seeing his name on the screen crashes down all around me, shatters and mingles with the little pieces of my heart I’ve yet to even attempt to pick up.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Gunner
“If you’re going to keep being a miserable fuck, can you at least allow me to get drunk so I can tolerate you being an asshole better?” Nix asks from his perch in the bar.
“Leave me alone,” I mutter and muster a smile at the customer in front of me as I slide her drink over to her.
“If you’re done with Chase, tell her,” he continues. “At least face it so you can stop moping around here, making all of us want to drink more to put up with you.”
“It’s good for business.”
“Running all your customers out by snapping at them isn’t though.”
“Fuck.” I sigh and hang my head before looking back up at him. “I did tell her. I kicked her out. I haven’t returned her calls. How much more can I tell her?” I ask, exasperated.
“You told her, yes. But have you told you that though?”
“Nix. I’m going to kick your ass out if you keep this shit up.”
“Dude, I’m only trying to help.” He lifts his hands in surrender. “In case you forgot, I’m the one who’s been here every night if you want to talk.”
“You’re here every night regardless,” I counter.
“Yeah, but I never want to hear you talk. This time around, I’m telling you I’m willing to put up with it and shit.”
A smile tugs onto my lips. He’s right. He’s trying to be a good friend and I know it, but it doesn’t make anything better.
It feels like nothing will.
“Thanks.” I tap the neck of my beer against his. “Truly. I appreciate it. This is just something I need to get over on my own.”
“So you’re going to get over her then?”
“What choice do I have?”
“From the way I see it, you have lots of choices, but you seem pretty set on letting her go. But if that’s what you’re going to do, then fucking do it so you can move on. I liked you before. I liked you with her. But I don’t like this guy”—he motions at me—“and frankly, I’m worried about him.”
“You don’t need to be worried about me,” I say and pull the tap to pour a beer.
My eyes wander to the orange envelope I’ve pinned to the wall behind the bar. A reminder to myself why I’m here, what I gave up, and that Chase lied to me.
I hate the idea that comes to mind but think it might just be what I need to do.
It worked once before.
It’s time to pull the Band-Aid off.
It’s the only thing I know how to do right it seems.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Chase
My pulse races as I stare at the envelope on my desk.
It’s not orange this time, nor is it faded and tattered at the edges, but it’s the same penmanship addressed to Kincade Sports Management.
The only difference is under KSM, it says “Attn: Chase Kincade.”
My hands shake as I pull the letter out and read it.
Dear Ms. Chase Kincade,
Thank you for your time. I just recently learned of your interest in me. Maybe if you had been honest from the start, we could have made this work. At this time, it’s best if we both move on as if we never met. To let dreams we might have had go. To accept that life has changed forever.
-Gunner Camden
I reread the letter over and over till my tears blur so much that I can’t see the words.
And then Dickman, our sarge, said we should write letters to those who mattered. To say goodbye to our dreams because life as we knew it was over.
He wrote me an “If I Die” letter.
He wrote me out of his life just like he did the sport he loved and the life he lived.
If I thought there was any hope of us figuring things out, this just basically annihilated it. Every single ounce of it.
“Chase? Honey?”
I startle at the knock on my door and my father’s voice. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here staring out at the world beyond our high-rise with the letter clutched in my hand.
“Yeah?” I croak.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, moving into my office.
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Okay.” He sighs with a helplessness I feel deep in my bones. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. If there’s one thing a parent hate
s more than anything in the world, it’s seeing their child hurting. Part of being a dad is trying to protect your kids from the hurt. Kissing a scraped knee. Defending you from monsters under the bed. Stealing some of Finn’s business for cheating on you. But I know I can’t fix this. I know a broken heart is way stronger than the tools I have in my arsenal, but God, how I wish I did.”
“It’s okay. I deserve this. I lied. I’m paying the consequences. There’s no one to blame but me.” I meet his eyes for the first time and force myself to give him a smile.
“I admire that about you. Your responsibility. But at the same time, maybe things will change. Maybe time will heal the hurt. Maybe the two of you had to fall apart in order to realize how much you need to fall back together.”
“I think we more like exploded apart rather than fell. There was nothing graceful about it,” I mutter.
He chuckles. “You’re making jokes, that’s a good sign.”
“Jokes are all I have.” I shrug and avert my eyes from his, because the sympathy in them might just be my undoing.
“Chase?”
“Hmm?” I look out the window at the skyline beyond.
“Look at me.”
The room falls silent as the weight of his stare hits me. When I finally look up, there is a soft smile on his lips. He too understands.
“Why does it hurt so much?” I finally admit. “Just when I think I’m over that hump, I get sucked right back down into the despair again.”
“Only the ones who are worth it hurt that much.”
“That doesn’t help,” I say and rub the heel of my hand to my chest.
“I hurt your mom once.”
“You were married. Of course, you did. It’s not normal to be with someone that long and not have a fight,” I say. Although, I really don’t remember there being much fighting in our house.
“No, it was before the marriage part.” He picks up the small frame I have on my desk of her and smiles bittersweetly at the image of her, young and smiling. “Your mom and I had a falling out. And being a guy, the first thing I did was go out with the guys to get drunk. To pretend I wasn’t at fault and to bury the pain I saw in her eyes.”
