Everything.
And one thing.
The thing I’m beyond sorry about.
“I handled something badly,” I admit as we walk along the park, an early spring breeze blowing past us, a bus trundling by.
“With someone?”
A pang lodges in my ribs—or maybe the constant pang I feel deepens, tunnels further into my soul. “Yeah. This guy I like,” I say, grateful it’s so easy to talk to her. It’s always been this way—she’s the polar opposite of my dad. Not least in how she handled it when I came out to her.
Thank you for telling me. I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll listen. What do you need from me?
That was all I needed. She’s always been the one I could talk to about relationships, but I haven’t done it often. Hardly any man has warranted a mom talk.
“I met someone, but it didn’t work out for . . . many reasons. And I think I could have handled the breakup better.”
She rubs my shoulder harder. “Maybe you should tell him that?”
It sounds easy, but I know it won’t be.
It is necessary, though.
So damn necessary.
That night when I’m alone in my rented apartment, I pick up my phone and I dial Grant’s number.
9
Grant
With wide-eyed wonder, my friend Reese stares at the ginormous tub in my hotel, half a mile from the ballpark. She lets her tongue loll out of her mouth then draws it back in. “I want to spend the night in that,” she says longingly.
Laughing, I gesture to the porcelain vat. “Let me get you some candles, sweetheart. How about a bath bomb? Maybe a little meditation music?” I tease, then add, “Go right ahead. Get in there.”
Her big blue eyes twinkle with delight, lighting up her familiar face. “Seriously? I don’t have a tub in college, and this here is a dream bath.”
“Then live the dream.”
She sinks onto the edge, stroking the porcelain, cooing at it, even.
“Weirdo,” I say, laughing. We’ve laughed a lot tonight, possibly because Reese declared it a no-Declan-talk zone, and I was more than happy to observe the moratorium.
Reese doesn’t have classes tomorrow, so she drove down from college for Opening Day. Everyone else is coming too. My grandma and grandpa. My sister. My dad and his girlfriend. My mom and Frank.
But tonight, it’s just Reese and me until I hit the sack at ten. Gotta be rested and ready for my Major League debut.
“I’m going to bed in thirty minutes, so get your butt in the tub, woman.”
“Fine. You twisted my arm,” she says, clapping her hands. “I’ll do it. I’m going to send you a million gift cards for those spy books you love.”
“You don’t have to send me anything. I’m just glad you’re here,” I say with a smile, letting go of the teasing.
The truth is, I’m kind of nervous about tomorrow.
She turns on the faucet and meets my gaze. “Are you worried about tomorrow? First game and all?”
“Would you just like to see inside my soul a little more?”
“Ah, it’s pretty much cellophane to me right now.”
“Seems it is. But I think it’d be weird if I wasn’t nervous, right?”
She sticks her hand under the water, checking the temperature. “Being nervous is a good sign. When you want something, you’re going to have tons of feelings about it. And that’s what you have. You have deep, intense feelings about playing the sport you love in the Major Leagues. It’s incredible.”
I tip my forehead to the tub. “I do. Thanks for getting it, and me. Now, go enjoy your bath. I’m going to listen to a book while you relax.”
As I shut the bathroom door behind me, Reese moans happily. In the main suite, I flop onto the couch and click over to the book I’ve been listening to, popping in my AirPods. But I don’t even make it to the hero rappelling from the side of a bridge when my phone bleats.
I don’t recognize the number on the screen, but it starts with 415—the San Francisco area code.
My heart climbs into my throat.
I never memorized Declan’s number, but he had a San Francisco area code.
I’m sure it’s him.
Positive.
I stare at those ten digits as if I’m an astronomer getting a call from across the galaxy, a sign of intelligent life in the universe from light years away.
My breath comes fast. My pulse spikes. And my skin sizzles.
My stupid body betrays me with all this longing. All this want for him that eclipses any latent anger.
I swallow the desire and slide my thumb across the screen.
“Hello?” I sound disembodied. I feel disembodied.
A second later comes that low rumble of a voice. “Hey. It’s Declan.”
I’m glad I’m sitting, because if I weren’t, I might topple over.
“I know.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Congrats on making the roster,” he says. “I knew you would.”
I close my eyes, drag a hand down my face. A million questions flicker through my mind.