"Jilly, I—" I don't even know where to begin.
"You what? Forget it, Hailey. If you wanna stay in New York for the rest of the month, either you're coming with me or I'm putting you on a bus and sending you back home to Jersey—tonight. End of discussion." He bears down on me, and I know he's right. It's just not the outcome I anticipated.
Why didn't I take my laptop with me? I usually never go anywhere without it, but I didn't think it'd make it past the bag check at the stadium. It contains everything that's important to me—my passwords, my financials, my pen name…my real name. Shit, now someone has the means to expose me. This is bad. Very bad.
"Let me get my toothbrush," I say shakily as he gestures at me from the doorway to hurry up.
But I gasp when I enter my closet-sized bathroom. There's toothpaste, shampoo, body wash, and shave gel everywhere. Everything from the mirror to the sink to the shower curtain is a sticky, gooey mess. I can't even step foot in there. The tile floor is completely covered.
That's when tears begin to prick the corners of my eyes. I'm so embarrassed that Jilly's seeing me like this. He's gone out and made a name for himself, and all I have left are the clothes on my back.
"C'mon."
I jump when I feel his hand touch my shoulder. I didn't even hear him come up behind me.
"It's not your fault. You're the bravest girl I know for coming here like this, and I intend to make things better for you. I promise."
He's already made things better for me. He's the one who inspired me to sit night after night in front of a keyboard. He's the one who brought to life my fledgling writing career. He's the one who got me to this point, whether he knows it or not.
"Jilly, when we go back down there, I want you to ignore those jerks, okay?" I glance tearfully into his eyes, scared of the danger I put him in. "Give me your word that we'll just get in your Jeep and leave."
He flexes his jaw.
"Jilly—" I implore.
He takes my hand, guiding me out of my ransacked apartment and down the stairs. He doesn't stop, and I can feel the energy building inside him. He was just dealt a devastating blow—an injury that might impact the rest of his career. I don't know what he'll do if he's not able to pitch again. His life was just thrown into a tumultuous state of flux, and I don't want him flying off the handle and getting into it with a bunch of thugs. If he starts something with them, it's not going to end well.
He rushes recklessly toward the front door, not waiting for me to catch up.
"Don't, Jilly. Don't!" I beg, but he throws open the door.
Only to find that there's no one there.
"Fuckin' cowards!" he grumbles, scanning the area, trying to see which direction they fled.
But I'm finally able to exhale.
Because he's safe—at least for now.
Chapter Nine
Jilly
I wake to the soft cadence of fingers tapping across a screen.
I open my eyes and spy Hailey through the crack in my bedroom door. She's sitting near the window in my living room area, the morning sunlight streaming across her body, as she types away on her phone. Her curls are wild, spilling over her face. She doesn't know I'm watching her, and seeing her like this—unguarded, natural¸ relaxed—makes me feel like maybe not much has changed. Maybe we can pick up where we left off four years ago.
I shift a little, my big, lumbering body causing the bed to creak, and she looks up in alarm, like I caught her doing something she shouldn't be doing. I can't resist smiling at her, my head turned sideways on the pillow. She gazes at me for a moment before smiling back.
"Good morning," I mumble, still half asleep.
"Morning," she replies, anxiously patting down her hair.
"Don't," I implore. "You look fine. More than fine, actually."
She rolls her big, blue eyes at me, and even from here, I can see that she still gets mad whenever she thinks I'm lying to her about how good she looks. If she thinks I'm just trying to make her feel better, she couldn't be more wrong. I'd flatter her all day long if she'd let me.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." She peers in at me, making me wish she'd come in here and join me.
"I'm glad you did," I reply, causing her cheeks to flush when my voice drops to that octave I know drives her crazy.
"I like your place," she rambles on as I keep staring at her from my bed. "I didn't get to see much of it last night, but now, in the daylight, I can really appreciate how homey it is. The wood flooring. The electric fireplace. Your flannel shirts hanging on the door hook. It feels more like your old clubhouse back in the woods than an apartment smack-dab in the middle of the city." She turns off her phone and places it on the armrest of my favorite overstuffed chair. I'm not going to lie—it's kind of cool to see her sitting in it.
"Well, it's lived in. That's for sure. Usually, I'm either at the stadium or on the road, so I wanted to make it feel like home when I'm here," I admit, still not bothering to lift my head off the pillow as I gaze upon her. "But…it only has one bedroom. Hailey, I wish you'd have let me sleep on the couch instead of you."
"Don't be silly. I'm used to sleeping on a fold-out. You're not." She hugs her knees to her chest and takes a sip of tea.
I should've known she'd find my stash of Earl Grey and help herself. She always needs her early morning dose of caffeine. But I feel a pang when I think about how she's been living. Her parents lost their house during the mortgage crisis back when we were sophomores at Loftus Central High. They were forced to move into the apartment above the pizza and hoagie shop they own. It only has one-bedroom, too, so Hailey commandeered the unfinished basement, where they store folded pizza boxes and gallons of tomato sauce, sleeping on a fold-out couch and watching her sappy, romantic movies. I think she watched so many in order to transport herself away from the cold, damp cinder blocks that were fencing her in.
After the move, Hailey sort of closed herself off from everybody else. She didn't join any clubs or sports teams. She didn't participate in any after-school activities. All she did was help out her parents, jotting down phone orders and manning the cash register. Sure, she'd turn up to watch my baseball games, but that was about it. She retreated inward, not letting anyone get too close to her—besides me. I know a lot of the girls she used to be friends with started teasing her about her thrift store clothes and shit like that, and I hated how she let them get to her. She dropped off the social scene, willingly taking herself out of the mix.
Yet I can't say that I hung out with the in-crowd either.
The thing is that I've never been good at carrying on conversations with people my own age, especially when it comes to girls. Even now, I usually get all gruff and scare them away. That is on the rare occasions when I do try to talk to one. My grand gesture toward Sasha Roberts is proof enough of that.
But Hailey was another story. She wasn't shy. She was depressed.
It's like the change in her family's circumstances made her give up, and it gutted me to see her sell herself short. She didn't have any big dreams or ambitions like I did. She was content to settle for the isolated life she'd created for herself, and it made me so mad. I wanted more for her, even if she didn't want it for herself. She was too content to live inside her head, interacting with the characters in her stories instead of the flesh-and-blood people in real life. Her writing is what saved her from a bleak and dismal situation, but now it makes me sad to think that she's still using it as a crutch, like it's holding her back from fully rejoining the human race.
"What were you writing about?" I ask, thinking it's a harmless question, but she squirms, hastily grabbing her phone as if reassuring herself it's still there.
"Nothing," she replies, stubbornly, knowing that I saw her typing.
Those bastards must've taken her laptop, too. She had it with her the night of our date, but she doesn't have it with her now. I'm surprised she's not more freaked out about it than she is. I wonder why.
I squint, po
ndering what she's up to. She's always been overprotective about her writing, only letting me read snippets here and there, never thinking that her work was good enough. But everything she showed me was always pretty incredible, her style warm and emotional. I imagine she's only gotten better since high school after majoring in creative writing in college, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that it's only a matter of time before she breaks through in a major way.
"Any plans on submitting anything to a literary agent while you're here?" I prop myself up on my elbow, cursing when I momentarily forget about my injury and a sharp flare of pain sears through me.
I'm grateful when she doesn't notice me wince. We're talking about her right now. Not me.
"I don't need an agent," she says, quickly dismissing the notion.
"So you've already published something, or you wouldn't sound so smug about it." I tease her, sitting up in bed to gauge her reaction—and to take the weight off my damn elbow.
"I'm not smug," she retorts. "I just wanna make it on my own. I don't wanna be dependent on anybody."
"But an agent could really help you, Hailey. Get you a deal with a publisher. Expand your reach. It's an awful lot of work to do on your own. Hell, I don't like forking over fifteen percent to my agent either, but don't you want as many people as possible to read your stories?" I swing my legs to the side of the bed and stretch my good arm above my head with an exaggerated yawn.
"I wouldn't underestimate my reach if I were you," she replies cryptically, her eyes following the trail of tattoos up and down my arms.
"Like them?" I flirt with her when I catch her checking me out. I don't want to come off like I'm full of myself. I hate guys like that. But my courage is bolstered when she nods. "I got this one for you." I roll up the cuff of my shirt and show her the broken heart that's missing the other half. "Maybe now that you're back, I can finally get it filled in."
She blinks her eyes rapidly, not saying a word.
Shit. I lower my sleeve, feeling awkward again. Maybe I shouldn't have shown her that. But I wanted her to see it. Let her know that she's left her mark on me.
She fakes a cough, taking another sip of tea. "How's your elbow today?"
Great. Back to me again. I'd so much rather talk about her.
"Not the greatest," I respond honestly, getting to my feet and fully opening my bedroom door.
While it was partially closed, it was like a barrier preventing us from getting too close to each other, but as I stroll into the room, it seems like there's an even greater distance separating us and I don't know why. It's like she's throwing up an invisible force field, not wanting me to come near her. I thought the events of last night would have drawn us together, not pushed us apart.
"Do you have to go to the stadium today?" Her eyes find me from behind the rim of her mug.
"Yeah, later on. I gotta sit on the bench while the team's home, but I'm not gonna travel with them. I'll stay in New York for my rehab." I plop down on the couch, moving aside the blankets I left out for her.
I stare up at the ceiling, giving her space. It bums me out because she's acting like she's afraid to be alone with me, like I might hurt her somehow. But I'd never hurt her. Doesn't she know that by now?
"Why the sudden interest in my schedule?" I ask in that tone of voice that tells her I know what she's up to.
"I don't know. I just thought you might wanna hang out or something. You know the city way more than I do. I thought you might wanna show me around."
Yep, she's still the same old Hailey. That girl's still in there somewhere. I just have to draw her out, let her see I'm not going anywhere. Not this time.
"What? You don't wanna stay here and have a Who Do You Think You Are? marathon with me?" I chuckle.
"Oh God, Jilly. I think you're the only person under eighty who watches that show," she ribs me. "You probably have every episode recorded on your DVR, don't you?"
"What can I say? Family trees fascinate me." And as I'm saying that, I look at her, really look at her, because I know no one would ever understand that about me, except her.
To Hailey, I'm not some big-ass dolt. I'm that shy, sensitive guy who's into pouring over old, musty documents in his spare time for fun. I didn't get to go to college like she did, and I really wish that I had. I'm not some dumb jock. I do have other interests besides baseball.
"Most guys surf the Internet for naked women. You spend hours on Ancestry.com. You're like an old man, Gillette."
I raise my head to find her eyes sparkling at me with mischief.
"I can't help it. I like seeing what makes people tick." I take a risk, opening up and letting myself be vulnerable with her.
And she rewards me for my leap of faith, replying, "So do I. That's why I write."
And that's why she's the girl for me. She's deep, soulful. Nothing about her is phony or fake. She's the real deal, through and through, authenticity seeping from every pore. I've never known a more genuine person than Hailey Halpert. She doesn't let many people see who she is deep down, and I'm grateful that I'm still one of the lucky few.
"That's why you kick ass at what you do. You get inside people's heads. You feel what they feel." I mean to compliment her, but instead, she flinches like I just struck her.
"Don't say things like that. I don't deserve it." She gets up abruptly, taking her phone with her, and reaching for the same T-shirt and jeans she was wearing last night. "So c'mon. Tell me. What are we doing today?"
I can't stop myself from laughing at her flip-flopping emotions. One minute, she's telling me off, and the next, she's badgering me to make up my mind about our plans for the day. "So you're just gonna let the whole thing slide about your apartment? You're not even gonna call the cops or try and get your rent money back?"
"What's the use? That prick will just say I broke my lease by moving out early. It's obvious it's an inside job. My super did it along with his buddies. So do you think he's gonna be cooperative? Jilly, I just don't wanna have to deal with him again. I'd rather cut my losses and move on. It's not like I brought a ton of stuff from home anyway since I was only gonna be there a month." She shrugs, doing what she's become quite good at—giving up.
"So you'd rather run away from that scumbag than fight for what's rightfully yours?" I shake my head at her, unable to comprehend how she can be so passive about having her apartment broken into and all of her belongings getting destroyed.
"Pretty much." She narrows her eyes at me. "Listen, if you're having second thoughts about letting me stay here—"
"That's not what I'm saying," I cut her off.
"Then what are you saying? Because I know you mean well, Jilly, but if my living here means having to do everything you say, then you can forget it. I'll go back to my parents' basement first." She juts out her hip, and I know she's serious.
"What I'm saying is… I'm just trying to be a good friend, but if you're not gonna take my well-meant advice, then I guess I gotta ask…" I cock my head and smile at her. "Are you ready to try the best chocolate concoction you've ever tasted?"
Her eyes light up. "Go on," she commands.
Yep, chocolate is still her number-one weakness.
"Nah. You'll see when we get there. Until then, my lips are sealed." I laugh as she pretends to sulk while gathering her things and heading toward the bathroom.
"Jeez. You don't let that phone out of your sight, do you? What…are ya gonna shower with the damn thing too?" I eye her skeptically, wondering why she doesn't want me anywhere near it. It's not like I know the password.
But my taunt gets a rise out of her. She grabs a pillow off the couch and hurls it at me. I bat it away and she giggles, picking it up to read the embroidered message on the front.
"'My brain feels like a day game after a night game.' Ha! I couldn't agree more. You're kinda slow on the uptake this morning, Gillette."
"Well, if my brain's fuzzy, it's because I haven't had anything to eat yet. I'm starving. So would ya hurry up and ge
t ready already?" I tilt my head back again and close my eyes. "We're gonna have to get you some new clothes too because I sure don't have anything that'll fit you."
Something smacks me in the face, and I'm instantly consumed by her rose petal scent. I remove whatever it is from my face and see that it's my shirt—the one she slept in last night, the one that's no longer on her body.
I sit up, hoping to catch a glimpse of her with nothing on, but I'm not fast enough. The bathroom door closes and all I hear is her laughter.
Yep, living together is going to be interesting. There's no way I'm going to be able to keep my hands to myself. If she keeps pulling stunts like that, she won't be showering alone for much longer.
Chapter Ten
Hailey
"You were right, Jilly. This is soooo good!" I scrape the side of the bowl containing the best thing I have ever tasted—frozen hot chocolate—making sure to scoop whatever remains of the homemade whipped cream onto my spoon.
"This is where I wanted to take you last night. I even called ahead to see if they'd stay open for us after the game, but then I had to go and get hurt¸" he sighs, lifting his arm off the table. "I'm just glad we made it to RelationSip today. It's one of my favorite places in the entire city." He takes another huge mouthful from his giant-sized bowl, savoring every bit of it, even groaning in appreciation.
I've heard him make that sound before, and my belly twinges at the memory of it.
"What?" he asks, seeing me blush.
"Nothing," I reply hastily, looking around the famous ice cream shop at wall upon wall of autographed pictures from the numerous celebrities who have visited throughout the years. "I just didn't think this'd be your kinda place."
"Why not?" He scrunches his eyebrows at me.
"I dunno. I just thought you'd stick to places that are more off the grid. Wow. They even have your picture up there, too." I raise my spoon, pointing above the counter to the shirtless pic of him that seems to be everywhere these days.
"Ah, Christ. They asked me to sign it the last time I was in, but I didn't think they'd put it front and center like that." He drops his head, embarrassed.
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