"Bruce, it was like she was writing you a love letter, dude. It's pretty fucking romantic if you think about it. I mean, how many girls would do something like that? Not many. She, like, opened up her heart to the world, hoping that you'd read what she had to say when there was a big old chance that you wouldn't. That's probably why she entered the dream date contest—because you didn't respond to her plea. She put herself out there for you in such a major way. She could have kept a low profile in Buttheadsville and wrote her books and stayed under the radar. She was doing relatively well, considering. She didn't have to take the risk and reach out to you like that, but she did."
The traffic begins to spread out, and Chase flies through the gaps, passing cars left and right. We're almost there. At the rate he's going, it won't be long now.
"Whit, you really have grown up, haven't you?" I give him a sidelong glance.
"Why do you say that?" he chuckles.
"Because Hailey wrote some pretty terrible shit about you and you're still able to laugh it off and view it as a love letter to me? That's big of you, man," I respond, curling my fingers round the end of my bandage.
"Her heart was always in the right place, Bruce. That's what it really boils down to. She might have a hard time expressing herself by going about it the wrong way, but the girl cares about you, man. She really does." Chase holds out his fist and I bump it lightly with the side of my brace.
"Thanks, man." I stare out the window for a second, contemplating what I'm going to do once I get there.
"It wasn't smooth sailing with me and Grey either, you know. We really had to work at it. I didn't know the first thing about being in a relationship. I was resistant to it at first, but she never gave up on me, no matter how much I had to learn." Chase hits the turn signal for our exit as the engine in Grey's truck chugs along loudly after the workout he just put it through. "Now I know you're not one for relationships either. But I think, in your case, the roles are reversed. You're the one who's gonna need to be patient with her. She's reaching out to you, but you have to quit swatting her away, afraid you're gonna get hurt, because you know what, Bruce? It ain't working. You're still hurting, and you've been hurting for a while, I think."
"Yeah," I admit, lowering my head and taking a deep breath.
"All right. Just promise me that, while you're here, you'll give it one more try with her," he persists, hurtling over a stretch of road I wish I didn't know like the back of my hand. I have mixed emotions about seeing it again since it always conjures up so many memories of my mom.
"How about this? If our paths happen to cross, I'll go with it and see what happens." And Chase better accept it because that's the only concession I'm willing to make.
"Bruce, when you pitch, do you ever go out there and do a half-assed job?" Chase badgers me.
"No," I respond sullenly.
"Then why the hell would you take that approach when it comes to your love life?" We're going too fast, so Chase slams on the brakes when we approach a traffic light that's turning from yellow to red.
"Because I don't know which Hailey I'm gonna find once I get here," I answer truthfully. "The Hailey I fell in love with again in New York or the Hailey who chose the Buttheadsville equivalent of Drake Schultz over me."
"The best things in life are worth fighting for, my man. Why throw in the towel to some douchebag? Make a stand and take her from him. Win her back!" he exclaims.
"We'll see."
He might be trying to pump me up, but I'm not going to make any promises.
"Dude, it sucks being alone. Don't go punishing yourself for no reason. Life's meant to be shared."
The GPS device he has plugged into the cigarette lighter is proclaiming, "You have reached your destination," as he pulls up in front of the spray-painted, ghetto-as-ever sign for Rick's Garage.
"On second thought, are you sure you wanna stay here? It looks kinda shady."
"That's Rick," I can't help but laugh aloud. "Cheap on appearances, generous in hospitality."
"He'd never subscribe to the Kings' philosophy then. Good man," Chase cracks when Rick strides out covered in grease.
Chase gets out to shake hands, and Rick extinguishes the stub of a cigarette that's dangling from his lips. I see him do a double take when he realizes who's standing in front of him. Rick's not a guy to get star struck, but it's not every day that a guy like Chase Whitfield walks into his garage either.
I stare up at the dingy curtains in the apartment above the garage, the one I'll be crashing in for the foreseeable future. I never thought I'd end up back in Butesville. It's kind of depressing, actually. If I'm being honest with myself, the only glimmer of hope is knowing that Hailey's here.
Who knows? Maybe I will fight for the girl with the forever type of hold on my heart.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jilly
"Well, look who decided to grace me with his presence!" Rick shouts over the radio that's blaring a heavy metal station, the sweat lining his wifebeater showing that he's been slaving away for hours while I've been napping upstairs.
"I slept like the dead." I stagger into the garage, going straight to the day-old coffee lining the bottom of the pot that's sitting atop the dented desk in the corner.
"Dude, you said you were just gonna pop a couple of pills and stow your crap in my spare room. But when you never came back, I think Chase Whitfield got sick of shooting the shit with me and took off. I went to check on you, and you were totally lights out. Jesus, dude. You really just woke up? Don't you ever get any sleep in New York?" Rick grabs a wrench out of his toolbox, ready to slide back under the car he was working on.
"Not lately," I mutter, trying and failing not to think of how much better frozen hot chocolate tastes on Hailey's lips than the sludge I'm drinking now.
"Listen, I'm almost done here. Let me grab a quick shower, and then how 'bout we go over to Lenny's?" Rick asks, suggesting a plan he knows full well I'm going to turn down.
"I don't think so, man," I hedge, fiddling with the knobs on my brace.
"Hey, if I'm stuck with your sorry ass for God knows how long, don't think you're gonna go pulling this recluse shit with me the whole time," Rick mutters with only his boots sticking out. "This isn't the 'here today, gone tomorrow' type of quickie you're used to giving me."
"I thought you liked my quickies," I rib him.
"What can I say?" He wheels himself out, switching to a high-pitched, whiny voice. "I'm sick of you using me for my body. Damn it, I deserve more than that!"
We both crack up, and man, does it feel good to laugh again, even if it involves Rick busting my balls. It seems like I haven't had a lot of laughter in my life lately.
"All right, fine." I cave. "I'll buy ya one beer and then we're outta there."
"What? I gotta drink alone?" He wipes his hands on his jeans, standing up.
"You saw what those meds did to me. I don't think bringing alcohol into the mix is such a good idea, no matter how much I'd love to get wasted right now," I mutter, taking another reluctant sip of his God-awful coffee.
"I haven't seen Hailey there in a while if that's what you're worried about." Rick has the courtesy to pretend he's closing up shop so that he doesn't have to look at me when he says this.
"I'm not worried," I respond flatly.
"Good." He taps away with one finger at an ancient computer, consulting the printed work order in his hand.
"I don't fucking care what she does or what she doesn't do," I protest, getting angry.
"Uh huh. So that's why you went on some kinda fairytale date with her in New York, right?" Rick lifts his eyes to mine for a split second, seeing right through my protective layer of bullshit. "Must've been one hell of a reunion, but you finally let her see you this time. So I guess that's progress."
"C'mon, bro. Quit making me sound like I'm some stalker or something." I bristle, carefully setting my mug down on the desk, which is tipped at a precarious angle.
"Well, I don't
know, man. You'd come here every chance you got, scope her out, and never actually talk to her. That falls in the category of 'lowlife creep' if you ask me." He smirks, not glancing up from the screen.
"I just wanted to make sure she was doing okay. That's all." I pinch the back of my neck with my good hand, trying not to remember all the nights I'd sit outside Halpert's Pizza and Subs and watch her at the counter, too much of a coward to go in and talk to her.
"Just for the record, I heard that she's not with Nelson anymore." He glides the mouse over to the extreme edge of the desk, shuffling it around to make it work.
"Yeah. In New York, she didn't come right out and say it, but I got the impression that she was single again," I admit, for the first time showing some vulnerability in front of him and dropping my macho front.
"She's been in hiding since it happened, you know. No one's seen her. I don't think she's left her parents' place once," he continues, informing me of things I didn't know.
"She never liked being the center of attention," I mumble absently, wishing that my notoriety didn't automatically have to rub off on her.
"Well, she is now," Rick grunts, rearranging his paperwork.
"Just tell me. Have you read her books?" I hate to ask him, but I have to know.
The corner of his mouth turns up.
"Fuck," I moan, throwing my head back.
"Can you believe I haven't picked up a book since our days at Loftus," he chuckles. "Christ, dude. I had no idea that's what chicks want in the bedroom. Did you read that part about—"
I hold up my brace-covered hand. "Okay, I'm gonna stop ya right there."
"I can see why you can't let her go. You have such a crazy history together. I just hope you can sort it out with her while you're here, man." He shuts down the computer and strides forward, smacking me on the back.
"Seriously, dude. You reek. Go take a shower before your stench bowls me over." I play it off even though I'm touched by his concern.
He gives me a playful shove. "Fuck you, man," he laughs. "At least I work hard for a living." He jogs by me and up the steps. "Five minutes and we're outta here."
Christ. Hailey better not be there, but try as I might, I can't stifle that part of me that hopes that she will be.
***
It's been a while since I've been in Lenny's, but some things never change. The same faces are lining the bar. The same boisterous gossip is floating around. The same looks of interest appear the minute we walk through the door.
But I keep going when I see the Kings game on the big screen. I never watch games on TV, especially ones I should be playing in. I find a table in the back, walking by blatant nudges and whispered stares.
Now I remember why I don't like coming in here with Rick.
"What are ya drinkin'?" Rick shoots me a sympathetic grin, knowing how uncomfortable I am. He's fine with going up to the bar, even when I said that I'd pay.
"Nuthin'," I say glumly, lowering myself into a chair that's way too small for my body.
"Fine. Mountain Dew, it is." Rick gives me a wry smile, knowing how much of it we must've consumed in our lifetimes. "I'll be right back…and maybe, I don't know…try to look like you're enjoying yourself." He chuckles, walking away, but it's not long before he's warmly greeted by some of our former classmates mingling around the bar.
Yeah, Rick's always been so much better at this stuff than I am. I wish I had the confidence to join in, talk, and laugh with everybody else. But I don't feel like answering any of the questions that are sure to come up about Hailey and me.
I'm trying not to look at the big screen when some guys at the bar start hooting and hollering. I risk a glance and see Sasha's blond curls. The camera cuts to Brooks at the plate then back to her as she claps for him. A lot of curious glances are thrown in my direction, and my cheeks start to burn. They all know what a fool I made of myself over Sasha Roberts, and my shame deepens when I realize that now they know why. Rick told me about how the gossip columnists made sure to run side-by-side photo comparisons of Sasha and Hailey in their glossy tabloids.
I hunch my shoulders and try to shrink into myself, but it's impossible. I'm by far the biggest guy in the room. I slouch over the table, turning my back to stare at the wall, reminding myself to breathe because my anxiety level is off the charts. I should've known this would happen. It was a bad idea to let Rick talk me into coming here. I should leave now while I still can, and walk back to Rick's place. It's not far. Hey, it's not like I didn't try. I'm sure Gayle would give me an A for effort.
I start to rise when I feel a hand grip my shoulder above my brace, forcing me back in my seat. What the fuck? I spin around, ready to rip this asshole a new one, but I freeze.
"What's the matter, big guy? Going somewhere? 'Cause I got something I need to say to you first." Kurt Nelson's beady, little eyes drill into mine as he sits down across from me.
"Yeah? Well, I don't feel like listening." I shove away from the table.
"Well, I'm not giving you the option. So sit the fuck down!" He takes an angry swig of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm telling you now. Stay the fuck away from her, Gillette."
"That's funny, Nelson, considering you already blew your one and only chance with her." I grit my teeth, hating the mental image I'm getting of him with his hands all over her.
"I said sit down!" Kurt growls, and I have no choice but to retake my seat when he pushes the table, pinning my legs against the wall.
"You really wanna start something in here?" I ask incredulously.
"Seeing that you're half the man you used to be, why not?" Kurt responds with that cocky smirk of his I know all too well.
"I'll have no problem wiping that shit-eating grin off your face," I snarl back, hoping against hope we don't come to blows, knowing that the Kings' doctor just put me back together again and Terry'll go ballistic if I screw up my rehab on account of this asshole jerking my chain.
"Is that right?" Kurt postures, throwing one arm across the back of his chair. "This face has been places on Hailey's body you've only dreamed of, freak show."
With one hand, I flip the table, dumping his drink all over him.
He sits there a minute, beer dripping off of him, as the whole bar comes to a standstill around us. He laughs, wringing out the bottom of his shirt. "You're gonna be so sorry you did that." Then he jumps to his feet, his hands landing right on my brace, but before he can do any damage, someone pulls him back.
Kurt turns around, blindly throwing a punch, and I see Rick holding on to him from behind. Rick ducks, getting out of the way just in time. Some guys I recognize from Kurt's days on the Mountain Area baseball team hustle over and break it up before a full-blown fight can erupt. They restrain the former ace of their pitching staff as Kurt seethes, struggling to free himself so he can come at me again. They're well aware of the kind of temper he has. In fact, his career-ending injury happened when he broke his pitching arm after busting a water cooler when an umpire failed to call one of his pitches a strike and the hitter slammed the next one out of the park to win the game.
"Some closer you'd make," Rick taunts him. "I guess once a hothead, always a hothead."
"Is that right?" Kurt glowers back. "It seems I always had your boy's number."
"You're full of shit, Nelson. He could beat you with one hand tied behind his back—literally," Rick snickers, turning the table back over.
"Well, then why doesn't he come to our pickup game tomorrow night and prove it." Kurt glares at me, his mouth curling into a self-satisfied smile. "Unless he's afraid that a certain someone might be there rooting for me…instead of him."
"I'll be there." I stagger toward Kurt, coming within an inch of his face as I tower over him. "And I know that, the minute she sees me, there's no way she'll be cheering for you."
I body-slam Kurt to the ground with my good shoulder and keep going. No one says anything to me. They all look frightened as I stomp past with my nostrils flaring, my
jaw clenched. I hate that I'm playing into everyone's misconceptions of me, but Kurt pushed me over the edge and there's no going back now.
He thinks she's his, but I intend to fight for Hailey.
I just hope she's still mine to be had.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hailey
Most people tend to avoid silence like the plague.
They're quick to fill it with empty words, talking, babbling. They're scared of being alone with their thoughts, terrified of contemplating where their lives are really heading. Happiness, success, and contentment are masks many wear in order to project a false image of confidence. The implied message being: Keep going. Don't stop. Because if you do, you're not going to like the person you've become.
Turns out, I live in the silence. It's where I feel comfortable. I'm not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but I accept myself for who I am. Once upon a time, someone showed me how to do that. He taught me that it was okay to dwell inside the quiet, because he was at home there, too.
I remove my earbuds, pleased with what I've written so far. It's a habit of mine to record myself reading my work in progress in order to get a feel for the rhythm and flow. And I want this book to be perfect. It has to be. It's my last chance to let Jilly know how I truly feel about him.
My feet slap loudly against the pavement as I continue jogging my oft-traveled route through the back trail of Creekside Park. One. Two. One. Two. The dull, steady beat matching the drumming of my heart. As usual, there's nobody around. I have the path all to myself. I increase my pace as the sun dips below the tree line. The evening is on the cusp of twilight, and the sky can't decide between night and day.
I swat the annoying mosquitoes away from my eyes as I come into the home stretch. A baseball game is wrapping up on the field down below. It's the pickup league that plays on Tuesday and Thursday nights during the summer. At the end of my run, there's a routine I unconsciously follow. The guys stare up at me. I stare down at them. Then I get in my car and drive away.
Their girlfriends usually glare back at me as they sit on the roofs of their boyfriends' souped-up muscle cars. It's that certain type of entourage that always tends to hang around a display of testosterone. I remember them well from my days of watching Jilly play. I usually don't pay much attention to them, but tonight, I realize they're all chanting one name—a name that stops me cold.
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