Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  “Sure.” I grabbed the paper from him and scrawled my name and jersey number. After I handed it back, I took my phone from the pocket of my dark-blue jeans and pulled up the notes app. “Ma’am, can you write Mateo’s first and last name and an e-mail address I can contact y’all at? How about I send you something,” I asked Mateo, “when I land on my new team?”

  His head nodded vigorously, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Give it to him, Mom.”

  My mom chuckled and patted the side of my cheek. Something she’d always done when she liked something I did or was proud in that moment. It was these little things that I wouldn’t be able to bear losing.

  Mateo’s mom handed the phone back to me with tears filling her eyes. Her hand went over her heart and her chin quivered as she spoke. “Thank you. That’s really kind of you. It means a lot. Thank you for brightening our day.”

  I nodded and gave her a smile. If I did get a contract with the Rattlers, I’d send them some game tickets. I stood and wrapped an arm around her in a quick side hug, speaking softly. “I don’t know if this is the right thing to say. I’m new at this, I just found out about my mom, so forgive me if I make an ass of myself. Good luck. I hope you feel better real soon. I promise to be in touch.”

  I released her from the hug and sank to a knee in front of Mateo. “Do you play ball?”

  He nodded.

  “Never stop having fun. It’s the greatest game in the world.”

  He launched his little body at me, wrapping his arms around my neck. I swayed backward as I caught him and hugged him back. “Can’t wait to send you something, bud.”

  I stood and he and his mom turned to leave. I sat once they walked out the door, and I turned toward my mom, speaking quietly. I knew people in the lobby were staring now. I could see two phones, out of the corner of my eye, snapping pictures of me. I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was behind me before I spoke.

  “I called Zeke. I asked him to get me on the Rattlers. It’s time I come home for good.”

  My mom’s breath hitched, and I could see her brain working as she slowly turned to me. Her eyebrows rose before she narrowed her eyes. “Gunner Thomas Gentry,” she hissed through her teeth.

  Shit. “Mom. Just hear me out.”

  “I will do no such thing. This is your dream. Everything you’ve ever worked for, and you’re going to sacrifice it for what? To be closer to your sick mother?”

  “Why is that a bad thing?”

  “Because you can’t give up your life for this. You can’t run away from it. It is what it is, and now the only thing we can do is what is best for us. And what is best for you is finding a way onto the best team for you. If that’s the Rattlers, I’ll happily accept it. I’d love to come to every home game and cheer you on. If it’s a team farther from here—if it’s in Canada—then that’s where you’re going. End of discussion.”

  “But—”

  “No,” she hissed, raising a finger. “I don’t care how old or big you are, Gunner Gentry, I’m your mom and I will still ground you.”

  I cracked up. I covered my mouth to smother some of the noise, but I couldn’t stop. “Glad to see the cancer can’t take any of your fire.”

  “You’re goddamn right it can’t. I’m Jenna Gentry. Just where do you think you learned it from, boy?”

  “Mrs. Gentry.”

  The laughter died in my throat, and my head popped up to look at the nurse waiting for us. I slowly stood and followed my mom past the pine door, trudging behind the nurse as she led us to a small conference room. There was a small rectangular table set up in the corner with an automatic coffee machine and a small stack of Styrofoam cups, with red stirring sticks next to it.

  In the middle of the room was a circular table, with six black leather chairs, and a computer monitor on a rolling cart. On one wall was the light board where doctors hung X-rays.

  “Please take a seat, the doctor will be with you shortly,” the nurse said.

  “Thank you, we will, Hilda,” Mom said.

  Hilda closed the door as she left the room.

  “We will what?” I asked my mom.

  “Make ourselves at home. Want anything to drink? Dr. Michaels will be with us shortly.”

  I shook my head and sat down in one of the chairs facing the door, and I focused on the doorknob, willing it to turn. I wanted him to come in and lay the evidence in front of me. I wanted him to come in and give me the plan, so I could be a part of it.

  So I could fix this.

  But a smaller, scared part of me wanted Dr. Michaels to never come into this room, so I could wake up from this nightmare and pretend it had never happened, that this was all fake. A sick alternate reality.

  Not soon enough and yet all too soon, Dr. Michaels strode through the door with a smile on his face. “Jenna, it’s nice to see you outside of one of our usual appointments. How’re you feeling?”

  “It’s been a good few days. Gunner, this is Dr. Michaels. Dr. Michaels, this is my son, Gunner. I told him everything, but he wanted to meet you and hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Michaels said. He held out his hand, and I rose to shake it before sitting back down. “Would you like me to start from the beginning, or do you want to ask your own questions?”

  “If my mom has an emergency, can she get in touch with you?”

  “I am on call twenty-four seven. All my patients have my cell phone number if they need anything. They also have my partner’s number. They can call her if, for some reason, I am unavailable. I also urge my patients to go to an emergency room if they are unwell. Sometimes even the beginning of something can turn into a huge risk when on chemo.”

  I nodded. “Where did you go to school? What’s your success rate?” I nodded after each question and continued to fire off every one that came into my mind. Mom smacked my arm multiple times, but I didn’t care about being rude. I wanted to make sure that she had the best. I took notes in my phone as he explained her treatments and laid out the plan.

  Chapter 7

  Delilah

  Tuck yanked open the front door of my SUV and jumped in. He threw his backpack on the floorboard, unzipped it, and started digging through the mess. He tossed papers and pencils to the floor of my car.

  Instead of a rain check at the car wash, they should have a messy kid policy. You can come back if your kid messes up your car on the same day you had it washed.

  “Where’s the fire, Tuck? You’re making a mess. Sit up and put on your seat belt, so I can leave.”

  “Hold on,” he said and kept digging through his bag.

  Mrs. Gunderson knocked on the passenger-side window and tried to usher me forward. I held up my finger and shrugged. “Come on, Tuck. You’re going to get me in trouble with Mrs. Gunderson. Again.”

  I shuddered. Mrs. Gunderson was the head of the safety patrol at Tucker’s school. She issued “tickets” and “warnings” to parents at her discretion. The last time I’d been late dropping Tucker off and accidentally driven through the B-drop-off lane, instead of the C-drop-off lane, she’d taken away my drop-off privileges for two weeks. I’d had to park in the far parking lot and walk Tucker into school.

  Mrs. Gunderson knocked on the door again and mimed the motion to roll down my window. “Sit up, Tuck.”

  “Finally!” He sat up and buckled his seat belt. I took off and cringed when I looked in the rearview mirror to see Mrs. Gunderson, with her hands on her hips, watching me go.

  “What were you looking for?”

  “This! Look!”

  I stopped at the light and took the paper from his hands. Written in bright-red marker, at the top, was an A+. I scanned down the page and looked up at him, hoping my excitement was shining through. His grin was stretched from ear to ear. “That’s totally worth whatever ticket Mrs. Gunderson is going to write you.”

  “You’re right, kid. It is.”

  Tucker was fantastic at math and science, but his reading comp
rehension and spelling had been lagging behind. He’d struggled to keep up with his class in those two areas, but my kid, ever determined, had sat with me as we worked through flashcards and a workbook. Slowly his grade had been rising, but this was his first A on a spelling test.

  “I’m so proud of you.” I leaned over the console to lay a smacking kiss on his cheek.

  “Ugh. Yuck.” He grinned and wiped his hand across his cheek. “You can’t do that, Mom. I’m not a baby anymore.”

  “Sorry, kid. The Mom Rulebook says I can do that any time I want.”

  The light turned green, and I shrugged as I drove through the intersection. I slowed and angled into a spot along Main Street. “Where are we going?”

  I finished parking before getting out of the car and ushering him to do the same. I stood in front of him, tucking my hands in my jacket pockets to keep the chill in the air at bay. “This isn’t going to happen all the time, but just for today, for your good job. How do you feel about a brownie sundae as a treat?”

  “What about dinner?”

  I had never let Tuck have something huge like a brownie sundae before dinner so his appetite wouldn’t be ruined. “We’ll figure it out. I mean, if you don’t want a brownie topped with ice cream and chocolatey fudge syrup, pecans, and a cherry, then I guess we can just go home and have some brussels sprouts for dinner.” I turned toward the car, opening his door.

  “No! I want a sundae, but you forgot the whipped cream.”

  I closed the door. “Come on, Tuck.”

  Sweet Tooth Haven was warm compared to the chilly weather. The yellow walls and teal table and chairs added to the warmth, but in a completely different way. “How’re y’all doin’?” Bobby said as we walked in.

  Bobby and Martha had fallen in love at a little diner a few towns over as they’d eaten a slice of pie. She’d promised him that she could make a better one, and she’d kept that promise for the last fifty years. They’d opened this shop after they married and, since then, it had been a staple in the town. While they mostly sold sweets, they also sold paninis and drinks.

  “We’re celebrating today, Bobby. We’re going to need two of the biggest brownies you have back there.”

  “What’re you celebrating?” Martha asked as she came from the back with two huge brownies. “Do y’all want to make these into a sundae?”

  Tuck nodded and I pulled his test from my purse. “This is what we’re celebrating.” I held up the test with the huge A+ on the front.

  “Mom,” Tucker groaned.

  “Hush. I’m proud of you. This is totally going on the fridge.”

  He smiled so wide I could see his missing molar. “Okay.”

  Bobby placed each brownie in a wide-bottomed bowl, and we went down the line adding exactly what we wanted. Mine stayed pretty traditional, with ice cream, nuts, and fudge sauce, while Tuck’s was a towering mess of ice cream, whipped cream, Oreo crumbles, and gummy worms.

  We sat at the table by the window facing Main Street. I unrolled our silverware, handing Tuck a fork, as my phone rang in my pocket. I didn’t even glance at my screen. “Hello?”

  “Is that him?” Shayla’s voice caused every ounce of warmth I had to flood out, and a cold, terrifying feeling filled every part of me, from my veins to my heart.

  I looked at Tuck. His face was an inch away from the treat he was inhaling in front of him, but he was facing the window. My back was to it. I slowly turned in my seat, looking over my shoulder. The sidewalk outside was empty. I scanned everywhere I could see from my seated position.

  “That’s him, isn’t it, Delilah?”

  I gulped, still scanning the street looking for any sign of my cousin. “Yes,” I answered, half expecting her to pop out from behind a bush like the boogeyman.

  After an extended silence, I pulled the phone away from my ear to look at the blank screen. She’d hung up after I’d answered her. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what she wanted, but I did know one thing. She was in town.

  I leaned across the table, wiping a spot of whipped cream off of Tucker’s nose. “I bet I can finish before you.”

  We inhaled the mountains of sugar in front of us until we were done. I grabbed Tuck’s hand as we headed out the door, and I kept him close to my side as I put him safely in the car.

  I glanced up and down Main Street one last time before speeding home.

  Chapter 8

  Gunner

  I grabbed my beanie off the kitchen counter as I headed outside. My eyes zeroed in on Delilah’s pert ass sticking up in the air as she bent over, stacking Tupperware. She finished one stack and turned toward the other Tupperware containers lying on the ground. She quickly put one on top of the other and lifted the pile, but her hand hit the other stack. It swayed and fell to the ground. Her face turned toward the sky, and she closed her eyes. “Shit,” she hissed.

  “Need help?” I called out across the lane separating us. One of her eyes popped open, and she regarded me with a frown on her face.

  “Did those just fall over? Please tell me they didn’t.”

  I scrubbed a hand over the beanie, pulling it from my head, and yanked on the ends of my hair. “It doesn’t look like anything spilled.”

  I walked across to her yard and crouched down, picking up each of the Tupperware boxes. I looked through the clear glass. “It all looks fine. Good even.” I brought a sheet of lasagna close to my face and inhaled. “Damn. That smells good.”

  “Thanks,” she said and huffed, trudging toward the golf cart with the stack in her hands. I ran after her and slipped my fingers underneath her cool hands.

  “I got it.” Delilah’s flowery scent filled my nose. I moved forward another inch. She looked up at me, and I cataloged every feature of her face—from the top of her head down to her soft, pillowy lips, which I’d kill to see wrapped…

  I coughed and stepped back, taking the Tupperware away from her. “Where would you like it?”

  She pointed toward the golf cart. Two cardboard boxes sat on the back seat. “In this one.” She tapped the one on the left. I lowered the food into the box and turned to grab the ones left on the ground.

  I piled them in my hands quickly and tucked them carefully in the remaining box. Delilah had a hand on her hip, and the other was rubbing her forehead. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  “Not a problem. Are you catering?” I still had my eye on the glassware containing the lasagna. During the season, I didn’t eat a lot of variety, and during the off-season, I mostly stuck to restaurants. I hadn’t had homemade lasagna since I was a kid, and I was pretty sure I could put away that entire pan in one sitting if Delilah gave it to me.

  “Kind of.” She spun the keys around on her index finger and caught them in her hands. Her eyes kept flicking away from me, watching the horizon as if she was waiting for someone. And if I had to guess, whoever she was waiting for was someone she didn’t want to see. “I cook meals for people or families when someone is sick or having surgery. They can order for a few days or I deliver food weekly, depending on their needs.”

  “Really?” I asked. “How can someone sign up for that?”

  “By calling. It started out as a favor for a family friend in the area, and then one of their friends called. My number keeps being passed around, so it kind of grew. There’s not a formal system. Do you know someone?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. She’d be the first person I told besides my agent. “Yeah.” My voice sounded rough even to my own ears. “My mom.”

  I wanted to claw at my throat and pull the words back, if only that would make them untrue.

  Delilah’s eyes widened, and her lips pulled down into a frown. She stepped forward, reaching out toward my arm. My eyes tracked the movement. She stopped an inch away from me before she slowly dropped her arm to her side.

  I wanted that hand back. I wanted her touch. I wanted to feel her fingers running over my skin, even on the arm where I couldn’t truly feel anything. I wanted to watch those del
icate fingers run over every part of my body. I didn’t say anything though. I only stared at her hand, clenched in a fist, hanging at her side.

  When my eyes met hers again, I immediately turned away, looking at the forest behind her house. I hated the pity I saw there. The worst fucking emotion in the world.

  “Never mind.” I turned my back to her and walked toward the parking lot.

  “Gunner,” she called. “Wait.”

  I didn’t. In fact, I sped up a bit. Her feet pounded against the dirt-and-gravel path as she chased me. The hitch in her breath made me slow down, and she erased the few yards between us. The palm of her hand slid into mine and she squeezed. Hard.

  I looked over my shoulder and down into her eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I didn’t mean to look at you that way. I hate when someone pities me, and I’ve gotten it a lot. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?”

  Instead of answering her question, I asked one of my own. “Why would someone pity you?”

  She grinned wryly as her thumb traced my knuckles. Luckily, she’d grabbed my unburned arm. I didn’t know how much she knew about her son’s favorite player, but I didn’t want another look of pity from her gorgeous amber eyes.

  “You’d have to supply me with a lot of tequila before I confess my secrets to you, Gunner.”

  “We could arrange that.”

  Delilah swayed into me as laughter took over her entire body.

  “Is Old Man Cal’s still open? We could head over there for a lunchtime boozefest.”

  She shook her head. “Maybe some other time.”

  I think I’m going to hold her to that.

  “So, your mom?”

  “Yeah.” I slipped my hand from hers and crossed my arms over my chest. “Ovarian cancer. Just found out. I want to make things as easy as possible for her, and I think she would appreciate some meals. Could I order some or could you teach me, so I could do it for her?”

  “How about both?” Delilah flipped the keys around her finger again.