The Hot Corner

by Amy Noelle

  Brad—handsome, desirable, sexy, sweet, a little shy, smart, quietly funny—always had women around him then, just like he does now. It came with the package, and it was something I thought I’d mostly learned to deal with. I might have threatened a girl who followed him to the bathroom when we were out celebrating an early anniversary dinner. And maybe I’d fantasized a time or a thousand about pulling some hair or throwing some punches, but I never did. Brad never gave me reason to. I was it for him, and he made that clear to me and to everyone else.

  I wish I could say when that changed for me. What was the moment I started to doubt his love for me would last forever? Because the more I think about it, the more I’m sure I wouldn’t have believed what I saw that day in Omaha if I’d been as secure in our love as I’d thought I was. Like someone recently reminded me, I’d have taken the time to talk to him, or at least to hit him, when I saw him kissing his beautiful, blond best friend.

  Rather than announce myself and confront the pair, I ran away like the child I was. And rather than tell Brad what I’d seen, I avoided and lied to him. Then I pushed him away, letting him think baseball had driven a wedge between us. In reality, the only thing that had parted us was my own idiocy.

  I’d like to say I came to my senses and went after him, to tell him what I’d seen, ask for an explanation, and make things right as they should have been. But you all know that isn’t what happened, since you’ve seen him on the arms of a bevy of gorgeous women, each one more beautiful than the last. That’s because I kept my pride and I pushed him away, and the sweet, attentive boyfriend I knew became the fickle player the press scrambled to cover.

  I, on the other hand, shut myself off from everybody who cared about me. I didn’t date for well over a year, and—not coincidentally—my first date came shortly after the first time I saw a picture of Brad with some woman in a bar. Yes, I claimed to want to know nothing about my ex but was secretly looking him up on the Internet when no one was around to see or judge me. I judged myself for it plenty.

  Over the years I told myself I wasn’t keeping an eye on everything he did. It wasn’t like I sought out those magazines with his picture in them. They were just there. And I watched sports highlights because I was a sports lover, not because I wanted to know how he was doing. And, deep in my closet, buried behind a winter coat I’ve only used a couple of times on business trips, is a number three Dodgers jersey I just had to have because I liked the color, not because it had his name on it. Not because I used to wear Florida State jerseys with his name, not because both of us used to talk about how one day that name would be mine as well.

  I dated, I smiled, I had a good time now and then, and I even got engaged to a man who didn’t make me feel a hundredth of what Brad did. I became the perfect corporate fiancée and went to boring dinners with a smile plastered to my face and acted as if I didn’t give a thought to the player on the other side of the country.

  And then one day, the fiancé and I were in Atlanta on some business trip the same weekend the Dodgers were playing the Braves. I went to the game. I just had nothing better to do, or so I told myself. And I bought a ticket on the third base side only because it had a great view. And Brad didn’t take my breath away when he made a diving catch, or stole second, or scored the eventual game-winning run. At least, that’s what I told myself. I never told anyone I went to that game. I never told Brad until just now. As much as I tried to put him away, I never was able to. Not a year later, not seven. He was always it for me, even though I wouldn’t admit it to myself. I called off my engagement right after that weekend.

  Almost a year later, my agent lowered the boom that they wanted me to write a book about Brad. I didn’t take it well. I tried to fight her on it, but she challenged me to prove I was over Brad by seeing him again. I saw through her manipulations and I could have shut her down. If I’d have stuck to my guns, she’d have dropped it and let me write what I wanted to. The truth was, though, I wanted to see him again. I wanted to show him just how over him I really was. That’s what I told myself, and even what I told him. But if I’ve learned anything about myself in this past month, it’s that I’m pretty good at lying to myself about my motivations.

  What I really wanted was to be around him. I wanted to see if everything I used to feel for him was still there inside me. And it was. Despite myself, I fell harder and faster than I had the first time around, even though he wasn’t exactly the same Brad I’d known all those years ago.

  The new Brad is confident bordering on arrogant, challenging, infuriating, deadly . . . he’s the kind of guy that mothers warn their daughters about and fathers fear because they know this is the man that can bring the heartbreak. I knew all too well he could hurt me, but still, I fell. Because the new Brad still has the old Brad inside him.

  He romanced me. He took me on dates that reminded me of when we were kids, he called me when he was away just to hear my voice, he sent me baseballs decorated with sweet words just like he used to, and eventually he opened up and let me in.

  But I kept him at bay, those thoughts that he’d cheated on me still on my mind, though new thoughts joined them. I started to wonder if I’d been wrong. His teammates talked about his loyalty, his exes—with one exception—admitted he’d never lied or cheated on them, and I started to remember just how he used to make me feel, because he’d done it again. In front of a stadium full of people, he made me feel like I was the only girl there. When he looked at me, when he touched me, I could feel it, just like I did when we were younger.

  He told me about his father’s death, which had come right on the heels of my abandonment, and I finally had all my answers. His best friend had been there to cheer him on and to tell him about his father’s illness. She had feelings for him, and she kissed him. If I’d stayed a moment longer, I’d have seen that Brad stopped her. He only wanted me. Always. Still. At least, until now.

  I won’t blame him if he walks away from me for good. I cost us so much time together by not believing in him, in us together. And maybe he doesn’t think I could handle his life now. God knows, there are more women, more rumors, and more innuendo. If I believed he’d cheat back then, I’d believe the same of him now. Except I don’t.

  Even when I thought he’d been unfaithful, I forgave him. I had to. He was my Brad again, but a slightly more complex Brad than the one I’d had before. He’d been through a lot, alone, and he’d made himself into an amazing baseball player in tribute to his father. He didn’t let his father dying or my leaving get in the way of his dreams. He’s been with an intimidating number of beautiful women, but I don’t care. I love him and I know he loves me. I won’t question it ever again.

  Every part of me hopes I can turn this into the love story we were meant to have. He gave me his heart all those years ago and, though I cherished it, I didn’t believe in it. I can only promise that if he risks it again, I’ll be much more careful and I’ll hold on for all I’m worth. I’ve grown stronger over these years without him, but not happier. I want the happiness only he can give me, that only we can give each other.

  Brad, this chapter was supposed to be my indictment of you, my snide commentary on the way you chose to live your life after I left it. Instead, it’s an indictment of me and what I took away from both of us. It’s my apology to you. I hope you can forgive me. Know that if you do, I’ll make it up to you. I can’t take back the time apart, but I can make the time ahead of us everything we ever dreamed it would be. I love you. Always have, always will. To put it in the language you speak best: it’s a 3-2 count in the bottom of the ninth with the bases loaded. Will you take a chance and swing for the fences, or play it safe and hope the pitcher throws a ball? I’ll be waiting for that answer, whenever it comes.

  Chapter 28

  I used to think I was a patient person. I waited without complaint all those months for my first book to come out, didn’t I? Okay, maybe I’d bitched to Bec a time or two, but I still kept it reined in pretty well. I was good at wa
iting for things. Not so much now.

  Pam had come over four hours earlier and picked up the folded papers without complaint. She’d promised to give them to him right away, which would have meant he’d had them in his strong hands for at least three hours. And still, nothing.

  Did I expect that my words would send him straight into my arms, that he wouldn’t even hesitate before he got in his car and headed back to me where he belonged? No, not exactly. But I’d kind of hoped they would. If he’d poured his heart out to me the way I’d just done, I would have. But then, he could get me with a few words scrawled on a baseball.

  I thought about going to sleep. The two hours I’d managed until Pam appeared hadn’t done me much good. But how could I sleep now, knowing he’d read my words and might have rejected them—and me?

  Damn it, why hadn’t Pam contacted me yet? Wasn’t there some sort of female solidarity she should be invoking, despite that he was her best friend and we’d only just begun our friendship? She had to know it was killing me. And she wanted us together, unless of course he didn’t want us together and she changed her mind because she was on his side.

  I couldn’t call him, because the ball was in his court, even if I was using the wrong sports analogy. But I could contact her. She could tell me to get lost if she wanted to, but I had to try.

  Well? What happened?

  When my phone didn’t immediately ring with a responding text, I cursed myself for creating yet another thing to wait for. It wasn’t like there was a time limit on when he could respond to my chapter. If he wanted a day, a week, a month, or even a year, who was I to say anything? I’d already cost us way more than that.

  I nearly dropped my phone when it buzzed in my hand.

  He yelled at me for interfering and then snatched the envelope and took it into the guest room with him. I haven’t seen him since.

  Well, hell. That wasn’t helpful.

  Thanks for trying, Pam.

  So clearly he wasn’t on his way over to sweep me into his arms and pronounce his undying love for me. It wasn’t like I deserved that, anyway. I guessed I should take a shower and maybe attempt to write about what Brad had told me before I’d ruined everything yesterday. I didn’t know if I had the wherewithal to do it, but I had to do something other than sit there and wait for a call that might never come.

  The shower made me feel less like the living dead, and I figured maybe I’d better eat before I tried to write. My inability to be away from my phone for more than a half hour had me checking it automatically, and I yelped when I saw I had a missed call from Pam. I couldn’t call her back fast enough.

  “It’s about time! Where were you?” she hissed into the phone.

  “I was taking a shower. I looked and smelled like ass, as I’m sure you can imagine. What happened?”

  “He’s on his way to the stadium.”

  “And? Did he say anything? How did he look?”

  Pam sighed. “Better than he did before, but I can’t say whether that was from the shower or your letter. He didn’t say much, but what he did say . . .”

  I felt like I was going to throw up. “What?”

  “Let me get this right. He said, ‘Tell your new best friend to open the front door and look down.’ ”

  She hadn’t even finished her sentence before I was running down the hallway. I yanked open the door at the same time Pam said, “Well, what is it?”

  A plain white envelope fell into the room. I snatched it up and slammed the door. “It’s an envelope.”

  “Well, open it, damn it. You’re killing me here!”

  It couldn’t be a letter from him, unless he’d e-mailed it to someone and asked them to deliver it, which was silly since Pam was right there ready and willing. I unsealed it and peeked inside. A ticket? I slid it out and let out a small gasp when I saw it was for his game today, in the same seat in the front row on the third-base side.

  “Hello! Spit it out, Danielle! Do I have to come over there and see it for myself? I swear, the two of you are trying my patience today. I can’t coddle you both and not get updates about what’s happening!”

  I shook myself out of my stupor. “It’s a ticket to the game today.”

  He wanted me there, watching him. Unless he wanted to publicly humiliate me, which I maybe deserved, but that wasn’t his style.

  “Ooooh! He wants you at the game. That’s great!”

  “It is, right? He wouldn’t want me there if he planned on kicking me out of his life for good, would he? It’s not a one-for-the-road kind of situation?”

  Pam snorted. “You don’t send a game ticket as a parting gift, Dani. You might give a pity fuck or a tasteful piece of jewelry, but you don’t invite them to watch you do the thing you love unless you want them there.”

  Right. Exactly what I was thinking.

  “So this means he doesn’t hate me.” I felt some of the pressure ease in my chest.

  “He could never hate you, just like you never hated him.”

  “I wanted to, though. Maybe he wants to hate me but doesn’t know how.”

  “That line of thinking makes me want to kick your ass, and I assure you I do know how. Did you see me in Mortal Enemies? That wasn’t a stunt double, that was all me. Don’t make me show you live and in person.”

  “Stop threatening me. Don’t you have press to scandalize or directors to lead on and then avoid?”

  “No, I cleared my schedule to deal with your love life, leaving several directors old enough to be my father feeling completely bereft. I’ll probably have to blow them all to make up for it. The things I do for you. Now, onto more important matters. What are you going to wear?”

  I blinked. “The necklace!”

  “What necklace?”

  “Brad gave me an infinity necklace years ago for my birthday.”

  I’d brought it with me, though at the time I’d told myself I was bringing it so I could give it back to him and laugh off the idea of us forever. Of course, deep down inside I’d known I could never give it back, even if he had turned out to be the jerk I thought he’d be.

  “You brought it with you. That says quite a bit, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I guess it does. Thank you for your help, Pam. No matter what happens with Brad, I’m really glad I met you.”

  “Oh, hell. Now I’m going to cry. I’m glad I met you, too, which I wouldn’t have done had you not been a moron all those years ago. So, see, there is a bright side no matter what.” I choked out a watery laugh. “Don’t you like how I manage to make everything about me? And on that note, I’ll be watching the game tonight, so if the camera’s on you, give me a wink, would ya?”

  “Will do. I’m going to go get ready.”

  “You do that. Good luck. I’m cheering for both of you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, no matter what.”

  “You better. Bye!”

  Despite my lack of sleep, I was energized. After I got off the phone with Pam, I did some laundry, cleaned, reread parts of the book, and just drove myself batty checking the time every few minutes.

  I was likely at the stadium before some of the players, and I was the first one in the gates when they finally opened. I did stop to wolf down two hot dogs and a soda before I got to my seat, because I hadn’t eaten since . . . how long had it been? Before Malibu. But I had my appetite back and I hoped I was about to get a lot more than that.

  I sat in my seat, perched on the edge, ready to spring like a jack-in-the-box. I was excited and nervous, and I probably shouldn’t have eaten because the hot dogs felt like a rock sitting in my stomach. The Brewers were warming up, so Brad wasn’t on the field. I wanted to see if he looked at me, if he smiled or glared or ignored me, which would have been insane since he was the one who sent me a ticket. Still, I had to mentally prepare for any contingencies.

  I toyed with my necklace as I took a couple of deep breaths and attempted to calm myself. I was getting too worked up. I just needed to chill and let it com
e. He wanted me here for a reason, and sometime within the next four hours I’d find out what that was. I could wait four hours. It wasn’t that long, especially after the almost-sleepless night I’d just had.

  A light tap on my shoulder had me jumping nearly a mile, and I let out a little scream.

  “I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I turned, and there was the usher who’d covered this section the last time I’d been here.

  “That’s okay. I was lost in thought.”

  He smiled and held a ball out to me. “Mr. Reynolds asked that I deliver this to you.”

  This was it. I clutched it to my chest and hoped the words there would be the ones I wanted to see. I took a moment to calm my raging thoughts before looking at the ball.

  Nice necklace.

  I looked on the field, but Brad wasn’t there. I glanced in the stands, but of course he wasn’t there either. How had he seen it?

  “Where is he?”

  The usher coughed lightly. “He’s in the locker room, Miss.”

  Having no way to respond—short of writing back a message on the ball, which wasn’t happening because it was going in my collection—I took out my phone.

  The necklace is nice, but the meaning is the best thing about it.

  The usher vanished as quietly as he’d appeared, and my phone vibrated with Brad’s response.

  I’m glad you kept it.

  Did he really think I could ever get rid of anything he’d given me, particularly that?