by Crowe, Liz
Why not let him, a smaller voice asked her. It’s not like he’s hurting you. He loves you. Stop being so stubborn.
Shut up. I make my own way. And I can’t trust him. James is right. Those stupid bitches were right. I have to get away from this before it all explodes in my face.
But … you love him, Kayla. You want to have his babies. To push him around in a wheelchair when you’re old. The works.
Which is why she felt so conflicted and shitty. She was angry, yes. But most of all, she was hurt. Crushed that he would do what he’d sworn he wouldn’t do—to not let her prove her own worth and earn her place on the soccer team.
Then let him know that, Kay. Don’t be stubborn. Tell him how you feel. You know you can trust him now.
She marched into the hotel suite, left the god-knows-how-expensive dress on its hanger and the shoes in the box. Ignoring texts from Marlo, Matilde, and LeeAnn, she found her jeans, shirt, and boots, all of which J.D.’s private shopper had purchased for her not two weeks before. She yanked her hair back in a ponytail and scrubbed her face until it was clear of makeup. As she was drying off, she heard the suite door close.
He didn’t call out for her, to his credit. She waited a few minutes until she could breathe like a normal person, then walked out into the living room side of the suite, designer purse on her arm. The words—his words—from the phone call to her future coach rolled and tumbled around in her head, reminding her that, once again, J.D. was trying to buy his way into her heart. But this wasn’t some useless, too-expensive bauble, or yet another pair of shoes. This was her life. The one good thing she thought she’d accomplished for herself, by herself, on her own. And yet, she hadn’t.
“I’m leaving,” she said. She pulled the fake engagement ring off and placed it on the coffee table next to the, Patek Philipe watch and diamond earrings—all purchased with his Alpha Male bank account.
“Okay,” he said, pouring himself a glass of bourbon. “I assume you’ll let me know why one of these days?”
She marched over until she was almost eye-to-eye with him, thanks to the heels on the boots. His nostrils flared and his eyes widened, but he waited for her to speak first. “You need to learn that your money and power and influence do not make for real happiness.” She poked his chest. “You can’t put my life on your credit card, Jon David. I’m sorry. And because I now know you’ve done it, I have to leave.”
He frowned and put the glass down with a loud thunk. “Put your what on my what? Jesus, woman, what the hell are you talking about?”
She hesitated. A small, remaining, semi-sober part of her thought that maybe she could have misunderstood his end of the conversation. But no. It was too coincidental, her getting that text and then him gloating to Rick, the very night she’d finally admitted that she had everything she wanted.
As if.
“I refuse to be a mercy case on that team. You can’t do that to me. I won’t let you.” Her voice was rising, so she paused to get it back under control. “Go find yourself a blonde honey who wants you to buy her a job, and a yacht, and a fucking skyscraper because that is not me.”
“Makayla, listen…” He held out his hand. The expression on his face was somewhere between confusion and anguish. “I honestly don’t know what you’re—”
“Don’t lie to me, J.D. I can smell it on you. Just like I’d be able to smell another woman’s pussy.” She took a step back and almost fell over. She was, without a doubt, drunk off her ass, especially given that last stupid comment. “I’m going home,” she said. “My real home. Where people accept me the way I am.”
She held onto the wall as she made her way to the elevator, called for a Lyft. When she climbed in, she heard him calling her name. The car pulled away from the curb before she could clamber out, throw herself into his arms, and beg him to tell her that it wasn’t true, that he hadn’t done it. But she had to settle for watching him, still in his tuxedo trousers and shirt, hand shoved into his pockets, shoulders slumped as the car took her where she’d told him to go—home, to Ann Arbor.
By the time she hit the door of the house where she’d grown up, her feet were singing with agony, her mind awash with regret. She fell into her mother’s arms with a loud, sloppy sob. She already missed him. And hated herself for hurting him. But she’d said her piece. And if he’d foisted her onto a team that didn’t want her against her explicit request that he not do it, she couldn’t live with him, love him, any longer.
She disentangled herself and tugged off the expensive boots. After staring at them a few seconds, her eyes blurry and her head fuzzy, she tossed the damn things out onto the front porch. She didn’t remember making it to her old room, her old bed, which was just as comfortable as she remembered it to be. But that’s where she found herself the next morning, with her mother poking her shoulder and her father standing back, looking worried.
“Go away,” she said, pulling a blanket over her face. “Leave me alone.”
“Young lady, you get your sorry ass up and into the shower.”
“Mama…” she whined. But she knew that tone. She got up and got herself into the shower.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next three weeks were among the more brutal she’d ever experienced. Almost as bad as the weeks she spent post-op with her leg in a cast, contemplating her general lack of a future. J.D. never once contacted her, either by text, phone, email, or smoke signal, as he like to say.
By the end of the third week she was worn out from worrying about him. She’d managed to talk her way back into her slutty shorts and old job at The Grange, and was fine and fucking dandy, thank you very much. Even if having to mooch off her parents and use her mother’s car to drive in and out of Detroit wasn’t exactly the ideal, adult-ing situation.
She’d sent a single message to Rick, refusing the offer of a place on the team and had told him to tell her agent to shove it. Dianna was an old J.D. flame too, after all. She’d been surrounded by J.D.’s flames, back in that life. When he’d been trying to do … something to her she didn’t want. To turn her into something that suited him and his idea of her.
She’d only told Marlo the full story, and had ignored her friend’s disbelief. She’d ignored LeeAnn and Matilde long enough until they’d stopped bothering her via call or text. The bubble had been popped. The dream, awakened. Her life, back to bad old normal. Exactly what she deserved for believing any of it anyway.
She skirted the corner where she’d run into J.D. the first time with a small shudder of memory on a packed Friday night, her mind blank, focused forward, thinking about nothing but making twenty percent and going home so she could sleep. Eat. Work. Sleep. That was the sum total of her to-do list these days. She was back to inhabiting a life, not living it.
And whose fault is that, hmm? Because it sure as hell is not the fault of that man you left standing there, in the Ritz Mother Fucking Carlton, looking like you ripped his heart out of his chest and took a big, old bite in front of him.
Shut up.
She’d stopped checking her phone to see if J.D. gave a shit about her anymore. He obviously didn’t. She’d had dinner with James a few times, letting him “I told you so” until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She’d not told him what actually happened. Let him assume the worst about J.D. all he wanted. She lacked the energy to explain it all anyway, especially since the last time they’d shared beers and cheeseburgers she’d been more than half convinced she’d done the wrong thing.
She missed the man, pure and simple. She loved their easy, jokey camaraderie. She adored his voice, his laughter, and of course, his hands, lips, and all the to-die-for rest of him. But mostly she missed the way he’d hold her close, kiss her forehead, and tell her that everything was good—very, very good.
He knew her—better than anyone. He’d know not to do what she’d thought—to pay her way onto the team. Right? She’d overreacted her way into screwing herself out of something perfect.
Thanks to all thi
s inner turmoil the past week, between slouching around the house where she’d grown up, avoiding her parents, being inside her personal quiet bubble of space, smiling and flirting with strangers at work so she could pocket enough cash to convince herself her life was worth half a shit, she wondered if she could take it all back somehow.
Unlikely. J.D. Baxter was a proud man. He’d never allow it. Not after the way she’d behaved, and she wouldn’t blame him.
She waited at the service bar while the bartender loaded her tray with beers and drinks she didn’t recognize with their lurid colors and bizarre garnishes. Taking note that her section had been seated again, she fixed a smile on her face and headed toward the newcomers. She deposited drinks at three other tables, then picked up a water pitcher to leave with the new people.
She wasn’t sure why it took her so long to recognize the three women, but she must have stared at them for a solid thirty seconds before it sunk in. “Oh. Hello,” she said, putting down the water. “What can I get you ladies to drink?” She went with the usual server patter, hiding the way her heart was jumping around in her chest at the sight of them.
“I’ll have white wine,” LeeAnn said.
“An IPA. This one,” Matilde said, pointing to the long list of beers.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic, a double, with two limes, Hendricks, if this place has it.”
Kayla only hesitated a half second. “You got it, Lisa. I’ll put these in and be right back.”
She walked away from them, her knees shaking, and tried her best to pawn the table off on someone else. With a sigh, she faced them again, her smile in place, her hip cocked in expectation of their order after she delivered their drinks.
Lisa knocked back half of hers in one gulp, then set it down. “Listen, Kayla, we’re not here to eat.”
“I gathered. I wouldn’t eat this crap either if I were you.”
“Honey, you have to come back,” LeeAnn said. “You’ve … you’ve got it all wrong. He didn’t—”
She started backing away from them, the J.D. emissary triumvirate. Without a word, she turned away from them and pushed her way through the crowd to the back room until Brad hollered at her to get her sorry ass back to work.
When she stepped out of the restroom after splashing cold water on her face, none other than the former Mrs. J.D. Baxter was in the smelly back hallway, waiting for her. Her dark eyes were stormy, her face flushed. She grabbed Kayla’s arm and marched her back into the bathroom. “Now you listen to me, and listen good. If you think this is any way easy for me, coming here, trying to drag you back to your senses, you’re crazier than I think you are.” She took a breath.
“I don’t—”
Lisa gave her a little shake, digging her fingertips into Kayla’s arm even deeper. “No, you don’t talk. I’m talking. You’re listening.”
“Get off me,” Kayla said regaining herself and jerking out of Lisa’s grip.
The woman backed her up against the sinks, her finger up in Kayla’s face. “J.D. adores you. He worships the ground you shit on, woman. You … you with your … sporty bod and smart mouth … you managed to get something from him than no one, not even me, ever got. Not for lack of trying on my part.”
Kayla opened her mouth.
Lisa held up a hand. “Nope. Don’t say a word. I mean it. I’m here to make you understand something about J.D. Something you don’t seem to want to get. Yes, he’s rich and powerful, and he likes to throw both of those things around but when he loves—truly, deeply loves the way he does his daughter and now…” She paused and swallowed hard. “And now you, he will do absolutely anything to make sure that person is happy. And that means he listens and understands. He knows you would never tolerate him picking up the phone and ensuring a place on that stupid soccer team. That would have made you unhappy. Hence, he’d never fucking do it. Are you hearing me?”
Kayla nodded, her hand to her hot cheek, confounded by this odd confrontation. “But, what was he talking about that night, then?
Lisa rolled her eyes and leaned against the sinks next to Kayla. “I don’t know and I don’t care, but I can assure you that if you gave him the opportunity to explain it before you got polluted and ran off, you’d know already.”
“Did he send you here?”
Lisa pushed herself away from the sinks and faced Kayla again. “Please. The man would have kittens if he knew I was here trying to convince you to come back to him. He’s just as stubborn as you are.” She looked at herself in the mirror, applied some lip gloss, and flipped her hair over one shoulder. “I’m here to tell you, if you don’t get in your right mind, go back to him and make him happy, you’re going to have to answer to me. Got it?”
Kayla nodded, rendered speechless by this encounter. She watched Lisa sashay her tiny ass out of the bathroom and took a few minutes to catch her breath. When she returned to the busy restaurant, that table was empty, but for a few twenty-dollar bills and a note from Matilde.
He is losing his mind, Kayla. I’m really worried about him. Please come back.
She finished her shift in a daze, spending the requisite hour after closing doing her clean up and having her shift drink, which she ended up tossing down the drain since it tasted like so much vinegar. As she was fending off Brad’s typical late-night advances, promises of a “good time” at a bar later, she heard someone clearing their throat behind her.
“Hey, how did you get in here?” Brad demanded.
“You’re going to want to let go of her,” Ted said, his voice calm.
Brad did.
She stared up at the man who’d shared one of the worst days of her life. “I have an idea. Can you help me?”
He nodded, smiled, and held out his elbow. “As long as it ends with my boss getting his life back the way he wants it.”
She tensed.
He waited with her a few seconds.
“You know what, you’re right. I want it back too.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m such an idiot.”
“I’d say you’re just as mule-headed as he is,” Ted reassured her as he held the door open for her. “Let’s get the fuck out of this hell hole, shall we?”
She waited, her mind turning around on itself, trying to find a place she could cling to, to justify herself.
He frowned at her. “Stop over thinking, Makayla. The man loves you. Go with it.”
She nodded. “I’m going to.”
He sighed. “Might be tough. He is royally pissed at you. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him on such a … tear, if you know what I mean.”
“Been tom-catting around, has he?”
“Kind of. But not really. It’s hard to explain. You should let him explain, maybe.”
A bolt of jealous rage shot up her spine, lighting up her brain and making her see things so clearly for a moment it hurt her head. No life would ever be perfect. But she wanted the one back she’d had. The one so damn near to perfect it had scared her. She wasn’t scared anymore. Not of anything, other than never seeing J.D. again.
“Come on. We’ve got some planning to do.” She climbed into the passenger’s seat of Ted’s Mustang and sent a quick group text to Matilde and LeeAnn.
Kayla: Big important powwow meeting. Massive event planning required. Your presence is requested. 10 AM tomorrow.
She typed in her parents’ address, then composed one of the most difficult texts of her life to J.D.’s ex.
Kayla: Lisa, I want to thank you for coming to see me tonight and for the come to Jesus meeting. I needed it. You’re right. I mean, I think I knew it already, but hearing you say it to me just drove it home. And I do know how hard it had to be for you. You’re a good person. Gwen is lucky to have you for a mom. I’m planning something special for J.D. I’ll send you the details once they’re set, if you want to attend. Although I will totally get it if you don’t. Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. Kay
“All right, where to?” Ted asked over the roar of his car’s engine.
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Kayla named the Koney Island where she’d spent so many significant moments in her relationship with the man she loved because suddenly, she was so hungry she thought she might be able to eat an entire kitchen’s worth of breakfast food, with extra helpings of syrup. She giggled, then rolled down the window, letting the winter air bite her face and remind her that she was, indeed, alive and she did, indeed, deserve to be happy.
If only she could convince J.D. that he was a crucial part of that happiness. If only she wasn’t too late for that.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
J.D.’s eyes burned as he stared, unseeing, at his computer screen. His whole body felt sluggish, as if he’d been drugged. It was the strange condition he’d been living with for three solid weeks, ever since Makayla had flounced out of the hotel suite the night of the awards—the night he’d meant for her to say “yes”. And for real this time.
His phone buzzed away with messages from the various women he’d reached out to recently. All of whom he’d disappointed once the fancy dinner or art gallery or wine party or whatever the fuck he’d concocted had been over. All of whom were now pressing him for more, for another date, another shot. He shoved the phone to the floor with a grunt of frustration.
He’d heard LeeAnn’s words—that Makayla had made the team. He’d listened to Matilde’s suggestion that maybe she thought he’d had something to do with it. He’d even been shocked to his core to have Lisa show up and read him the riot act. Something about not being such an “alpha-hole” and just getting over himself.
But he’d put himself out there, exposed himself to real emotion and had been sliced in two over it, in public no less. Hence, his dating frenzy, some kind of attempt to prove something. Not that had closed any deals with any one of them. He’d paid for the meals, the tickets, the events, but he’d had zero interest in anything more.