Waiting for Her

by Jennifer Van Wyk

  He clears his throat and says with a gruff voice, “We’re professionals, right?”

  “If this afternoon in your office is any indication, that’s debatable.” I bite back a groan, frustrated that I can’t shut up for once. Especially now, when it’s not anywhere close to the right time to be joking.

  “Bye, Bri.”

  And then the line goes dead. I stare at the phone in my hand for a few seconds before I startle at a crash that sounds like glass breaking. I stand up and look around, confused by what I’m seeing.

  Grady.

  Then I see him several houses down, his house on the street perpendicular to mine.

  The back of my townhouse butts up to the backyards of a neighborhood on a large city block.

  Grady’s neighborhood, apparently.

  I stare at him, a table upturned on his patio, the remnants of what was once a potted plant scattered on the ground around him along with what appears to be tiny shards of glass I can only assume was his patio table. He’s on his haunches, elbows on his knees.

  There’s a large yellow lab staring up at him by his side. He pats the top of his head, probably to reassure him all is okay, that he’s done freaking out, then he moves him behind him out of the danger of stepping on the glass.

  There’s so much more to this story, to the time of my life that was so out of control I couldn’t see up from down. The miscarriage was the beginning of my downhill spiral, and when he hears the rest of it, I doubt he’ll be able to look me in the eye again.

  I watch him from my place across our lawns, a war waging within himself as he stands up and paces around the cement patio. I debate whether or not I should walk over. My stomach twists with guilt, hardly being able to believe I allowed myself to slip up and tell him about the miscarriage over the phone.

  Stupid.

  Wiping away the tears from my cheeks, I can’t take my eyes off Grady, or his home I was so curious about before I potentially screwed up any chance I had at moving forward with him.

  Aside from the fact his home is surrounded so closely by others, it’s exactly what I would have envisioned he would live in. Dark green with cream trim, it looks rustic with a modern twist. No doubt the inside is decorated perfectly, given that his mom is an interior designer. A grill and outdoor kitchen area is nestled close to the house, something he told me he always wanted. And, of course, it looks like his dad and he built a new area in his backyard for him to workout, much like he had at his childhood home. I wouldn’t be shocked if the women of the neighborhood closely monitor his workout sessions.

  White hot jealousy rips through me.

  Jealousy I have no right to feel, but it’s there.

  At the simple prospect of other women watching him. Ridiculous as it may be.

  My eyes don’t leave him as he moves from one end to the other as he leans against a countertop. He shakes his head and stands straight, wiping his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. My heart cracks open at the thought of him shedding tears over the loss of our baby.

  I watch as he makes his way back into his home, a soft slap to his thigh and nod of his head and his dog follows him. He disappears from my sight and I can’t decide if I feel better or worse.

  Hearing his heartbreak was hard enough but seeing it might just break me.

  Grady

  “Can you come over?”

  Blake, one of my best friends since kindergarten, is quiet on the other end of the phone line.

  “Now?” No doubt he’s looking at the clock that’s shining after eight pm and wondering what I could possibly be needing from him at this hour. It’s not late by any means, but he knows what my schedule is like this time of year. I’m usually going over my playbook, watching game tape, or hell, any number of things but inviting him over on a weeknight.

  “It’s uh, Bri.”

  “On my way.”

  Twenty minutes later, he’s walking through the front door without knocking, my golden lab Rockford, or Rocky for short, lifts his head, lets out a pathetic whoof, and nestles back into his place on the couch. Which he’s technically not supposed to be sitting on. Yet, here he is. Snuggled up beside me like he knows I need his affection.

  “That didn’t take long.”

  “Sounded urgent,” he says, raising one eyebrow in my direction.

  “Did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  I gauge his reaction, trying to figure out if he knew about the miscarriage or not.

  From his look of confusion, my guess is he didn’t have a clue.

  I clear my throat and lean up, letting my arms rest on my knees. Rocky moans like I’m really inconveniencing him.

  “She was pregnant,” I blurt out.

  He blanches, shock resonating through his features.

  “Was.” He states, doesn’t question. He’s always been a perceptive guy. Listens to every word that comes out of his friends’ mouths, never ignores anyone.

  “Was,” I confirm.

  “When?”

  “Oh, you know, she was pregnant about six years ago.”

  “And then?”

  “Wasn’t.”

  “She lost it?” he asks.

  “Correct.”

  “Shit.”

  “That’s about the gist of it.” I lick my lips and watch his reaction.

  His hand roughly scrubs over his face. “Shit fuck.”

  “More accurate.”

  “I think I need to hear a few more details for me to fully understand this.”

  I shake my head and huff. “You and me both, man.”

  “First question, when did you find out?”

  “About two hours ago.”

  His eyes widen, and he sits up, leaning toward me. “And since when did you start hanging out or hell, even talking with, Bri again?”

  “Since she was assigned my story for SI.”

  “It seems as though you and I have a lot to catch up on.”

  I bark out a humorless laugh. “Another accurate statement.”

  For the next hour or so, I go over everything that’s happened since last weekend right before Mia went into labor. A lifetime has occurred in those few days.

  “Well, no one said your life is ever boring.”

  I pull on my hair, probably making it stand on end. “How is this okay? How did I not know that she was carrying my child? That she suffered through a miscarriage and I didn’t know? No one told me, Blake! Not Christine, not Andy, and not Bri! I was wallowing in my own self-pity because she left me, and there she was, pregnant with my child and, essentially, alone.”

  “You have no control over that,” he reminds me. “She didn’t want to be around you. She made it clear as day. And you didn’t have a clue she was pregnant. I know you, Grady. If you’d have known, you’d have broken down every wall she so firmly built up and made sure she let you back in. Stormed into her life to take care of her, help her.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Maybe that was her plan.”

  “To hide the pregnancy?”

  I look at him for a moment, his eyebrow raised at me, head turned to the side as if he doesn’t believe that for a second.

  “No. I have to believe that if she hadn’t lost the baby, she would have told me.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know what to say about it since it was… um, no longer,” he hedges. “It’s possible she thought she didn’t need to add to your hurt after breaking up with you.”

  I think about that. I wasn’t lying when I said I believe she would have told me.

  “I’m so pissed,” I growl.

  He nods. “At?”

  “Her. Life. Fucking Todd and his cheating ways.”

  “You’re mad at her dead father?”

  “Yes. I am. I don’t apologize for that. He made his daughter lose all sense of reason. He took away her ability to trust. To believe in love for fuck’s sake.”

  “I’m not sure he’s still to blame.”

  I lean back against the back of the couch,
letting my arm settle on top of Rocky’s soft fur. I scratch on top of his head and he sighs deeply, content for the little bit of attention he’s receiving from me.

  “I gotta blame someone,” I murmur.

  “I get that.”

  “So, Bri? How’d she look?” he asks, trying to lighten the mood, the smirk covering his face giving him away.

  I half-smile, despite myself. “Gorgeous.”

  He spreads his hands out before him. “As usual.”

  “Right.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Well, I’m going to go to practice tomorrow, watch as the entire team works their asses off to not stare at her, do my best to do the same, and shut down every feeling I still have for her.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you two still fighting against being together? You obviously still have feelings for her.”

  “I’m honestly not sure that’s true. Six years ago, I did, without a question. But, a lot of time has gone by. Yes, she’s still beautiful and our chemistry is still there, but we’re different people. And now, well, attraction isn’t enough.”

  He sits quietly, going over my words, reaching over to pet Rocky. “How’d you get so mature?”

  My gaze drifts down to my leg, the accident causing me to reevaluate life at such a rapid pace that in some ways I grew up overnight. His eyes follow and his chests rises on a deep breath.

  He was there with me through my rehab. Never wavered, never once let me get cranky about the recovery or give up when all I wanted to do was just that. If Blake hadn’t stayed by my side, I don’t know where I’d be right now. Sure, Kennedy was there, but Blake’s friendship is different. He also was one of the first people I saw, aside from family, after I came to from surgery. Save for Bri in my dreams, that is.

  The pain associated with my injury didn’t go away when I got out of the hospital. Or even years later. The doctors are impressed with where I’m at, and they attribute it to my hard work and dedication, as well as the level of shape I was in before the injury.

  I don’t have a clue if any of that is true, or if it was a line of bullshit to keep me active, to keep me working to get better. Frankly, I don’t really care. It worked.

  “You want my opinion?”

  “I always do,” I tell him honestly.

  “You need to think long and hard about what you really want. There’s a reason why you’re cuddling with a dog on your couch rather than a woman, and I think you know what that reason is. If she was out of your system, if she wasn’t still it for you, Kennedy would be sitting here. Or someone else. But no one has ever come close to measuring up, have they?”

  I softly shake my head. I can’t deny it.

  “Now that we got that shit sorted, what the fuck is that smell?”

  I grin. My uncle James owns a restaurant named Balance and makes unbelievable food. When I got home tonight, he was in my house cooking. He knew this week was going to be busy and wanted to make sure I had plenty of food in the fridge.

  I’m spoiled.

  Blake sees the look on my face and his eyes widen as a smile stretches across his face. “Uncle James was here, wasn’t he?”

  “You do realize he’s not your uncle, right?”

  “I do. But if I call him Uncle James when I go to Balance, then I get special treatment. Plus, I think he likes it.”

  I guffaw.

  “You’re so full of it. But yeah, he was here.”

  The words are barely out of my mouth before he’s rummaging through my kitchen, pulling containers out of the fridge and heating up my leftovers.

  “You got milk?” he mumbles around a mouth full of food.

  “Of course.”

  He pours himself a glass of milk and shovels a forkful of pasta into his mouth. “Wanna show me your new plays?”

  This is why we’re friends. He doesn’t let me dwell on the things I can’t change. He makes me move forward and get on with my life.

  Bri

  I wipe my sweaty palms over my jeans and look at myself in the mirror. After I admitted to Grady that I had a miscarriage, I assumed Tuesday morning would be awkward as hell.

  But in true Grady fashion, he made everything okay.

  My foot barely touches the turf when he runs over to me. “I’m not going to apologize for being angry. Not about you not telling me until last night or about thinking it was a shitty thing to inform me of over the phone. But I know better than to let it eat me up. I spent a lot of time allowing shit in the past to do that and I learned from it. Moving on.”

  I press my lips together and shift on my feet and swallow the lump that had formed in my throat at seeing him stride across the turf in my direction. He’s such a good man and I’m such an idiot.

  “You have to know, Grady, that I had no intention of that slipping out that way but I did plan to tell you. In person. Like you deserved – and not just now, six years ago.”

  He nods slowly then takes a step closer. I make the mistake of inhaling his scent, and my knees almost buckle.

  He reaches out and grips my elbow, the contact of his skin on mine causing a current of heat to flow through my veins.

  “You okay? You eat this morning?”

  My heart picks up its beat at the simple question full of care. “Yes, I had breakfast. Eggs and half a bagel with chive cream cheese, if you must know.”

  “Thought I smelled onions,” he teases.

  I playfully shove his shoulder. “You’re such a liar.”

  “In all seriousness. I do want to talk more. But I feel like I’m torn. This time isn’t meant for discussing our lives. It’s about the program.”

  “I guess we’ll need to find time. Probably sooner rather than later. I know you have questions.”

  “Yeah, I do. Is it okay I shared with Blake? I needed to talk it out. He came over last night, helped me a little bit.”

  “It is. And I get it. If I didn’t have my mom during everything… or especially Hazel, I hate to think where I would be right now.”

  At the mention of my little sister, Grady’s face softens. He was only with me for the first few months of her life, but I know he’s seen her consistently since we broke up.

  “How’s my little doodle bug doing?”

  I pull out my phone and show him the most recent selfie I took with her. Her eyes match her name, her hair not quite as dark as mine but crazy long for a six-year-old. She’s got Andy’s smile, though.

  Grady’s smile is a mega-watt when he taps the screen once before he raises his shining eyes to meet mine. “I gave her that shirt.”

  My eyes widen, and I laugh. “You did not.”

  “I did so. Who else would have had that shirt made for her?”

  I look closer and can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier. I didn’t even pay attention to what she was wearing, apparently.

  The shirt says: “Warrior Football (coach) Fan”

  “You are the biggest dork there ever was!”

  “I am not,” he scoffs incredulously. “Besides, look how happy she is! She knows it’s true. Do you even realize how adorable she’s going to look in the jersey and cheerleading outfit I bought her?”

  “Both, huh?”

  “I’m a man of the twenty-first century. It’s her choice which direction she wants to go.” He shrugs those massive shoulders and chuckles.

  I roll my eyes but can’t hide the grin on my face.

  “She made me promise she could come on the field,” he admits, still smiling.

  “I’m not surprised. She probably didn’t have to twist your arm too much, did she?”

  This is good. Safe. We can talk about my sister or heck, even my step brothers. Anything to keep the focus off me and my mistakes.

  “Can’t say that she did.”

  I know from my mom that he’s definitely no stranger to my family. She’s also helped me maintain my distance when she knew he would be around. It was weak, but i
t helped me maintain my sanity. Moving to Chicago helped for sure.

  Of course, that also meant I missed a lot of things with my family, but they’ve been understanding about it. Lately, though, that understanding is starting to wane. It’s like they know I’ve held onto my immaturity for a little too long and they’re done.

  Done trying to cover for me and overlooking my overreaction.

  Because as hard as I try to justify it to anyone, including myself, it was just that. An extreme overreaction. But after the miscarriage, I couldn’t go back. I felt like such a failure. I couldn’t even get a handle on my life enough to take care of myself and, subsequently, a baby.

  Yes, the doctors said that had nothing to do with it.

  But I know better.

  Soon his attention is needed by someone on his coaching staff. He squeezes my elbow once and jogs off. I turn my head to the side slightly, my eyes focus on his legs, trying to see if there’s any noticeable change in the way he moves now. He glances over his shoulder as he talks to a guy who looks like he could use a day or two jogging and does a double take when he notices I’m staring at him.

  His eyes stay glued to mine before he shakes his head and tells the team to start warming up.

  For the rest of the week, he had me doing interviews with a few of the players and other coaching staff.

  “You have a few moments?” I ask Drew, one of the staff members on my list I’ve been waiting to talk to.

  “For you? Of course!” He grins.

  “I’m going to warn you now…”

  “Uh oh,” he interrupts teasingly.

  “It won’t be bad, I promise. Shall we sit?” I ask, gesturing to the chairs on the sidelines.

  “Now you really have me worried.”

  I laugh lightly, shaking my head. “No faith, man. No faith.”

  We both take a seat, him with his elbows on his knees as he leans over. Drew is probably in his mid-thirties, incredibly built, his dark hair buzzed short. His brown eyes are so dark they’re almost black and there’s a small scar right above his upper lip. He has a tattoo sleeve on his right arm and up onto his neck. He might be rough around the edges, but he’s still pretty damn good looking.