Swing For The Fences

by Kimberly Readnour

  Melanie’s round face smiles up at me as I lift her into her high chair and strap her in. Her golden-speckled eyes widen, and a sigh slips from my mouth. She looks so much like her daddy. It’s hard to fully hate the man when my kids are the spitting image of him.

  As I pour Melanie’s oatmeal into her bowl, my gaze wanders to the phone’s black screen staring back at me, tempting me to respond.

  I. Must. Be. Strong.

  I don’t need someone like Jax in my life. If—and that’s a very big if—I’m ready to date, it’s certainly not going to be with Mr. Player of the Year. He has his pick of women. Ones who have incredible bodies, not a three-kids-later body. I don’t know why he’s even bothering me.

  Dang it, I don’t need this distraction. Not today. I march back to the table and flip the phone over, as if not being able to see the screen will purge thoughts of him away. I’d question how he even got my number, but there’s no doubt in my mind who the traitorous menace would be. A laugh escapes at the irony considering how quickly I handed Lacey’s number to Zach all those years ago. Well played, Zach. Well played.

  “Mommy, Tristan refuses to get out of bed.” Trenna’s feet pad across the floor, and she comes to a full stop on the kitchen tile.

  “I need your full cooperation today.” I scoop the oatmeal into two more bowls and peer out the kitchen window at the gray skies promising rain. Just perfect.

  “What’s fool operation?”

  “Full koh-op-uh-rey-shun,” I sound out, placing her bowl on the table. “It means I need for Tristan and you to be on your best behavior. I have to get ready for a job interview.”

  “Why do you want a job? Daddy’s the one who works.”

  Oh, dear God.

  “It takes money to pay the bills, sweetie.”

  “Daddy says he pays enough in sport that you don’t have to work.”

  My jaw clamps down as I grip the milk handle tighter. Don’t speak ill of the bastard in front of the kids. I repeat this mantra three times until I feel safe enough to speak. I don’t know why I try; he obviously doesn’t hold the same respect for me.

  “It’s support. Eat your oatmeal. I’ll go take care of Tristan.” I lift Melanie out of her seat and add, “You’ll need to wear your rain jacket today.”

  After the twins board the school bus, I bring Melanie over to Ms. Neely, our neighbor, before I finish getting ready. Then, and only then, do I allow myself to think about Carl’s hurtful words. I can’t believe that selfish prick thinks he pays me enough money to not work. How can he not realize the court-ordered child support and alimony is nowhere near enough to pay for everything? Between the mortgage and the car payment, I’m sinking further into debt, while that jerk continues to live his life the way he wants. I’m not the one who drives a freaking Mercedes. My Honda suits me fine, and my life is far from extravagant. The kids and I have been hermits, existing in this mundane life. How is that fair to them or me? Maybe I’d like to take the kids and do something fun. Well, guess what? That all takes money.

  Somewhere along the way, I lost myself. Maybe because I always conformed to what Carl asked, I didn’t see the subtle signs of complacency. I mean, I was happy. Or, so, I thought. A year after our divorce, I’m not happy, and Carl’s still trying to dictate my life.

  I study my reflection in the mirror and frown at the embedded scowl that never seems to go away. It’s time for a change. Even if it’s minor. I’ll slay this interview and reestablish myself among society. I have to. I can’t keep going this way.

  Deciding that my new life needs sprucing up, I dig around my jewelry box and search for the petite gold hoops my mother gave me on my eighteenth birthday. I haven’t worn them in years, always opting for the diamond studs Carl surprised me with one Christmas. As I shove aside my late grandma’s costume jewelry, the golden pendant shines up at me like a beacon of truth, reminiscent of an earlier life where I was indeed happy.

  A small smile forms as I trace the outline of the hot air balloon. I don’t know when the last time was that I did something adventurous. Something daring. Carl never pushed me into doing things. Not like Jax.

  Shit. During the four months Jax and I dated, there was no questioning my happiness. Even with his crazy schedule, he made sure I crossed things off my “must do before graduation” list. I joked the list was supposed to expand over four years, but he didn’t care. He wanted to be the first person to make sure I did it all. And he was the first of many things.

  JOCELYN

  Late September, Ten Years Prior

  My breaths come quick and short as a fluttering sensation overpowers my stomach. By size alone, I’m scared. It’s so big. Massive. But the bigger, the better, right? Shit, I don’t know if I’m ready.

  I close my eyes momentarily and pace my breathing to calm my nerves. I do want this. Need this. We’re actually going through with this?

  “The first time is the scariest, but also the most thrilling.” Jax’s fingertips skim across my midriff, his woody scent engulfing me. The slight squeeze of his fingers against my skin calms my racing heart before he pulls me closer to him. “You’re not alone. I’m right here with you. You and me. Together.”

  “You’ve done this before?” My voice, an octave above a whisper, sounds foreign, even to me. I want him to say no. To say this untapped experience belongs to us, but I kind of need his guidance.

  The corners of his lips draw up, the tenderness in his rich, warm gaze pinning me in place. I never want to leave the safety of his arms wrapped around me.

  “Yes, but if I had to do it all over again, I would’ve waited for you.”

  The tension lifts.

  “Uh-huh. Sure.” I punch his arm and turn back to eye the gondola that could potentially plummet to our deaths. If his confessional words were meant to relax me, he succeeded. “I totally believe you.”

  His laugh comes easy and relaxed, and I envy his brevity.

  “Come on, let’s cross off number four.” His lips brush the side of my forehead as his hand slides into mine. He nudges me toward the hot air balloon.

  I follow, an odd mixture of excitement and dread swirling through my veins. When I was little, my grandma told me about her balloon ride. I listened and looked at her in awe as a dreamy look crossed her face. She said she never felt freer than when she was in the sky floating like the birds. Then she said the words I’ll never forget: “You’re like a bird in a cage, begging to be freed. Promise me you’ll never settle. You’re destined for greatness, so soar above. Be free.”

  I want more than anything to fulfill that promise. That’s why I picked a college over five hundred miles away. The balloon ride moved higher on my list, but more importantly, I left the suffocating town and started working on my promise.

  Swallowing past the lump of anxiety threatening to close my throat, I plaster on a brave smile. I can do this. If anything, for my grandma, who—if she were still alive today—would be telling me to go for it. Reach new heights. That lump swells as the influx of loving memories tightens my chest. I need your support today, Grammie. As if realizing the scales have tipped to the negative, Jax’s grip tightens.

  I had to overcome quite a bit of anxiety these past few weeks, thanks to Jax. I knew eventually I would tick off the top five of my list; I just didn’t know they’d be completed by second semester. Well, not quite all the way done; box number five remains unchecked. Hell, we haven’t even kissed, but the way things are progressing between us, Jax may be ticking that box off sooner rather than later.

  “You’re starting to freak again.” He leans down and plants a kiss on my forehead. “We’ll be fine.”

  Speaking of adventure, I’ll follow this guy anywhere. Even to my death. Shit. Why didn’t I have sex higher on the list?

  “I don’t want to die before experiencing a mind-blowing orgasm.”

  Jax chokes back a laugh.

  “I’d be more than happy to take care of that for you.” He stops walking and draws me close to him aga
in. “But we’re not going to die.”

  “Promise me?”

  “I promise.”

  The pilot blasts the burner flame into the balloon’s mouth while the ground crew positions the ropes accordingly. I swallow hard. The air inside heats, and the balloon rises to full height, the vibrant colors stretching across the material. I gasp. It really is a magnificent sight. Once the gondola straightens upright and the balloon is steady, they allow us to board.

  Jax releases my hand and grabs my hips to help. Inside, I wrap my sweaty palms across the top ledge while Jax positions behind me. He nestles his lips next to my ear and whispers, “As long as you’re with me, you’ll always be safe.”

  He has no way of controlling the fate of this ride, but somehow, I believe his words. Maybe it’s the security of having his body wrapped around mine, but I imagine a deeper meaning behind them. I don’t know. But I’m glad we’re sharing this experience together.

  Despite what television portrays, the lift goes smoothly. The field becomes smaller and smaller, leaving behind my stomach. It isn’t until we reach the desired height that I give myself over to the thrill. Exhilarating is the only way to describe it. Tears sting my eyes as Grammie’s words race through my mind. She’s right. It’s absolutely beautiful up here, and I’ve never felt freer.

  “Look, there’s our school.” Jax points to the place I now call home. He places his cheek against mine but quickly backs away. His thumb swipes the lone tear as he kisses the top of my head. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  “Nothing. Emotions getting the best of me, that’s all.” I smile and lean against his chest. As we absorb the beautiful sights, I proceed to tell him about my grandma. I leave out the embarrassing parts, like her always praising me, but he nods in understanding.

  “I’m glad I could give you this.” He wraps his arms around my waist and draws me even closer. I’ve never felt so secure.

  “Me too. Thanks so much for doing this.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The rest of the ride is spent pointing out the various sights as we travel at a slow pace. I stay wrapped in his arms despite the heat from the burners mimicking the huge bonfire my high school lit during homecoming week. It didn’t matter if the outside temperature was eighty or fifty degrees; each year the alumni stacked wooden pallets twelve feet high with the opposing team’s mascot strapped to the top. The heat was felt clear to the parking lot.

  When it comes time to land, I bend my knees and brace myself against a rough landing. I read horror stories on the internet and wanted to be as prepared as possible. Jax chuckles against my ear, the vibrations traveling down my spine. Tiny goose bumps erupt, and I know the slight shiver isn’t just from the fear of landing.

  The bottom of the gondola touches the ground before the pilot lifts us in the air again. I tighten my hands on the basket’s edge as Jax moves to my side. He bumps me with his hip and flashes a grin. I nod, the tension lessening. Yeah, we’ll be okay. The gondola touches down again, but a shift in the wind causes the basket to lift before slamming back down and jarring us forward. A little rough, but we made it.

  A huge grin spreads across my face as I glance at Jax. He extends his hand to help me out, but my feet tangle and stumble forward, knocking him off balance. We crash on the rough ground with me lying on top of him. He lets out an “oomph,” and his hands snake underneath my layers of clothing.

  “Hardly the place to attack me, Dixie.” His deep voice holds a slight edge of humor that dies when our gazes connect. I’m not sure if he’s aware of his fingers slowly stroking my sides, but the slight touch awakens every repressed desire I ever had. Burning want darkens his eyes before his gaze drops to my mouth. My heart slams against my chest as I run my tongue across my upper lip. Intentional? I don’t know, but his rock-hard body stretched beneath me makes it impossible to think. I weave my fingers through his hair, my fingertips brushing against his scalp.

  “Fuck it,” Jax says through the sexiest moan. He lifts his lips to mine, and the moment we touch, my hormones zing to life. I’m hyperaware of every inch of his body. He must sense the change in me. Or, maybe, he feels the same because he thrusts his tongue forward and takes possession of my mouth. The tingly sensations intensify and shoot straight to my toes.

  Holy shit, this guy can kiss. It’s the most erratic and domineering sensation I’ve ever felt.

  I succumb and follow his lead, twisting fistfuls of hair. His arms slide around my back and tighten their hold as he controls the tempo. The solid bulge twitching beneath my hips rouses my inner desire, and my body begs for more. I’ve never been so turned on from a single kiss, and it makes me believe he’s quite capable of performing number five.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy to land before.” The pilot’s voice reminds us we’re not alone.

  Warmth floods my face as we break apart. Public displays of affection have never been my forte, but the outside world faded away as I got lost in his kiss.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” Jax says between pants. His response is directed toward the pilot, but his stare doesn’t waver from me.

  A slow smile crosses my lips. “Just so we’re clear, we’re doing this again. And I don’t mean the hot air balloon ride.”

  Chapter Seven

  JOCELYN

  Current day

  Good luck with your interview. You’re going to nail it. I read the words, yet again, before sliding the phone back into my purse. The debate whether to reply still ping-pongs in my head. Ignoring him seems rude, but I don’t want to reopen that line of communication. It won’t lead to anywhere good.

  The subway rails screech to a halt, and I raise my hand to the lapel of my blazer—to the small balloon brooch I felt compelled to wear. Don’t ask me why, but I couldn’t seem to place it back inside the jewelry box. I rub a thumb across the smooth section of gold as the gush of memories haunting my brain keeps torturing me. Up until the end, we had such good times together. Maybe I’m overthinking everything. Maybe my subconscious is telling me to reply.

  Stupid bitch. My heart has been hurt enough. No good could come from this.

  I grab hold of the metal pole and clutch the umbrella in my other hand as I stand, refusing to give in to my mind’s temptation. I need to concentrate on this interview, not have ten-year-old flashbacks. How am I ever going to move forward if I can’t shake loose the past? Sorry, Jax, I won’t be a repeated notch on your bedpost. No matter how attentive you were in bed or how long of a dry spell I’ve endured.

  My grip tightens on the pole as warmth skims across my skin and tingles between my thighs. Seems like my subconscious isn’t the only thing being a traitorous bitch.

  The gray sky finally gives in to the threatening rain as soon as I exit the subway terminal. Great. I pop open my umbrella in a feeble attempt to keep from getting wet, but the angular rain soaks my pants. Staying dry isn’t an option today. It’s my own fault; I cut the commute too short. Pressed for time, I can’t even duck into a storefront and wait out the storm. Despite my body’s protest, my feet march forward and carry me across the pavement, avoiding the quickly forming puddles.

  I choke back the cry of relief when the brown-framed door with Mama Kessler’s Bakery scrolled across the glass comes within five feet. Almost there. A gust of wind howls through the street and knocks straight into me. My unavoidable yelp gets carried away when the umbrella’s metal framework bends backward. Cold rain pelts my face, each stinging drop a reminder of the year’s shitty circumstances. I quickly grab the nylon canopy and tug down, hoping the arms snap back in place. They don’t. The distorted ribs waver in the wind, but I angle the umbrella as a shield and grip the edge tighter. Forging forward, I don’t stop until the bakery’s cement approach appears underfoot. A shaky laugh escapes my mouth. Doesn’t this cap off my year?

  A couple quick shakes of the umbrella do nothing to rid the excess water. The act is useless. Water drips from every available surface:
my blazer, my pant legs, the umbrella, and my hair.

  Oh, my hair.

  My first impression will be interesting. I’m a freaking mess. While I ponder the idea of rescheduling, a loud boom jars me forward. The scent of freshly baked bread with a hint of cinnamon welcomes me as I push through the door. Cold and wetness forgotten, my chest fills with the warm reminiscence of Sunday mornings at Grammie’s house. She always made the best sticky buns. My baking skills can be attributed to her. She taught me so many things.

  I inhale the delicious goodness and grab the umbrella runner to slide it down. But the blissful memory wipes away when the ribs jam and refuse to close—a reminder of my current situation. A few tugs later, I abandon the idea and lay the broken mess in the corner. Water drips to the floor and pools by my feet while I dig in my purse for a hair clip. Even if we cancel, I still need to look halfway presentable. I can’t meet my potential boss looking like a wet noodle.

  Watching the rain skirt across the sidewalk, I twist my hair into a bun. When the last strand is secured into place, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck flicker to life and alert me to a presence.

  “Are you sure you’re not stalking me?”

  I swear I feel his presence before the richness of his voice slides across my shoulders, down my arms, and confirms my suspicion. With widened eyes, I slowly turn around.

  “W-w-what are you doing here?” My breath hitches as the guy, who has wormed his way into every facet of my mind, steps closer, his large frame overshadowing me.

  Jax.

  The black dress shirt stretches across his strong, muscular frame. The first two buttons gap open, revealing the bronze skin that has always tantalized me. I fist my hands against my thighs to keep from reaching out to him. Dear God, he looks good. I just want to rub my palms along his pecs. I’d ask him to put the coat draped over his arms back on, but that would be a shame.

  Jax certainly isn’t the same boy from our freshman year. New and improved, he’s the caramelized glaze on a sticky pecan bun. My mouth waters, and I force my gaze back to his face before I take a bite.