The Grumpy Player Next Door: Copper Valley Fireballs #3

by Grant, Pippa

But I will go.

  Max pushing me to try new things? To be better? To open my world wider?

  Every step I’ve taken the past four years, every shift I’ve made, they’ve all been here.

  At home.

  And this is where I belong.

  It’s where I’ll belong until my dying day.

  But not as the manager at Crusty Nut. And not every day for the next couple years while I go back to school.

  It’s where I’ll return though.

  And when I come back—

  When I come back, I’ll take everything I’ve learned here, at school, from Max, from the world I’m about to experience, and I’m running for mayor.

  Shipwreck has only just begun growing and expanding.

  I want to make sure we stay true to our roots while welcoming the wide world in to join us.

  “Are you quitting today?” His voice is thick, and it makes my eyes burn and my sinuses threaten to drip, but I shake my head.

  “No. Not today. Soon, but not today.”

  He smiles. “Well, good, because your mother’s in no shape to come over and help take care of all of those customers out there.”

  I swipe my eyes quickly, nod, and reverse course, passing through the kitchen door and out behind the bar to check on the breakfast crowd when the lone customer sitting at the bar makes me drop my coffee.

  He leaps to his feet. “Shit. Sorry. I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll—”

  “What are you doing here?”

  I’m shrieking.

  Max is sitting at the bar when he’s supposed to be in Florida and I just told my dad the hardest thing I’ve ever told anyone and my feet are coated in hot coffee and I’m shrieking.

  He freezes, his hair still as glittery as mine is, but his eyes—oh, god, I can’t look at his eyes.

  “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I’m afraid. No, not afraid. Terrified. I’m terrified that if I let you all the way in, you’ll realize I’m not worth it, and you’ll walk away, and I’ll never be able to put myself back together again.”

  This isn’t what he’s supposed to say.

  He’s supposed to not be here at all, so I can get over him and not fall back into the same on-again, off-again pattern with him that I had with Ben.

  Except this doesn’t feel off-again, on-again.

  “You hurt me,” I whisper.

  He flinches. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t hear my dad join me from the kitchen, but I know he’s there. The door to Crusty Nut opens, and my mom and Nana and Aunt Bea and Aunt Glory and Annika and Sloane and Georgia and Grady all pile in.

  What do I want to do?

  I want to leap over the bar and kiss his face and hold on so tight that he can’t ever shake me away again and tell my family to go easy on him. He looks every bit as miserable as I am.

  Bags under his eyes. Lips tight. Hair mussed. And his T-shirt looks like he slept in it.

  He’s hurting too.

  But I’ve done the don’t talk about it merry-go-round before, and I know we can’t make this work if we can’t face the hard stuff. “Everyone struggles sometimes, Max, but you can’t just—you can’t push me away, disappear for two weeks, then come back like everything’s fine.”

  “I know.” Still so quiet.

  So beaten.

  “What do you want?” I step out of the coffee mess, leaning back against the shelf under the mirror, giving myself just a wee bit more space. “Why did you come back?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs. He glances to my right, then slides a look at the growing group of my relatives and friends pouring in the door. “You told me once that I challenge you. That I make you want to try new things and help people more. And I thought you couldn’t challenge me back. That I already had everything else I needed. I don’t need money. I don’t need a job. I don’t need a lot of people. But I didn’t know what I was missing until you challenged me to let you in. And then I found something I didn’t even know I needed. I found where I belong. I don’t belong anywhere, Tillie Jean. I don’t have a place I call home. I don’t have people who worry when I disappear. And I thought I liked it that way. But you—you gave me peace. You gave me belief. You gave me a home. You challenged me to be enough, just me, and to trust people to accept me no matter what. And I failed. I wasn’t up for it. But I want to be. I want to learn. I want to be where you belong. I want to be your family. I want to be your home. The same way you’re mine.”

  He looks down and rubs his palms into his eyes. “Jesus. Just being here. Just seeing you—that’s all it takes. You make me okay. You make me want to work hard and stay okay.”

  “And you left spring training behind to come all the way here and tell me that?”

  “Fuck baseball. I don’t need it either. I just—I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care what I have to do. I need—I just need you.”

  The door swings open again and Pop walks in the door. “Tillie Jean, that asshole who didn’t know what he had when he had you has anxiety. Did you know that? It’s all over this here magazine with his naked—”

  Mom, Aunt Bea, and Aunt Glory leap all over him and shove him back out the door.

  Max is looking down again, thrusting his hands through his hair.

  I reach across the bar and tug on his wrist until he lifts his head and looks at me.

  “I didn’t know you did the article.”

  His hand grips mine like it’s a lifeline, hot and firm but shaky. “I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of letting the demons win. You asked me once who I’d be if I wasn’t afraid of who I thought I was. I’d be the guy who chooses happiness. I’d be the guy who believes. I’d be the guy not afraid to say I’m sorry and I love you and please give me one more chance.”

  My eyes are burning again, my heart whirling like it’s riding a helicopter blade ten thousand feet up in the air while I lean closer across the bar. “Are you saying all of that to me right now?”

  “Yes.”

  I swallow hard. “Okay. Go ahead. I’m ready.”

  The corner of his mouth hitches up, but his eyes are still shadowed and haunted. “No shortcuts?”

  “I’d expect nothing less than that to come right back at me, and you know it.”

  He licks his lips. Sucks in a breath. And then meets my gaze. “Tillie Jean, of all the regrets I have in my life, the biggest is walking away from you like an asshole—”

  “Like a festering boil on an asshole’s asshole,” Nana interrupts.

  “Nana,” I hiss.

  “Let her go, TJ,” Grady says. “You’ll appreciate this so much more ten years from now if you let her help.”

  “Do you want to go out back?” I whisper to Max.

  “No.” He squeezes my hand. “Of all of my regrets, the biggest is walking away from you like a festering boil on an asshole’s asshole—”

  “Much better,” Nana declares.

  “—And if I could do it all over again, I’d take your phone calls after I left the scene of the glitter bombing, and I’d tell you I was afraid your brother would hate me, but that you were worth that risk, and if he did, that would be his problem, not mine. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to love you. I want to make you happy. I want to travel the world with you and laugh with you and joke with you and give you jars of pickles for your birthday because it would confuse the ever-loving fuck out of you, and I want you to retaliate by giving me a bag of potatoes with your grandfather’s face on them because it’s the weirdest gift I can think of. I want to go to The Grog and challenge you to a game of pool instead of standing on the sidelines wondering what people would think if I did. I want to fall asleep in your arms every night and wake up to your give me coffee so I can live face every morning.”

  “That’s a seriously ugly face,” Grady says like he’s trying to be quiet, except we all know he’s not. “Have you seen it, Aunt Glory?”

  “Too many times, young man.” Aunt Glory shudders out loud. “Too many times.”

&nbs
p; “I love that face,” Max whispers to me.

  “It’s really not a pretty face,” I whisper back.

  “It is to me.”

  “It’s even worse than blotchy tear-face.”

  He smiles. “I love all of your faces.”

  It’s the smile that seals the deal.

  Growly Bear Max?

  He’s hot.

  Smiling Max?

  He’s everything.

  Everything.

  And I want to kiss that smile every day until I’m old and gray, and probably a lot more days after that too. “You know smiling is cheating, right?” I whisper.

  “Not when it’s an honest smile.”

  “I love you, Growly Bear.”

  “I’m going to love you forever, Trouble Jean.” His lips brush mine, and all of the shadows and clouds I’ve been living with fade away.

  We’re not perfect. So far from it.

  But he’s everything I’ve been waiting for.

  It’s time to leap headfirst into the adventure of love.

  Epilogue

  Max

  Heading back to Shipwreck after the baseball season isn’t quite the same this year as it was last year.

  For one, we only have limited time here since she’s enrolled in classes for the public administration degree she’s working on at Copper Valley University. For two, we’re both in her house instead of me moving in next door, though I made the offer for nostalgia’s sake. For three, there’s a hell of a lot less pressure, which I attribute one hundred percent to TJ’s lessons on do what you can do, be responsible for only the things you can affect, pay attention when the universe steers you, and let the rest go. And four, I’m not an outsider.

  Turns out getting caught shopping for diamond rings makes a guy official around here.

  But I still roll over in bed on the fourth Thursday of November, back in Shipwreck since TJ has the whole week off from classes, waking up and feeling off-kilter.

  It’s like my body knows.

  But unlike last year, two bright blue eyes are staring at me when I finally peel open my own eyelids. “Happy morning, sunshine,” Tillie Jean whispers.

  Hard not to smile back at that. “Somebody’s already had her coffee.”

  “Nope. No coffee yet.”

  My brows go up.

  That’s unusual. “But you’re coherent.”

  “Because it’s important.”

  She has my full and undivided attention.

  Tillie Jean coherent before coffee because of something important is cause for concern. I reach for her under the sheet and tug her close. “What’s up?”

  “I need to know what you want to do today.”

  “Why?”

  “I know you hate holidays. So I want to do whatever will make you happy today.”

  I frown. “You don’t want to do Shipwreck’s Thanksgiving?”

  “Do you?” she counters. “If you want to be alone, that’s fine. Just tell me, and I’ll go. If you want to go, we can both go, but only if you want to go. I don’t want you to feel obligated. But if you want me to stay here with you and skip everything, I’m good with that too. I just need to know so I don’t drink coffee if I shouldn’t.”

  “You love Thanksgiving.”

  “Bah.” She wrinkles her nose. “I love every day in Shipwreck. If I miss anything, I’ll hear six versions of it by this time tomorrow. I am leading senior aerobics tomorrow morning before Nana and Mom and Dita head out for shopping in the city. I promised all the menfolk I’d wear them out so they can’t spend as much.”

  This town.

  I fucking love it. And when my contract’s up and TJ has her degree, the first thing we’re doing is moving right back here so I can help her get elected mayor and watch her take all the good she loves doing around here to the next level.

  But I love Tillie Jean more than I love anything. “Never too late to replace shitty traditions with good ones.” I squeeze her ass. “Like starting holidays with dessert before breakfast.”

  “Can you eat pie? That’s more sugar than I’ve seen you eat in the last year combined.”

  I duck my head under the covers. “Not talking about pie, Trouble Jean.”

  I find what I do want to eat for dessert before breakfast, and her breathy, “Ooooh, yes,” solidifies it.

  Every Thanksgiving morning from here on out will start with me eating Tillie Jean’s pussy.

  And then a nap.

  And then sex in the shower.

  And then both our phones start blowing up.

  “We can go,” I tell her as she’s drying her hair.

  “But do you want to?” she presses.

  Do I?

  I don’t know.

  I do know she hasn’t had her coffee yet though, so I kiss her shoulder and head out to the kitchen, where I almost jump out of my skin. “Jesus, goats.”

  “Rawk! Jesus goats are holy goats. Rawk!”

  Goatstradamus and his two best pals don’t stop gnawing on the kitchen table. The back door is hanging wide open, and Long Beak Silver is perched on the kitchen faucet.

  “Tillie Jean, I’m buying you a new lock, and there’s no arguing,” I call. I lure the goats out with half of the collard greens in the fridge, then lock the door and shove a chair under it.

  I’m not getting her a new lock today.

  “Rawk! Help! I’ve been kidnapped! Rawk!”

  I stare at the bird. “That, I believe. You don’t sound like Long Beak Silver.”

  “Rawk! Batten the hatches! Rawk!”

  “He had remedial training.” Tillie Jean slips her arms around my waist from behind. “Did I forget to tell you, or were you tied up in that crazy West Coast trip?”

  “I would never forget a single word you’ve ever told me. Clearly, this is on you.”

  She snorts with laughter. “Uh-huh.”

  And then she shuffles along behind me while I make my way to the coffee pot, her arms still linked around my waist.

  She does this at least three times a week, and I love it.

  “We really don’t have to leave the house today,” she says.

  And I finally get suspicious.

  I start her coffee, but then I unhook her hands, turn around, and grab her by the cheeks. “Matilda Jean Rock. What did you do?”

  Her eyes dance, and her smile lights up the whole damn galaxy. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Yet?”

  She winks.

  I scrub a hand over my face.

  On the one hand, if she’s thinking of doing what I think she’s thinking of doing—though I don’t have an exact what, merely a thematic idea—then yeah, Cooper deserves it and more.

  The minute I got back to Florida for spring training with Tillie Jean in tow in February, he nodded, clapped me on the back, told me not to be a dick, and went back to being the Cooper he’d always been.

  We still haven’t paid him back for the EGB.

  That’s the Epic Glitter Bombing, and yes, it’s capitalized every time, because it’s not toppable.

  Probably.

  Maybe.

  Tillie Jean has had some extra thinking time this year.

  But on that other hand—Cooper’s had one hell of a year, and he could probably use a break.

  Probably.

  Maybe.

  Or maybe not.

  All’s fair in baseball, love, and prank wars.

  “Tillie Jean?”

  “What? I didn’t hire someone to dig up his driveway and replace it with plants to make it look like his house has disappeared. That would be too far.”

  She makes air quotes around too far, and I’m suddenly choking on my own laughter. “Is this a regular reminder to not piss you off?”

  “Max. I only give my best pranks to the men I love.”

  “And are you trying to keep me here so you can prank me all day?”

  “No, but I do have a Thanksgiving present for you. If you want it. I’m completely serious when I say you get to tell
me what to do today. I don’t have to hang onto old traditions. I just want to hang onto you.”

  “So let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Thanksgiving dinner. Show me your traditions. Can’t reject it if I don’t know what I’m missing.”

  Her eyes light up even more. “Brilliant. And if anyone annoys you and you want to leave—”

  “I’ll do my best Long Beak Silver impersonation and call them a fucking fucker.”

  “Rawk! Profanity is for the weak! Rawk!”

  “Okay, that’s seriously creepy,” I whisper.

  “Apparently Nana kidnapped the bird and made him watch some annoying kid show on repeat until he cried uncle.”

  “Huh. And I thought maybe she kidnapped him and made him hang out with Estevez for a day.”

  She snorts with laughter as her coffee beeps. “Ooh, life juice!”

  We chase Long Beak Silver out of the house too, and then I indulge in a cup with her—yeah, it’s hard to resist that smell—while we snuggle on the couch watching a few episodes of Ted Lasso again until it’s time for the Shipwreck festivities to begin.

  Tillie Jean leaps off the couch. “But first—your Thanksgiving present.”

  She disappears down the hall, and comes back a minute later with a small pink gift bag.

  I shake my head in mock disappointment. “Not Thanksgiving colors, Trouble Jean.”

  “Shh. Just open it.”

  My birthday present this year was a box of pasta.

  Regular ol’ spaghetti noodles from the grocery store.

  Not even kidding.

  It was so random, I laughed until I cried, which was apparently the point. You can buy yourself anything, but you would not have bought yourself spaghetti noodles for your birthday, TJ had informed me.

  And then she gave me the best blowjob of my life.

  And I got a pirate pillow with her face on it for Talk Like a Pirate Day.

  Apparently it’s an important holiday here in Shipwreck.

  She got a blow-up hammock that looks like a vagina for her birthday.

  I told her it was better than a car or a boat since it would keep her humble.

  We might not be normal, but fuck, do we laugh a lot.

  I take the pink bag from her and peek inside, but all I see is more pink tissue paper, so I dig in.