Fix Her Up

by Tessa Bailey

  Travis’s hand closed around the neck of a bottle and he sat up, wincing as his brain performed a somersault. Please, God, let there be enough whiskey in this bottle to numb the memory of hurting Georgie. Because fuck, he’d hurt her so bad.

  Travis unscrewed the top of the bottle, but when he tipped it toward his lips, he stared down into the golden contents instead. Was this where he was at? Drinking himself into a stupor over losing a woman? That’s exactly what his father had done. Or what he’d used as an excuse to drink himself into an oblivion anyway. Maybe he and Mark Ford weren’t so different after all. Travis started to lift the bottle again and paused.

  A voice drifted out of the darkness. One he knew as well as his own. It was Georgie’s. Words she’d spoken the last time he’d been in this state.

  You’re only him if you lie down and play the victim. You’re better than this.

  “I’m not better. I lost you,” he rasped into the silent living room.

  Sweet man. Strong man.

  His head tipped back on a miserable groan. The alcohol in his hand was so close, but he couldn’t bring himself to drink it with Georgie’s voice in his head. In his heart.

  “Christ, I love you, Georgette Castle.” He set down the bottle, filling his hands with his pounding head instead. “I’m in love with you.”

  No answer. Of course not. She wasn’t really there to hear him realizing, far too late, that he’d started falling in love with her the day she’d barged into his apartment throwing food.

  No, she wasn’t there. At least not in a physical way. But in every other way that counted, she took up every corner and surface in his house. A League of Their Own sat in its case on Travis’s television stand. Her Tupperware was still tucked in his cabinets. Her voice echoed off the walls. Exactly as it should be. Their things were meant to be in the same house. Their lives were meant to be twisted up and twined together forever. For so long, committing to forever had been unrealistic. A surefire path to bitterness and failure.

  Well, he’d been wrong. This. This was failure. Having the very thing he needed more than breath and squandering it. Georgie had been the one person in his life to remain committed to him for better or worse, even when he was too young and oblivious to realize it. She’d loved him all along. Now that he wanted—needed—forever with Georgie, it wasn’t an option.

  You’re only him if you lie down and play the victim.

  “I heard you, baby girl,” he croaked. “But you hate me now. You should.”

  The man Georgie deserved wouldn’t wallow in self-pity, though, would he? No, he’d get his ass up and find a way to make her understand. A way to make her forgive. Was he that man?

  Because if he won Georgie back, it would be with the intention of giving her everything she wanted in this life. A home, a future. Children.

  Travis closed his eyes, imagining himself as a father for the first time in his life. He went back to the night of their dinner in Old Westbury and replaced Kelvin with himself. Squatting beside a little girl with Georgie’s eyes and smile, clapping as Georgie juggled. He thought of finger paintings drying over the sink, just as Georgie had described weeks ago, only now it was a vision of heaven instead of hell. Because he could see himself there. With her. With the lives they created. He was a good man capable of more than he’d ever known. Georgie thought so and he would damn well believe her.

  Such a huge wave of contentment—and responsibility—crashed into Travis’s chest that he had to struggle through several breaths. And then he was off the couch, stumbling toward the bathroom, wrestling with his clothes and wrenching on the shower faucet. As he cleaned himself off as fast as he possibly could with a monster hangover, the vision grew stronger.

  Someday he would swear to Georgie he’d seen the future in that shower.

  She would tell him he’d still been drunk, but she’d smile and get misty-eyed.

  No, forget that part. His Georgie would never cry again. Not the sad kind of tears, anyway. She would cry when he finished the fireplace. On their wedding day. When their children were born. When those same children graduated from college. Good tears. He’d give her good tears for the rest of her life. He was capable of it. He was this man—not some man who’d come before. If she believed in him once, she could do it again. This time it would be different, because he believed in himself. That he could make her happy. Forever.

  First he had to win her back.

  But it wouldn’t be easy.

  Travis was clearly the last person Bethany expected to find on her doorstep.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She propped a shoulder against the doorjamb and hauled in a long sip of white wine. “My sister isn’t here. Even if she was, I would rather exfoliate with sandpaper than let you see her for even a second.”

  Keep it together. Keep. It. Together. Don’t beg to know where Georgie is. What she’s doing. If she’s okay. That wasn’t his purpose there. And he didn’t have the right to know yet. In lieu of words, he took a key out of his pocket, extending it toward Bethany to take.

  “What is that?”

  “It’s the key to my house. The one I grew up in.” Voice rusty from disuse, he didn’t bother trying to make himself sound normal. It was taking all of his effort to stand there and not ask for news about Georgie. Something. Anything. “Flip it however you want and keep the profit. It’s yours. Free and clear.”

  Bethany straightened slowly. “You’re giving me the house? Why?”

  “It’s important to her. You succeeding. All of you succeeding. She’s good in that way. She’s so fucking good, you know?”

  “The best.”

  Travis took a necessary moment to breathe. “And I need her—I need her to know—the past is over. I’m done living there.” Not wanting to give her room to refuse, he put the key in Bethany’s free hand, closing her fingers around it. “But I’m going to ask for something in return. Because I’m fucking desperate.”

  “You’d have to be to ask me for help. I’m only giving you the time of day because . . .” The barest hint of sympathy crept into her expression. “You really do look like hell,” she grumbled into her wineglass. “Why am I not enjoying this as much as I should?”

  “You know I’m in love with her. That’s why.” Saying it out loud seemed to make it that much more true. Voicing the truth written on his soul felt so incredible, he couldn’t wait to say it over and over again for the rest of his life. To Georgie. To anyone who would listen. Unless, of course, Georgie wouldn’t take him back, in which case he’d be saying it to the business end of a pillow for the foreseeable future. “I love that girl in every way it’s possible to love someone. And maybe a few ways that don’t even have a name. I’m just asking you to help me prove it to her.”

  Bethany blinked away the moisture in her eyes. “You did a number on her.”

  The pain that ripped through him was so intense, Travis had to prop a hand on the house for support. “If she decides she’ll be happier without me, so be it.” He swallowed a fistful of nails. “Maybe that’s true. But I’m not losing her lying down.”

  He could feel Georgie’s sister studying him. Couldn’t lift his head to confirm it, though. “What do I have to do?”

  Hope sparked to life. Just enough to make his neck work, so he could look at Bethany. “Please. I have things I need to say to Georgie. Just get her to listen.”

  “Tell me your plan and I’ll think about it.”

  When Travis finished, she swirled her wine in her glass and tossed it back. “Fine. I’ll help. But afterward, her decision is final. You have to respect it.” Just before shutting the door, she tossed up the key and caught it. “Thanks for the house.”

  Travis walked down the porch, zero spring in his step. No, it was way too early for that.

  At least now he had a plan.

  The promise of that alone would be enough to make it one more day, when he would fight for his damn life. Their life together.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine
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  From the neck down, Georgie looked like dynamite. Everything above that?

  Not so much.

  She’d been saving the little black dress for a special occasion. The one-week anniversary of the world’s most traumatic breakup seemed special enough, right? Granted, no one besides the Just Us League ladies would see her wearing it, but the fitted silk material made her feel better. For, like, a full five seconds. Her longest streak yet!

  Oh God. She shut down the camera app she’d been using as a mirror and dropped the cell into her lap. Through the windshield, she watched Bethany and Rosie flit back and forth in front of the living room window, preparing the house for the meeting. Georgie should have been in there helping them, but her sister and Rosie would take one look at her gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes and know she’d been a sobbing insomniac, despite her reassuring texts to the contrary. Plus, it would take so much energy to get out of the car and walk all the way to the front door. She’d have to fill chip bowls and uncork wine . . .

  Georgie dropped her head back against the seat and groaned.

  It was unbelievable how much she missed Travis even after everything. By sheer force of will, she’d gotten out of bed every morning, returned client phone calls, and booked an exciting number of parties, for both herself and the new entertainers. She might have sunk to the lowest pit of despair, but the new, improved Georgie wouldn’t wallow there. People were counting on her. And yeah, pride was a huge motivator, too. She’d stood in front of these women and defended Travis, but that zeal had been misplaced—a mistake she would walk in and own. If she didn’t own it now, she’d hide forever.

  The temptation to do exactly that was so strong, though. God. What an absolute fool she’d been. She’d been blind, no idea that her secrets weren’t secrets. That the person who’d been encouraging her didn’t think she was smart enough to know her own heart.

  How could he hold her in his arms so tightly through the night, knowing her feelings far exceeded his own? How dare he. How dare he give her some illusion he never intended to keep up.

  Despite all of this, she needed him. Half of her soul felt torn away.

  For what seemed like the millionth time, she closed her eyes tight and remembered the kisses, the hugs, the laughing, playing baseball in the rain. The way she’d felt about Travis had been right there all along, plain as day. Georgie might have tried to play it cool, but it was an inherent part of her. Every moment of their time together, she’d been expressing that love. Dropping off leftovers, encouraging him, throwing food at his head. Her heart had created an extra chamber for loving Travis Ford. The fact that he’d borne witness to it and continued to doubt made those feelings seem invalid.

  Georgie’s body moved with an awful lethargy as she climbed out of the car, careful not to trip over her own feet on the brick path. High heels hadn’t been the best idea, considering her legs weren’t working right. Just like the rest of Georgie, her limbs moved at a sluggish pace. Her hand lifted to the doorknob like it was submerged in a jar of Vaseline.

  The door swung open before she was halfway through the process, and Georgie lost her balance, sending her pitching forward. Bethany and Rosie caught her, the simple human contact sending a shock wave of sorrow through her.

  “I’m not good.”

  “I know, honey,” Bethany said, helping her straighten and pulling her back into a hug. But not before she got a decent look at Georgie’s face. “Oh shit. No worries. I’ve got a bottle of concealer upstairs that could hide the spots on a fucking cow.”

  Rosie rubbed a circle on her back. “How about a drink?”

  “No, thanks. It’ll only make things worse.” She pulled away from her sister. “Maybe just, like, a half a glass of literally anything?”

  “I’ll grab some glasses and a bottle and meet you guys upstairs,” Bethany said, giving her shoulder a final squeeze. “We’ve got more than enough time before everyone arrives.”

  Georgie and Rosie made their way upstairs, going straight for Bethany’s en suite bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bathtub, instantly comforted by the luxurious cream-striped wallpaper and matching fluffy towels. The little notches in the wall where candles flickered gave off a glow and the scent of pears and freesia. Growing up, Bethany had always bemoaned sharing a bathroom with her siblings, vowing to have her own private bathing palace one day. Mission accomplished. Throw in a minifridge and it would be livable.

  “I know your mind is all over the place right now,” Rosie said in a soft voice, dropping into an elegant lean against the wall. “But . . . Georgie, I can’t thank you enough. We hit the donation goal early this morning. For the restaurant.”

  “What?” Georgie gasped, the storm clouds parting. “No way. Oh my God, Rosie. That’s fantastic.” She shot off the tub, throwing both arms around her friend. “Of course you hit the goal once word of mouth got around.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Rosie whispered. “I can’t believe that many want to come to my restaurant. Bad enough to put money where their mouth is.”

  “I can believe it,” Georgie said, easing away. “Lots of work ahead.”

  Rosie blew out a breath. “Yes.”

  “We’ll help you,” Bethany said with a radiant smile as she walked into the bathroom, balancing a tray of champagne and three glasses. “It’ll make me feel less guilty when I put you two in hard hats for demo day.” With a twist of her wrist, she popped the cork. “I’ve got myself a house.”

  Georgie spun toward her sister. “You—how?” With too many emotions to compute in one day, her laughter was watery, but her pleasure was genuine. “Did Stephen cave?”

  “No.” Bethany pushed Georgie back down onto the lip of the bathtub and handed her a glass of champagne. “Travis Ford handed me the key to his childhood house. Gave me permission to flip and sell it, free and clear.”

  Hearing his name out loud was a one-two punch to the sternum. All she could do was sit there and breathe in, out, in, out. He’d done what? “I don’t understand,” she finally whispered. “Why would he do that?”

  Bethany rolled her eyes. “He said it was important to you that I succeed. Or something. I wasn’t really listening.” She set down her champagne glass and dragged over a designer makeup bag. “Let’s get to work on those dark circles, shall we—”

  “Wait a second.” Georgie couldn’t even feel the glass between her fingers. “He just came here and . . . Was he . . . Did he . . .”

  Georgie’s sister squirted some beige foundation onto the back of her hand and ran a silver-tipped brush through it, applying the cool liquid to Georgie’s face. “Like I said, I was kind of half listening. He’d interrupted Drag Race, which is a cardinal sin in my house.” She tilted her head, swiping the brush in a neat line between Georgie’s brows. “Hopefully someone is doing his concealer, because he looked like S-H-I-T.” Georgie wanted to sink back into the empty bathtub and curl into a ball hearing that. “Honestly, it was all so sappy. Georgie this, Georgie that. Georgie is so good. I’m done living in the past. Et cetera.”

  “Et cetera?”

  “Yeah. Et cetera.” Done with the brush, Bethany stowed it back in the makeup bag and drew out a gray stick, the function of which Georgie did not know. But she sat there gaping as Bethany swiped it beneath her cheekbones and started to rub it in. “When I pulled the deed, I realized his father’s name is listed on it, too. Turns out Mark Ford was back in town for a few days to make sure he got a cut. There were words exchanged at Grumpy Tom’s.”

  “Travis’s father was back?” Georgie sputtered. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  Was this the part of the equation that had been missing? She’d been so mired in heartache, she hadn’t stopped to think about why Travis would have called her a kid with a crush. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation. He’d still left her in the dark about what Stephen told him, but shouldn’t she have given Travis a chance to explain? With his father in town, he would have been in a tailspin. And he had canceled their date
the night before the Tough Mudder . . .

  “I mean, it’s all just noise at this point, right?” Bethany said breezily. “He messed up too big. It’s done.”

  Georgie threw Rosie a look that said, Help me. “Um.” Rosie nodded at her in the universal sign for I got you. “What else did he say? It’s totally common to want a play-by-play when a guy talks about you. There had to be more.”

  “Nope, that was it. He looked like garbage and gave me a house.” She applied some mascara to Georgie’s lashes. “Oh, and Georgie this, Georgie that.”

  “Be more specific!” Georgie screeched.

  “Drag Race was on,” Bethany said defensively. “Okay, look in the mirror.”

  Fully intending to ignore the command and strangle her sister instead, Georgie nonetheless caught sight of her reflection and did a double take. “Oh, that’s—wow.”

  “Not bad, right?”

  “How did you—”

  “Contouring. Georgie, meet your cheekbones.”

  “Hi, cheekbones,” she murmured, then snapped back to reality. “Bethany—”

  Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Even through the bathroom window, Georgie could hear the excited voices of the women outside. Her sister shrugged and pranced from the bathroom, leaving the candles to flicker in her wake.

  “Can you believe that?” Georgie asked Rosie in a high-pitched voice. “I’m supposed to just be satisfied with ‘this and that’?”

  Before Rosie could answer, raised voices from downstairs captured their attention. The sound of a cheering crowd ripped its way up to the second floor, but it had the force of thousands behind it and surely wasn’t coming from the arriving guests. Georgie thought she caught the corner of Rosie’s mouth tilting into a smile, but it vanished so fast, she must have been mistaken.

  “What is that?”

  Rosie gave her a bland look. “Go find out.”

  Moments later, Georgie descended the stairs into the rapidly filling living room, finding everyone crowded around the television, also known as the source of the cheering. Able to recognize the sounds of a baseball game in her sleep, Georgie stopped short. How could she have forgotten? Today was a home game for the Bombers—and Travis’s official start as their new voice. Her pulse tripped all over itself as she waded through the throng of women, each of them watching her pass on the way to a front-row seat.