by Gina Azzi
I hold my hands up in surrender, a mitt in each palm. "I'm just here to play catch with you man, hang for a bit. Sound good?"
He nods slowly, shuffling forward as I toss him a mitt. "And because it was court ordered."
I flinch at the truth in his words. "Yeah. There's that too."
He's watching me intently, waiting to see if I want to be here or if I'm just going through the motions. I take a look around the park and the baseball diamond tucked into the back corner, away from the slides and swings. It's beautiful today. All sunshine and blue skies and freshly mowed lawn. It reminds me of when me, Jax, and Den were kids. We'd run though the outfield chasing each other, playing cops and robbers. Things were simple then. At least I had that, those simple times without the stress and the worry and the having my back up all the time. I don't think this kid ever had that.
"I was a stupid little shit, you know?" I tell him finally.
His eyes widen at my cursing, but I feel like this kid isn't just a kid. So I'm going to talk to him like he's a man.
"Got into a car with a drunk driver. He's a buddy of mine. We'd been BBQing, drinking some beers. We ran a stop sign and plowed into another car. My buddy's in rehab now, and I've been ordered to do community service."
Marco's head drops.
"But just because that's what started this ball rolling doesn't mean I don't wanna be here, little man."
His eyes lift to mine.
"In fact, I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing on such a beautiful day then being outside in this sunshine, hanging with a buddy, and tossing a baseball. What d'ya think? You up for some catch?" I wave my mitt at him.
He looks up, his baseball hat crooked, slanting across his forehead, before giving a slow nod. We walk out to left field and toss the ball a few times, feeling each other out.
But as time passes, his throws grow crisper, his catches cleaner, and I realize the kid's a pretty good ball player. Once upon a time, I was all-state. It was a long time ago, but I still have a few pointers.
"You've got a good arm, little man!" I call over to him.
He nods, the ghost of an almost-smile hugs his lips before it slips away. He throws to me, hard, the ball stinging my palm through my glove.
"Okay, hotshot, back up a few feet. Let's see what you can do."
His nose flares at the challenge, and we both back up a few paces.
Again, he hits my glove square on. Clean, crisp, a perfect throw.
"You like baseball?"
He shrugs.
"I play with a bunch of guys on Sunday mornings. If you ever wanna join us, come on by to Hudson Park at ten."
A scowl hugs his features for a brief second before he shrugs it off. "We'll see."
That's all he says and for now, I decide to leave it at that.
For now, it's enough.
6
Taylor
It's beautiful outside. Sunny and warm and just one of those days where you want to forget all of your errands and spend the entire afternoon stretched out on a blanket in the grass, soaking in as much sunshine as possible.
Except I don’t want to do that at all. Instead, I want to curl up under my comforter and binge watch something on Netflix. Maybe Outlander?
Here I sit. One month after the accident that destroyed my career, flipped my life upside down, and left me essentially friendless. The most pathetic part is that I don’t even want to fight for my career or make plans with my friends. Not really. I don’t want to be seen looking like this, feeling like this.
I wince as I stand up from the kitchen table, my toast and coffee cold.
"Taylor," Mom says, skirting into the room, impeccably dressed and striking as always. "I'm going to head over to Mrs. McCarrington's for tea. Would you like to join us?" Her eyes flicker over me, and I know that even if I was inclined to say yes, it would mean dressing up and fixing my hair and applying my makeup with a careful hand. Ha! That’s the last thing I’d want to do today. “It would be good for you to get out a bit, love.” Mom’s voice softens as her eyes hover over the small scar on my forehead. I don’t blame her for looking; it’s pretty much the only thing I see when I look in the mirror.
A ding from my phone alerts me to a message, and I glance at the screen.
Ria: How you holding up, girl? Want to take a walk? I doubt you’re making your steps. (Winkey face emoji)
I roll my eyes in response, pinning my bottom lip in between my teeth. Ria’s right. I'm not making my steps. Partly because I don’t have the energy to do much of anything. Partly because my parents are constantly hovering around me, urging me not to exert myself. And partly because they're also encouraging me to take my PT-mandated afternoon walk with Barrington. Gah! Barrington! Who barely had the decency to check in on me at the hospital. I swear, he was more concerned with his precious car than he was about my health. After a cursory body scan and a tongue click, assuring me that I’ll recover, he sat by my bed and told me all about his insurance claims while I sat there, wondering if I’d been paralyzed.
"Taylor?"
"That's all right, Mom. Thanks for the offer. You enjoy tea with Mrs. McCarrington."
"But what will you do here?" She asks, glancing around the kitchen as if the answer will magically appear.
It’s a valid question. At my parents’ insistence, and after a fall in the shower, I moved back home with Mom and Daddy during my recovery. Even though I lived in our family home for the first twenty-two years of my life, it’s definitely different moving back in after being on my own. I feel restless being here but unmotivated to do something about it, desperate to move forward but lost as to how.
After the sympathy cards and cries of outrage, once the presents stopped arriving in the mail and the tears dried, the beehive that once seemed to swarm around me disbanded.
This accident rocked my world in more ways than one. A large, jagged scar runs down the center of my stomach, curling around the right side of my belly button. A small scar nicks my forehead. Even though Mom keeps assuring me it’s barely noticeable as it disappears into my hairline, to me it’s like a giant zit. It’s literally the only thing I can focus on when I see my reflection.
And the limp. The limp is by far the worst and while my doctors and physical therapist have assured me it isn’t permanent, it is enough of a shock that several of my modeling contracts have been pulled for the time being. With work severely lacking, my agent on hiatus, and my friends MIA, save for a few phone calls from Isabella and weekly visits from Barrington that reek of ulterior motives, my new existence is a lonelier one. Which I prefer. Sort of. Because let’s be honest, what type of company would I be these days?
My phone chimes again.
"I'm going to stop by and see Ria."
Mom's face softens. "Oh, dear, that's sweet of you to spend so much time with Ria, but don't you want to call some of the girls your own age? Maybe have a mani-pedi afternoon?"
"It's okay. I'd rather hang with Ria." I look down at my flip flops, yoga pants, and oversized tee that hangs off one-shoulder. The upside, I don't have to change to be seen with her.
Besides, seeing the girls I’ve been friends with for ages only serves as a reminder of how much I lost. I’m pretty much out of work, in a time when I’m doing my best to help the Clarke Brand, not destroy it. As much as I have always praised myself on seeing beyond looks, I can’t help but cringe every time I step into the shower and see the reflection of my angry red scar, glaring at me. Noting the way my skin stretches causes tears to well in the corners of my eyes and then I feel incredibly shallow and ungrateful when I know I’m lucky to be alive. That realization causes the tears to spill over until I ugly cry, the sobs muffled by the running water. Once I’m finished showering, my eyes are puffy and red, and I feel even uglier. The entire thing is a vicious circle; one that will only be exasperated by having a “mani-pedi” date with a group of girls who will no doubt be perfectly dressed in sweet summer midis and strappy sandals, the newest Chloé bag on their shoulde
rs.
No, I can’t handle it right now. My mental state is too fragile.
"All right then, don't exert yourself too much." Mom says finally as I continue to toe an imaginary pebble on the floor.
"I'll be fine, Mom." I mutter.
Mom pats my shoulder, leaning over to press a kiss to my cheek. "See you later."
"'Bye."
I wait until I hear the heavy door close behind her before I snatch up my phone and tap out a reply to Ria.
Me: My steps are in the negative. I’m coming. Wear sneakers.
Grabbing a pair of sneakers from my gym bag in the hall closet, I pause in front of the mirror hanging over a console in the foyer. The scar on my forehead glares at me even though the rest of the skin on my face is smooth and unblemished. I think that makes the scar pop out more. My eyes are dull; my lips are chapped. I look mostly the same as I did a month ago albeit a rougher version. A person who didn't know me or didn't read about me in the papers would never guess at the massive scar that mars my abdomen. No one would ever think that I nearly died in a car accident a month ago. No one would know anything until they saw me in action.
The limp I carry around with me now screams damaged goods.
And that bothers me so much more than I ever imagined it could.
She's sitting on the steps in front of the blue door, waiting for me as I pull up.
She stands as soon as she sees the BMW X5. Ria lifts her hand in greeting. "Hey Tay."
"Hi Ria Roo!" I call out, my mood brightening the moment I see her. I close the SUV door behind me and walk around the vehicle, where Ria meets me on the sidewalk, her steps double the speed of mine.
"How you feeling today?"
I shrug, looking up at the beautiful oak trees, their branches extending toward the heavens like outstretched arms. The sky is azure, not a cloud in sight. I breathe in the hot summer season and hold it in my chest like it has healing properties before exhaling in a loud whoosh. "I feel miserable but hate how shallow that sounds."
Ria rolls her eyes at me and bumps me lightly with her shoulder. "Thank God I messaged you. You really do need to get out of your parent’s mansion more often."
“I know. I miss my tiny townhouse.” I admit, wrapping my arm with hers as we start off down the street. I pause outside of Mrs. Nandi’s front garden, admiring her wildflowers. She gives me a wave from the window and a knowing look and before I can stop her, Ria reaches out and plucks a bunch, lacing the red and blue flowers through my hair.
"The things I do for you.” She grumbles, squinting as she studies my new look. “You really are indebted to me." Ria continues walking, her steps measured and cautious as she matches my pace.
I close my eyes, her thoughtfulness touching. Tears spring into the corners of my eyes and I mentally chastise myself. I can’t bring Ria down too. I’m supposed to be grateful. I survived an accident and all of my injuries are treatable. But then why do I feel so…alone? Why can’t I, for just a moment, forget all the ugly parts of me, physical and emotional, and enjoy this beautiful day?
"You've gotta take it one day at a time," Ria says softly, her words rooting me back to now and why I’m struggling to enjoy anything. Because I can only limp along.
I squeeze her wrist to let her know I’ve heard her and continue taking the same slow, even steps.
But when I close my eyes, I'm not broken and marred. I’m me again. Confident and assured, comfortable in my skin. I’m even someone capable of enjoying a beautiful day and sunshine.
Ria's even breathing beside me catches for a beat before steadying, and I don't bother to open my eyes. I want to live in this moment longer. The sunshine on my eyelids, the slight breeze that ruffles around me, the scent of summer blossoms.
Warm arms wrap around my middle, and my eyes fly open as I look down at Marco, a boy in the Little Brother's program who lives close to Ria's group house. I grin at him as he flips his head up to look at me. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I give him an extra squeeze. "Where'd you come from?"
"You would know if you weren't walking with your eyes closed, Ms. Taylor."
I laugh, nodding at his logic. "Good point. But I was attempting to enjoy this beautiful day.”
He shakes his head at me, wrinkling his nose. "You're really crazy, you know that?"
"Sometimes."
He takes a step back, letting his arms fall, and I notice the man standing off to the side of the sidewalk, nearly on Mr. Tucker's front lawn.
It's him.
Bright green eyes, a jaw that could cut glass, a nose that fits neatly on his face, although it looks like it's been broken once or twice, and a beautiful, full mouth that's pulled down at the corners in a grimace. He rubs his hand over the top of his silky hair, hair that I could run my fingers through and tug on the edges.
"Hi," he says, staring at me.
“You again?” Ria’s words crack through the air like a whip.
"Hello," I manage to croak out as Ria snorts beside me. I can’t believe it’s him. The same guy from the accident, the same guy who came to the hospital to check on me. To apologize. Later, I learned that he wasn’t even the one driving. But seeing him now, a bubble of anger expands in my chest. I know it’s misplaced and yet, I can’t help but feel the flare of resentment that him and his buddy cost me my career. That because of them, I look different and am now being forced to confront that I don’t like what I see. That now, I have to acknowledge that I’m a shallower person than I thought I was. And how that realization has been almost as difficult to come to terms with than the accident itself.
Sometimes, ignorance really is freaking bliss.
"This is Carter." Marco waves toward him. "He's my new big brother. It was court ordered, but he doesn't suck as much as the last guy."
Carter winces at his words, and Ria's snort turns into an actual laugh. I feel her stiffen beside me, her eyes boring into my profile as she waits for a cue from me. She and Marco exchange a look that I can't decipher because my attention is pulled toward him. Carter.
"How are you?" His voice is low and gravelly, a thread of pain stitched into his tone.
"Okay." It comes out as a whisper.
He nods, averting his gaze.
Ria's hold on me increases as Marco looks back and forth between Carter and me, confusion marring his brow.
Carter’s eyes find mine again. "I'm, uh, I'm walking Marco home. We were playing catch at the park."
"That's nice."
"Yeah." He rubs his hand over his head again. "Do you, uh, maybe wanna grab a coffee later?"
“A coffee?” Ria echoes, the anger in her voice unchecked.
Marco's eyes widen at this, a flare of indignation coloring his cheeks. "Dude, you can't tell me we're gonna be boys and then try to date my favorite girl," he tells Carter sharply.
Carter's cheeks color as if he's blushing, and he ducks his head, embarrassed. "I'm, uh, I'm not trying to date your favorite girl, little man. I just, I," he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to sort out what to say next.
Ria shifts next to me. "He's the one who hit her, Marco. Carter was in the car."
Understanding dawns on Marco. "She's the car you plowed into?" He points at me, but his face is trained on Carter.
Carter nods, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His eyes never leave my face, and I read the horror, regret, and sorrow swirling in their green depths.
The bubble in my chest deflates as I remind myself that he wasn’t driving the car, that he wasn’t legally drunk, that he could have been hurt just like me. Shame replaces the anger as I realize I should be directing my resentment toward Gunner Scott, the driver who is currently in rehab, who never checked in on me, who never even reached out. Not his friend who is standing before me, making a genuine commitment to his community service, and staring at me like he wishes we never met at all if it has to be under these circumstances.
I watch him for a beat, noting the rigid stance of his posture
, the way he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his shorts, as if he’s nervous, uncertain. Maybe he’s also reeling from the after effects of the accident? Not that he was physically injured like me but still, an accident can take a toll on people in different ways. Or maybe I just need to feel a connection to someone, other than Ria, and the earnest expression on Carter’s face hints that he is someone I could find that with, that he is someone I could maybe forge a friendship with. A real one.
"Ria and I are just doing my steps for the day," I say finally. "If you want to wait for me by the house with the blue door," I point over my shoulder to the house down the street, "we can get a coffee once we're done."
He nods crisply, a wry grin rippling over his lips before his face is somber once more. Probably because of the daggers Marco's eyes are shooting at him.
"Okay. Thank you, Taylor."
I nod, holding my arms wide again. "Give me another hug, 'Co. I need your strength for my steps. This one's a tyrant." I nod toward Ria, who I am sure is rolling her eyes as Marco snickers, winding me up in a tight hug once more.
"You let me know if he doesn't treat you right, Ms. Taylor," he whispers to me. "I know jiujitsu."
A real smile crosses Carter's face this time, and I know he heard Marco's words.
"You bet, ‘Co."
I give him one last squeeze before Ria and I resume our steps. This time, I keep my eyes wide open, my mind too caught up with thoughts of Carter and our impending coffee date to make an effort reveling in sunshine and summer blossoms.
7
Carter
She's different. I knew it the moment I saw her, walking with her eyes closed, her face gently turned up toward the sunshine, a small smile playing over her lips. She looked like she was truly enjoying the day, the way kids enjoy something, fully and completely. The flowers in her hair were a cute touch and they made me stop short, made me remember the last time I saw a girl weave a flower crown through her hair.