“I’m glad your conscience finally kicked in.” His hand grips tighter on the door. “I don’t have time for this shit.”
He starts to close the door, but I shout, “Jason, wait. Please let me finish.”
“No, Dottie, I’ve heard everything I want to hear. Nothing you say is going to change how I feel. We’re done.” Shocking me, he slams the door, the sound of a steel lock clicking into place, and I know. Opening it will never be possible . . . ever again.
I haven’t seen this side of Jason before, so angry, so unforgiving, which only means one thing: I hurt him to his core, and it seems there’s no recovering from that.
Heart heavy, I gulp hard as hot tears slip down my cheeks. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t expect it to be this hard, this painful . . . this devastating.
Then again, I’m sure this is exactly how Jason felt when he read that email.
I wish I could challenge Jason for doubting the truth of my feelings rather than simply believing the initial lie that set things in motion. But maybe Lindsay was right. Maybe I hadn’t given him enough of me, I had held back parts of me.
This overwhelming misery is on me.
On a choking cry, I cover my mouth and tear away from Jason's door. I once thought that Nick destroyed me. He didn’t. He never touched my heart.
Unlike Jason Orson.
He owns my heart.
Even in its shattered form.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
JASON
Ten years later . . .
“Dude, you look like shit,” Carson says, clapping me on the shoulder.
“This is my best sweater, and it’s supposed to make me look devastatingly handsome.”
“It’s olive green,” Carson says with a question in his raised eyebrow.
“Leave me alone.” I rest my head on the counter. “It’s been ten years since my heart was broken and it still aches.”
“Ten years?” Carson laughs. “It’s been ten fucking days.”
Ten days later (That’s right, sorry about that) . . .
“I know, but ten days has felt like ten years. And I thought wearing my green sweater to Friendsgiving would be a nice pick-me-up but you just peed all over that idea.”
“Does anyone like this sweater besides you?”
“I get a lot of once-overs whenever I wear it. I think it’s how the color brings out my delicate green eyes.”
“Or it’s the cross-stitched mountain range on the front.”
I glance at my sweater and then rub my fingers over the cross-stitch. “I used to pretend it was brail and it would read, ‘You’re handsome, always have been, always will be.’”
“I don’t understand how we’re friends.” Carson shakes his head.
“Running pole-to-pole suicides at Brentwood together formed an unbreakable bond.”
“God, you’re right.” Carson takes a seat next to me at the bar and picks up a bacon-wrapped scallop from the appetizer platter. This is no ordinary appetizer platter; this shit is fancy. Emory, Knox, and his mom went all out and when I said I wasn’t coming, they told me Dottie went to California to have Thanksgiving with her family, so I had no choice but to come for a while before I went to my childhood home to spend time with my family.
As promised, I brought the yams, but to hell if I was going to bring homemade stuffing on Dottie’s behalf. Ohhh, no. I wasn’t about to slave over the stove for her. Not again.
If I’m being entirely honest, sometimes I think about the charred ham and what it would have tasted like if it didn’t get set on fire by an inferno of lies. I think about how the wine would have paired perfectly with the rich flavors I infused into that meat. I’m clearly upset over what Dottie did, but there’s also a piece of me that’s upset that I let the ham catch on fire. Rookie mistake, leaving the watched-over broiler for a second.
I think we all know what happens when you take your eyes off the broiler; it eats your meal alive and then laughs at you when you’re crying into your burnt and unrecognizable dish.
Can you tell I’m trying to think about anything but the heart-splitting reality that the girl I was falling for obliterated my heart?
And fuck, what was she thinking coming over the other day? I know she wanted to apologize, but seeing her, wrecked like that . . . fuck, it’s only made things worse. I never want to see my girl with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. It just about did me in, but even though seeing her pained me, I couldn’t quite feel the pain. I knew it was there, harboring deep in my bones for later, but in that moment, all I saw was red.
Anger boiled over, and I didn’t want to hear one word she had to say.
Because in all honesty, it doesn’t matter. She broke my trust and that isn’t something we can recover from. Not when she’s been in the same position, not when she’s been used before, not when she made me believe what we shared, the bond I clung to every second of every goddamn day was real . . . when it wasn’t.
Fuck, just thinking about it again has my stomach hollowing out in nausea.
“Hey, what are you two doing?” Milly asks, saddling up next to Carson and placing a sweet kiss on the side of his cheek.
Glad they’re in love. Sense the sarcasm?
What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of affection right now. I almost ask Carson if he’ll kiss my temple and lovingly stroke my pec but think better of it. I’m pretty sure I know what the answer would be, even in my vulnerable state. Maybe ten days ago, right after everything went down, he might have petted my head for a brief moment, but now, he’s probably thinking I should have gotten over everything.
The heart doesn’t work that fast unfortunately.
“Carson is making fun of my sweater,” I say, popping a black olive in my mouth.
Milly leans over to look at it. “Is that cross-stitch?”
I rub my palm over the intricate stitching. “It is.”
“It’s . . . nice.”
“Why, thank—”
“She’s being polite, dude,” Carson says, eating another scallop. “There was a pause in her sentence. She hates it.”
“I don’t hate it,” Milly says, but then doesn’t continue. She doesn’t love it, that’s for damn sure.
“Fine.” I reach behind me, pull my sweater over my head, drop it on the floor, and then bury my hands in my hair. “Happy? Now my nipples are going to get hard from being cold.”
“Why is your shirt off?” Knox asks, standing on the other side of the countertop to indulge in some appetizers.
“Everyone hates it, so I’d rather be naked.”
“I liked it,” Knox says casually.
“Really?” I perk up.
“No.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Hideous, man.”
Growing angry, I say, “Don’t you see I’m suffering here? My heart is broken, and you assholes are being jerks. Don’t kick a man when he’s down.”
“He’s right,” Emory says, rubbing my back and reaching over to grab an olive. “Jason needs our love right now, not our jokes.”
I thumb toward Emory. “She gets it.”
“How are you doing, Jason?”
“Not great,” I admit. “I can’t even look at her without getting angry. She came over the other day to talk to me.”
“What did she say?” Knox asks.
“Just that she told the Carltons the truth. Like, good for you, thumbs up, you still fucked me over.”
“That’s all she said?” Emory asks, looking confused.
“It’s all I let her say before I closed the door. Honestly, there’s nothing she can say that will make me feel better. When I read the email from her dad, I was stunned. I’ve never felt so embarrassed, so humiliated. I was cooking for her business meeting, bare-ass naked, and she was only using me for her own personal gain.”
“Why were you naked?” Carson asks. Of course, that’s what he focuses on.
“Because cooking naked is sexy. Try it, it will spice up your marriage,” I say, wav
ing my hand in his direction.
“Our marriage doesn’t need spicing up, isn’t that right, Milly? Just this morning the turkey wasn’t the only thing that was stuffed.”
Everyone turns to her as her face immediately lights up in a bright shade of red.
“Don’t torture the poor girl,” Lindsay says from the living room where she’s playing Candy Land with her son and Mama G.
“I think we need to forget about the whole Dottie thing, okay? I’ve moved on.”
“What?” Emory asks. “Are you dating someone else?”
“No.” I shake my head while picking up a pickle. Sweet, of course, because Carson brought the pickles. “But I heard if you say things into the universe, they come true. Setting intentions.”
“I think Dottie is a lovely young lady who got caught up in trying to prove herself and said the wrong thing,” Mama G says. Together we all spin around to look at her. No one messes with Mama G, so when she says something, we pay attention. “Haven’t you ever wanted something so badly that you’ll do anything to get it?” She pointedly looks at the three professional baseball players in the apartment. “Pretty sure you have. What makes it any different for Dottie?”
“Because she lied; she could have told me the truth.”
“If that’s what you’re going to base this all off, what she could have done, then you, my sweet boy, are a fool.”
Silence falls over the apartment, Mama G’s words stinging . . . hard.
“Oh shit,” Knox mutters. “She called you a fool.”
“I don’t think I can breathe,” Carson says, looking scared shitless.
I’m right there with him. Mama G was our designated cheer squad when Knox was at Brentwood. Our mother hen, always bringing us treats and acting as if we were her own. There is no denying it. Her comment drives a stake right to my heart. How can she call me a fool? Dottie lied. End of story. Yes, we all understand that yearning and drive we’ve experienced getting to the level of baseball we’re at. But we didn’t do that by lying to those we cared about. I mean, Emory did withhold from Knox that she was still living in Chicago. But that wasn’t to use him . . . Carson did run from Milly and then encourage business her way, even though he didn’t contact her . . . But that wasn’t really lying to her . . .
All four of them hurt each other before they got together. All four were devastated . . . for a time. But then they found love—
No, it’s not the same. I refuse to be called a fool over someone else’s deceit.
“Now.” She claps her hands together. “Let’s all hold hands and say what we’re grateful for,” she says in a cheery disposition, as if she didn’t just insult me.
“I’ll be grateful if Jason puts his shirt back on,” Knox says, but I don’t laugh.
I feel a haze fall over me.
Am I really being a fool?
She hurt me. She used me. How is that me being a fool?
* * *
“Wow, it’s beautiful in here,” Emory says, taking in the old warehouse turned banquet hall we rented for the after-event party.
We decorated the space with an old-fashioned baseball theme. Pennants stream across the rafters, cracker jacks, peanuts, and popcorn are centerpieces at each table, along with pinstripe tablecloths. We used old crates for display and made table flags with The Lineup logo on them. Natalie did an amazing job and since the food is baseball-park themed, I can’t wait to dig in.
My team won the game of course, because I stacked my side, leaving Walker with a few good players. He didn’t mind. All he cared about was connecting with the athletes who came to represent their disability. I saw him stay close to one girl in particular with pigtails, and I wondered if she reminds him of his sister? Most likely.
Joseph clung to my side the whole time, enamored with the big names we had on the field. He scored two runs—we had endless substitution—and like in high school, I hit him in both times. It felt good being out there on the field with him, seeing that infectious smile again. I wish someone else was there to see it.
Yeah, okay, so Dottie was supposed to be here today and clearly, she isn’t. Which is fine, whatever, I told her to go suck it and for good reason. I don’t need to remind you what happened. You remember, so try to tell me I was wrong. I wasn’t, right?
With each day that passes, I think about what Mama G said, what she called me. And now that I’m at this event with the closest people in my life, I still feel empty. She’s supposed to be here, holding my hand, meeting my family, hanging out with my friends, being a part of this charity that’s one of the proudest things I’ve ever created.
But she’s not.
And that makes me sad.
“Natalie did a good job with the event planning,” I say, trying to put on a good smile. Even though this event isn’t what I hoped for, with Dottie at my side, there are still a lot of people here for me, for Joseph, and I need to give them my all. “She’s been working her butt off.”
“I like Natalie,” Emory says, leaning into Knox. “Such a shame she’s already taken; she and Walker could be a good couple. Or Cory.”
“Nice try,” I say. “She’s happily married, so don’t stir the pot.”
“I would never, but is there another Natalie we could find for Walker? He’s so angry all the time, and maybe if he had a Natalie, he would change.”
“Maybe you should stick to your job as a librarian and skip the matchmaking,” Knox says, drawing an appalled sound from Emory.
Hormonal and insulted, not a good combination. Even I know that, and I’m an idiot most of the time.
Emory drags him away just as Carson and Milly walk up to me. “Thank fuck we won. I think I would have screamed if we didn’t bring home the W.”
“You know it was for fun, right?” Natalie asks, joining our little circle.
“Competition is never just for fun,” Milly says, answering for all three of us.
Natalie laughs. “I forgot who I was talking to. Yes, of course, good thing you guys won.”
Milly joined in on the game and had the time of her life. She’s a genius when it comes to baseball. She can fix anyone’s swing—who’s willing to listen to her—and she’s the reason why my boy, Carson, makes the All-Star team. I should give him credit for the practice he puts in as well. But growing up, she studied, she never played, because she wanted to play baseball, not softball, and she was never given the chance. So when I handed her a jersey for our team, she looked up at me with the most grateful eyes I’ve ever seen.
The event is all about inclusion, and that means the girls who want to play with the boys can.
Plus, she was a total ringer and having her on my team was the icing on top of the cake.
“Thank you again for letting me play,” Milly says, looking shy.
“Yeah, thank you, man,” Carson says with so much sincerity it makes me want to cry.
“I love you guys.”
Because I know Carson loves it so much, I grab him by the cheeks and pull him in tight, planting a giant kiss on his lips before releasing him.
“Motherfucker,” he growls, swiping at his mouth. “What did I tell you about that shit? No, just no.”
“You’re so afraid you’re going to fall in love with me. Just let it happen, bro. Just let it happen.”
“I’m not going to punch you in the gut right now because this is a charity event, and because you just made some dreams come true for my wife today, but if this was any other time, know that my fist would be tickling your intestines.”
“Noted,” I say on a smile, that feels entirely too fake.
“As much fun as this is, I need to borrow you for a second.” Natalie pulls on my arm and I follow her to the small stage we have set up. She drags me behind the curtain.
“What are you—?”
My voice falls when I see Dottie standing there, an envelope in her hand, wearing a Bobbies baseball hat, jeans, and a Rebels T-shirt.
Shit . . . the shirt.
S
he looks really fucking good, especially with those colors displayed across her chest.
“Miss Domico wanted to hand you a donation before she goes.” Natalie gives me a knowing look and then leaves.
Trying to gain my bearings, I say, “Uh, what are you doing here?”
“Well, I watched the game and wanted to keep my donation promise. I know I said I’d be here for the dinner, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to stay. I bought a table and had Lindsay invite some of her third graders and their parents to join. But before I leave, I wanted to deliver this to you.”
She gives me the envelope and nods at me to open it.
Cautious, I tip open the flap and peek inside. A check written to The Lineup for . . . holy shit, one million dollars.
What the actual fuck?
I snap the envelope shut and say, “What the hell is this?”
“My donation.”
“One million dollars?”
“Well, we have a very generous non-profit section. We always donate at the end of the year. I convinced my dad to make a substantial donation to The Lineup.”
“With one million dollars?”
“Yes.”
I try to keep my brain focused on the girl in front of me, but it keeps running away, thinking of all the kids we can help with one million dollars. This is huge.
Bigger than huge . . . it’s phenomenal.
With the contribution from the Rebels, from this event, and from Dottie, there’s so much—
I pause and stare at the check, and then back into Dottie’s hopeful eyes.
Wait . . .
“Are you trying to buy me?”
“What?”
“Trying to buy yourself back into my life.” I hold up the envelope. “Is that what this is all about?”
“Jason.” She shakes her head, tears immediately forming in her eyes. “If that’s what you think, I didn’t do a good enough job letting you get to know me.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say before I can stop myself. “We spent so much time together and yet, it always felt like you never fully let me in.”
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