Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Drake

Miranda's shrill voice is like an ice bucket over a warm, cozy fire, extinguishing the flicker of solace I found next to Lila. Her accusatory gaze lands on me, and I instinctively assess the situation through her eyes. I'm on the couch next to Lila, our bodies practically entangled, my head tilted as if I'm about to kiss her.

I push to my feet, trying to mask my guilt. "I was helping Lila. She's sick."

Miranda remains silent, her arms crossed over her chest, a less-than-impressed expression etched on her face. A sickening feeling—one I'm unfamiliar with—weighs on me. I've spent my entire adult life doing whatever and whoever I wanted. If something shiny caught my attention, so be it. But I made a promise to myself to change. The first challenge came along, and I failed miserably.

Because I wanted that kiss, damn it.

And what does that say about me? About my relationship with Miranda?

I feel like a lowlife piece of shit right now. But I don't know if I feel bad because of the thought of cheating on Miranda or the fact that being a cheating asshole proves that I'm still not good enough for Lila. She deserves someone who can commit—a lifelong partner who can care for her and her son.

If today proved anything, it's that person is not me. Yet, I'm selfish to know that I still want her—that the part of my heart she still owned started beating again. I've never been as whole as I am with her.

But I'm not so selfish that I could tell her how Darci blocked me from seeing her that day. The truth would've complicated things further. She obviously had loved her best friend, though she never mentions her now. I don't know if they had a fallout or if they are still in contact. Honestly, I don't want to know. Darci screwed me over twice. I should've known something was off when she barely opened the door. Was Lila inside, and Darci didn't want me to see her? Is that why she hardly showed her face?

My blood boils. We spent years apart, angry with each other over lies and misunderstandings. Now that I know the truth, I ache to be near her.

So where does that leave Miranda?

"I tried calling you. When I couldn't reach you, I tried Drake. I thought maybe you were with him," Lila says.

That snaps Miranda out of her trance.

"You're sick? Like the flu?"

"Yeah."

"Ew, then get to your bedroom. You're spreading germs everywhere."

"Yeah, sorry. You're right. I don't want you getting this." Lila nods and pushes to her feet, her legs wobbly and unsteady. I instinctively move to grab her when she stumbles, but Miranda's icy glare freezes me in my tracks.

Lila raises her hands as if to stop me. "I'm fine. Just weak. I'll get to my room."

"Good. The last thing I need is to be sick." Miranda rolls her eyes.

I study Miranda as she interacts with Lila. The differences between the two are staggering. If the roles were reversed, I would bet my entire baseball career that Lila would care for Miranda. She wouldn't banish her to her room like some leper.

Miranda is all about appearances; I know this. But Lila? She's all about the substance. It's what drew me to her in the first place. The way she cares for her son, Jake, with an unwavering dedication. How she always puts others first. Lila's strength is quiet, but it's there and powerful. But I knew this from that first day, seeing her reaching for the perfect-sized pinecone to make that hideous wreath.

Once Lila is gone, I turn to Miranda. "Was that necessary?"

Annoyance flashes across her eyes, but then she lifts the corners of her mouth into a seductive smile. "I did this for you, babe. Heading toward the last month of the season, the last thing the team needs is Typhoid Mary wiping them out."

Suppose she has a point. But still. She didn't need to be so rude.

"Where were you today?" I ask. It was strange having a rare day off and not making plans. But that's on me.

"I worked."

"Hmm, on a Sunday?"

"This was a special request. Mom called earlier needing money, so I thought, why not?"

"Must've been a long session. We tried calling all day."

She waves her hand dismissively. "You know I don't pick my phone up during clients, but I headed to Mom's immediately after. I never checked my messages." She drops her voice, attempting to be alluring. "I didn't want to be tempted to add more work unless that work includes my favorite Bears player."

I nod, feeling disconnected. The conversation feels superficial, and I can't shake the feeling that something is off. Miranda's words feel rehearsed, her demeanor too controlled. It's as if she is hiding something.

She steps beside me and turns on the charm. "Why don't we go to your place?" She tries wrapping her arms around my neck, erasing the distance between us. I'm not in the right headspace for this. My gaze strays to the hallway. To Lila's bedroom door.

I swallow hard. How can I fix this? I feel like I'm cheating on both women.

"You need to stay here and wait for Jake."

She scrunches her nose. "Why?"

"So you can be sure he gets home safe and tends to him. Lila certainly isn't in the right space to do it."

"Why is that my problem?"

I studied her—really studied her. That's when I noticed the loose strands of hair from her bun and the worn-off lipstick that's usually impeccable. I say nothing as my past collides with my present.

"Life isn't always about yourself, ya know?"

"I was kidding," she scoffs. "Of course, I'll be here when he gets home. Jake and I are tight."

That's pure bullshit, but I don't call her out on it. Instead, I nod and kiss the top of her head. If she's been with someone else, I don't want the trace of them on my lips.

"I'll call you later." With those words, I part, but not before taking one last look toward Lila's bedroom.