Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

QUINCY

T he past three weeks have been crazy. We lost the World Series in game six. It was heartbreaking. I pitched a decent game, but our team wasn't hitting. I think Layton's injury took the wind out of our sails. He's the leader of this team and was missed. The entire locker room was off without his larger-than-life presence.

I blamed myself for the loss, but my friends and Arizona did their best to keep my spirits up. In the end, I know I had the best season of my career, and I'm proud of that. Perhaps next year will be our year to win it all.

On a happier note, our crew had the best time at the Anacondas' victory parade. With the disappointing end to our season, I'm happy the Philly fans have the Anacondas to celebrate.

We drank, danced, and celebrated with the girls. I was beaming with pride all day for Arizona and Ripley. They were on cloud nine .

Layton had to beg the doctors to let him come in his giant cast. But he was there, beaming every bit as much as I was. Seeing him revel in my sister's success was somehow comforting to me. Ripley was right. They're completely in love. They're going to get married one day.

Arizona eventually had to leave for a two-month international photoshoot she was contractually obligated to attend. Layton is a fucking mess without her. We're all meeting up at Screwballs tonight to try to cheer him up.

I'm sitting in our regular booth when Ripley and Kam walk in. Ripley takes one look at me and then makes a beeline for the bathroom.

Kam slides into the booth. I look at her. "Where did Ripley go?"

"To perform brain surgery. Where do you think? The bathroom."

Cheetah makes a slurping noise. "Damn, Kam bam, you look good enough to drink up tonight."

She pats his hand in a condescending manner. "Are you jealous because my heart is pumping inside me and you're not?"

He chuckles. "You're an endless supply of lines. I love that about you." He leans forward toward her. "I have a few more too. Did you ever wonder why it's called morning wood when it should be called breakfast in bed?"

She leans closer to him. "If men get morning wood, does it mean that women get morning dew?"

They both start laughing hysterically. The rest of us stare at them in bewilderment. They never give it a rest, and they wildly amuse each other.

Before I know it, Ripley is exiting the bathroom and making her way to the table. She's so beautiful. It's like she has an extra glow about her tonight. She takes my breath away.

Besides the parade, I haven't been around her much since the night of Layton's injury. Between Blanche pushing me toward Ripley and June warning me away from her, my mind has been a clusterfuck.

I don't want to hurt her, but I equally can't stomach the thought of being without her. I certainly don't want to be with anyone else. The problem is that I won't deprive her of anything she wants. There will never be a time when I want children. Of that, I'm sure.

I stand to allow her into the booth. She gives me a clearly fake smile. She's hurting. It hurts her to be around me in a group setting. Maybe I'm the one who should be requesting the trade. She's happy in Philly. June called me selfish. She's right. Maybe this is a sacrifice I need to make, not Ripley.

I offer her a drink, but she declines. She seems mad at me. Maybe it's for the best.

Layton eventually wobbles in on his crutches. We're all happy to see him out and about.

One of his former groupies approaches him, but he shows her no interest. She pushes and pushes by trashing my sister. My mouth opens to put her in her place, but Ripley speaks first. "He's not interested. Hit the road. No skanks welcome here."

She turns her vile face toward Ripley and looks her up and down with pure venom. "What are you going to do, fat ass? Sit on m…"

I don't know what comes over me, but her talking like that to Ripley makes me snap. I immediately jump out of my seat and get in the bitch's face. "If you ever talk to her like that again, it will be the last words you utter. "

I hear gasps coming from our table.

I turn to the owner who has clearly noticed something going on at our table. He loves our crew and would do anything for us. He knows more than half of his patrons come here hoping to catch a glimpse of us.

I motion for him to kick this whore out, which he immediately does.

Ezra grabs my shirt. "Have a seat, Q. Relax, big bear." His worried eyes encourage me to sit down.

I can't focus on anything or anyone but Ripley. I see her lip quiver ever so slightly.

I sit down next to her. "Are you okay?"

She attempts to mask the hurt I know she's feeling. "I'm fine. It doesn't bother me. I've had comments like that my whole life. I'm used to it."

I can't help but rub her soft face with the backs of my fingers. "It's not fine. No one should talk to you like that. You're beautiful. You're perfect."

She sucks in a breath. Shamefully, I've never shown her any affection in public, and it's clearly taken her off guard.

Her face softens for a moment before it steels. With tears pooling in her eyes, she leans over and whispers, "Don't touch me. We're over."

On some level, I've always known this day was coming. The day she realized how much better she could do.

My face falls as I attempt to whisper back, "I need to talk to you. Now!"

I grab her hand and pull her around the corner. I'm sure everyone at our table is gossiping about our uncharacteristic interaction, but I'm beyond caring anymore. I grit out, "What are you talking about? "

She shoves me away. "Quincy, this hot and cold, back and forth thing we do is over. I'm done with it."

I know she's right, but I don't want to let her go. I want to tell her that I love her. Maybe I could one day be enough for her.

I shake my head vehemently. "You can't just decide we're over. You're my wife."

Her eyes now fully fill with tears. She looks miserable. "I'm not your wife."

"The hell you're not. Check our marriage certificate, Shortcake, you're mine. My. Wife."

"On paper. Not in any of the ways that truly matter. I want a divorce. It's long overdue."

I'm realizing that I don't want to lose her. I'm not ready for it. Am I selfish like June said? Maybe. I'll give her space, but not a divorce. It's the only hold I have over her. "No. I won't give it to you."

Her face and shoulders fall. She's exhausted by us. By me. "Quincy, it's time for us both to move on. We're not really married. We don't live as husband and wife. We both see other people and lead separate lives. No one else except a random justice of the peace even knows we're married. Not our families. Not our friends. No one. It's time."

It's not like I don't know she has the paperwork. I saw it…and destroyed it. But I haven't been served so all hope isn't lost. "Nope. Not happening."

Her face looks pained. "When you hear what I have to say, I promise that you'll want the divorce too."

"Over my dead body will I give you that divorce. Until death do us part."

Her tears get heavier before she says something that practically makes my head explode. Words I never thought I'd hear a woman utter to me.

"I'm pregnant."

Shock isn't a big enough word to describe what I'm feeling right now. I don't want kids. I can't bring a child into the world. I'm not meant to be a father. It's not my destiny.

I open and close my mouth a few times, but words never find their way out. Suddenly, the whole bar starts spinning. I think I might pass out. Air. I need air.

Like a fucking coward, I turn and make a beeline for the door. Once the cool, fall Philly air hits me, I take long, deep breaths. Over and over.

I stand there for several long minutes, basically in shock. At some point, a leggy blonde, not my usual type, walks over to me. I think I've seen her here a few times before.

"Quincy Abbott? I was hoping to see you here tonight. Want to get out of here?"

I wordlessly nod, simply needing to get away.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I wake in the morning to a loud, banging noise. My fucking head is throbbing. I have a sudden flashback of a blonde woman and tequila shots. I panic and quickly look to the other side of the bed. It's empty. Phew.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Who the fuck is that? They need to go away.

I try to remember my evening. I remember doing shots off her body at a bar. I then remember her trying to get me to come home with her. I kept trying to push her away, but she wouldn't listen.

I recall Ezra showing up, dragging me out of the bar, and bringing me home. He made me drink lots of water and then put me to bed. Thank God for Ezra.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I mumble, "Hold your horses. What's the emergency? I'm coming."

I slowly and shakily get out of bed. Not caring that I'm in boxer briefs, I make my way to the door and open it. There's a policeman standing there. Oh shit, what else did I do last night? Am I forgetting something?

I run my hands through my hair. "What's so important that you need to bang on my door at the ungodly hour of…" I look up at the clock. Noon.

"Mr. Quincy Abbott?"

"Yes."

He hands me an envelope. "You've been served."

Without another word, he turns and walks away.

I quickly open the envelope. It's divorce papers.