Chapter Six

Just landed. Have a good night.

Daphne flashed the phone screen to Kim, showing her the last words she'd received from Chris Kepler the night before. She'd filled her best friend in on the whole thing—well, most of it. She'd told her about how she'd reached out to apologize, how he'd actually responded, how they'd ended up talking. She hadn't gone into any specifics about what they'd talked about. Obviously, the stuff with his brother was private. And as for the rest of it…it felt private, too, like if she exposed it to air she risked it turning brown and wilting.

"Well, that certainly explains why we're here," Kim said, gesturing around the sports bar where they'd met to share a sampler platter and, yes, okay, to watch the Battery play the Dodgers on the road.

"It was just so abrupt," Daphne said.

"You held your own, though," Kim said, dipping a mozzarella stick into marinara sauce and taking a big, cheese-stretching bite. "Liking his message instead of replying to it. Brutal."

She hadn't necessarily intended it that way. It was more that he'd seemed to want to shut the conversation down, and she didn't want to be the one desperately trying to keep it going. A simple heart to acknowledge that she'd seen his last message seemed the only way to go.

And now she kept opening and closing the chat window, debating about sending a new message, trying to restart the conversation. It felt so unfinished, and she was surprised by how much she'd enjoyed talking to him. How much more she wanted to know about what he was thinking and feeling, how much more she wanted to say.

"He probably gets hundreds of thirsty DMs a day," Kim went on, before defensively holding up a mozzarella stick at Daphne's expression. "Not saying that's what yours was. Just saying I'm not surprised if he's flaky and weird, but it has nothing to do with you. I'm proud of you for taking some initiative. You could stand to do the same in other areas of your life—like I wish you'd slide into more DMs, if you feel me."

"The ink on the divorce papers is barely dry."

Kim rolled her eyes. "Okay, but you've been separated for a while. And even before that…"

She didn't need to go on. Daphne was well aware of what her marriage had been like.

Justin had been her brother's best friend since high school, and Daphne had had a crush on him for…well, practically since the first day they met. Donovan had invited a bunch of friends over, warning Daphne to stay out of the way and not embarrass him. There was only a two-year age gap between them, but once he'd started ninth grade that gap had been insurmountable, her seventh-grade self way beneath his notice. His friends had mostly ignored her, too, including Justin. But she couldn't help noticing him, his boyish good looks, the way he always managed to be the life of any party. He had a million stories and jokes, and would hold court in their den for hours while Daphne listened from her room. As someone who struggled to overcome her own natural shyness, she was in awe of anyone who could be that extroverted.

Maybe that had been part of the problem, in the end. Maybe she'd wanted to be like Justin more than she'd wanted to be with Justin. And then, once she was actually with him—once she'd gotten what she'd always told herself she wanted—she realized she didn't even want to be like him at all. They'd married in haste and were still repenting.

Daphne turned her head toward the TV screen over the bar, where the pregame announcers were talking about the game. The sound was off, but the closed-captioning briefly flashed with Chris' name before it cut to the now-ubiquitous clip of him starting to cry. She looked away, not wanting to see it again or even read what the commentators might be saying.

Her heart had ached for him when he revealed how he'd lost his brother. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he must be going through. He'd struck her as an intensely private person, and she hadn't wanted to pry any further. She just hoped he had someone he could talk to.

"Have you ever heard that song ‘The Way'?" Daphne asked.

Kim had pulled her phone out and was scrolling through it, and Daphne could tell she only had half her friend's attention.

"No," Kim said distractedly. "Any good? Oh—this is the one I was looking for. You have to be on this app. It's not overrun with fuckboys, I promise. We can work on your profile together. It's going to be so fun to be single at the same time! Like college all over again."

Daphne studied the screen that Kim had pushed toward her. It looked like any other dating app, several of which she'd already started populating information in before giving up, either because they asked for too much upfront or she wasn't sure that she wanted to pay the money or she was ambivalent about the idea of dating at all. Kim seemed to have it in her head that this was what Daphne needed to get over Justin, but Daphne wasn't sure about that. She felt over her ex. She just didn't feel hopeful about anyone new.

So why did her mind turn immediately to the thought of how cozy it would be to sit down at her tiny countertop, drinking tea with another person and not just by herself? Why did her mind complete that image with not just a generic silhouette of a person, but a very specific person who'd fill her small space with his tall, rangy body?

I appreciate the offer (metaphorical or otherwise).

She wondered what kind of profile would get someone like Chris Kepler to swipe right. He would appreciate someone special, probably—someone unique. He liked a song he rarely heard because of how rarely he heard it. She was sure professional athletes dated pop stars, models, people like that. But when she'd talked to him, he'd seemed so…normal. He'd taken the time to assure her she sounded like a safe driver. Why would he do that?

She pulled out her own phone and downloaded the app Kim recommended. "Okay," she said. "I'm ready to fill out my profile."

Half an hour later, Daphne was still completing the monstrous survey at the beginning of the process, but starting to feel excited about the possibility of reinventing herself a little. So she'd never really been that outdoorsy. She could be! Long walks on the beach sounded nice. So she'd never been much of a partier—she could be! Just look at how she'd let loose at the baseball game…not that she wanted a repeat of that incident. And so she'd never been that great at first-date banter or small talk—she bet she could improve with practice.

For some reason, she thought of Chris again, the way he'd typed You knew what you were doing. That had felt a little flirty. Had they been flirting?

"Now it's asking what I'm looking for," Daphne said once she'd gotten to the part of the survey about her potential matches.

Kim made a gesture like, And? What's the problem?

The problem was that Daphne had no clue. Technically, Justin had ticked off every box she might've selected on this list. She'd thought he had a good sense of humor, but later she'd realized that what he really wanted was just to be the funniest person in the room. She'd thought he was supportive, but everything filtered through how it affected him.

She'd thought he was kind, but in the short fourteen months they'd been married, he'd shown he could be quite cruel.

"I just want someone to know me," Daphne said. "To love me for who I am but to also push me to be who I want to be."

Sometimes she thought finding the perfect partner had less to do with who they were and more about how they made you feel. But how could you screen for that?

Kim grabbed her phone from her. "Get outta here with that cheesy shit," she said. "We'll narrow down the age range to under forty and filter out anyone who selected ‘unemployed' or ‘self-employed' as their employment status."

"Technically I'm self-employed."

Kim blinked before tapping the phone a couple times. "Believe me, it's better to start this way. The last thing you want is some wannabe entrepreneur trying to hit you up for free graphic design work for his vending machine business. Ask me how I know."

In one corner of the bar, a group of guys erupted in a cheer, and Daphne looked up to the TV screen to see Chris rounding first base, stopping at second to point at someone in the dugout, an almost-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The instant replay showed the pitch coming toward him, the way he twisted his body to make contact with his bat, the moment he dropped the bat in the dirt and started running. After the replay the screen filled with footage from the last game again, this time going all the way back to the shot that YouTube video had shown of her yelling through the net. The closed-captioning was rolling across the bottom, too fast and garbled for her to make much sense of it, but she didn't need to know the specifics to know they were rehashing the same tired ground about how this had happened last game, looks like he has more reason to smile today, and on and on.

"Oh, shit," someone yelled in a deep baritone, and suddenly there was a commotion over in that corner. Daphne looked up and was surprised to see that they were staring directly at her. The guy who must've spoken pointed right at her, gesturing with his sloshing beer as though he were participating in pub trivia and determined to be first to answer. "That's her! That's the heckler!"

Even the bartender glanced over at the high-top, where moments before, Daphne and Kim had been quietly enjoying their meal. It only now occurred to Daphne that she was in a bar filled with Battery fans, and the fact that they'd all just seen her drunkenly roasting one of their players on TV was maybe…not the best.

"What do you have to say now?" one of the guys shouted. "Still want to talk trash?"

"Um, no," Daphne said, even as Kim was already tossing down a couple twenties onto the table.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here."

The guys were still shouting after her as they left the bar, and several people had their phones out, obviously snapping pictures or shooting video of the whole encounter. Great. Just her luck, that would end up on SportsCenter, too, and then she'd never hear the end of it from her brother.

"Well," Kim said, digging through her purse for her pepper spray for the dark walk to their cars. "You did say you wanted someone to know you. So how does it feel?"

Daphne was saved from having to answer by her phone vibrating in her pocket. Unfortunately, it was her brother. She picked up the call, her stomach sinking. He couldn't have possibly already heard what had just gone down, right?

"Donovan—" she started, but he cut her off.

"It's Layla," he said. "We're at the hospital now. Can you come?"

Daphne spotted her brother pacing in the hallway outside a hospital room, finishing up a phone call. By the way he signed off the conversation, she could tell he'd been talking to their parents. Any other time she would've asked how they were, how the trip was going, if their mom still boycotted using the tiny RV bathroom if their dad had used it in the hour beforehand. But now she was too focused on how her sister-in-law was doing.

"Is she in there?" she asked, gesturing toward the room. "What happened? How is she?"

Kim came up behind her, a little late from having to park. She touched Daphne's arm as if to say, It's okay, calm down.

But Daphne couldn't help it. Donovan had always been the typical older brother in that he didn't want to show any weakness in front of his little sister, so for him to call her that panicked had made her panic. Now that she was here, though, she noticed that he seemed okay. Tired, maybe, a little worried. But not devastated. Whatever the news was, it couldn't be that bad.

"They took her downstairs to run a couple tests," he said. "Right now they're saying something about an insufficient cervix, or incompetent cervix? I forget the term. She should be fine, and the baby should be fine, but they're recommending she go on bed rest to avoid going into labor too early. There's also some procedure they can do to possibly help, but they're still assessing that."

Daphne froze. "Donnie."

"Duckie." If she was going to use the childhood nickname she knew he hated, apparently he was going to fight back.

A slow smile spread over her face. "You're having a baby?"

It seemed to dawn on him, then, that he'd told the news in reverse order. He smiled, too, a full-out grin that told Daphne just how truly excited her brother was to be a dad. "Oh yeah," he said. "We were going to tell everyone when we were a little further in the second trimester. And then we were thinking of throwing some kind of party where we could tell everyone all at once and…yeah, whoops. You're going to be an aunt."

He barely got the last words out before Daphne was enveloping him in a huge hug, and then Kim was hugging her, and by the time they wheeled Layla back down the hallway toward her room, everyone was almost too busy laughing and hugging to even notice.

"Jeez, guys," she said dryly. "I can see you were really worried. Thanks so much for your concern."

"Layla, congratulations!" Daphne said, not bothering to wipe the tears out of her eyes as she gave her sister-in-law a hug. It was a little awkward, both because Daphne wasn't used to being taller than Layla and because she wasn't used to giving her polished sister-in-law hugs that weren't of the one-arm-patting-the-back variety. It was the hair. Layla's jet-black shiny hair was always so perfectly coiffed that Daphne was afraid to mess it up.

"We're just excited about the baby," she said. "But how is everything? Are you feeling okay?"

Layla sighed. "I feel fine now. I had some cramping and wasn't feeling well this morning when I was supposed to catch my flight to LA, so Donovan thought I should stay back. Then I had a little spotting, so we made a doctor's appointment just in case, and they sent me here…to keep a grisly story short, I guess they're worried about the baby just slipping right out of me if I'm on my feet too much."

"So what does bed rest mean?"

Layla rolled her eyes at Donovan's question, but she reached out to squeeze her husband's hand, a sign that she knew he'd been worried and appreciated his concern. "Technically it's called an activity restriction. It means pretty much what you think it does. No lifting anything or exerting myself too much. Looks like you're on your own to paint that nursery, sweetheart."

"I'm happy to help," Daphne cut in, even though she knew it was about more than just the logistics of getting a single room painted. Some people you could imagine sitting still for long periods of time—Layla wasn't one of them.

"What about work?" Donovan asked.

Layla shook her head. "I'll have to take a leave—even if they end up doing the stitch, they said too much activity can put the baby at risk. And here we were, congratulating ourselves on threading the needle with that October due date."

Daphne shot her brother a confused look, and he grimaced almost defensively. "What? The chances of the Battery making the playoffs are very, very low."

Ah. She understood now. They'd been trying to time their pregnancy around the baseball season. "Did they win tonight?"

Now it was her brother's turn to look confused. Which, fair. When was the last time she'd asked about the outcome of a game? But she'd been genuinely interested, before she'd been run out of the sports bar by the mob of fans who thought she'd been booing one of their own.

Okay, it had hardly been a mob. And she kinda had been booing one of their own. But still.

He checked his phone. "Shit," he said, and her heart dropped. Things had looked promising when they'd left. But then he bit his lower lip, pumping his fist once in victory. "They did, actually. Five to three. Not bad. The guy you hate scored a run in the second inning, and then put down a sac bunt in the ninth for the tying RBI."

"I don't hate him," Daphne said.

"Sorry," Donovan said, putting his phone back in his pocket. "The guy you reduced to tears. Better?"

Layla's eyes lit up. "That's right, that was you," she said. "Between us, that guy is one of my least favorite interviews."

"Really?" Daphne asked, trying not to look like the answer mattered that much to her. "Why?"

"He's probably a dick," Kim said. "Just think about the way he—"

Daphne gave her friend a sharp nudge to the rib cage, which was not at all subtle given that Kim immediately yelped, "Ow! What was that for?"

"Let her answer," Daphne said, trying to communicate with her eyes that she did not want to talk about the whole DMing-with-Chris-Kepler thing. It would needlessly complicate matters. Her brother would be angry that she was continuing to involve herself in his team and potentially his job, Layla would think she was a complete weirdo, and she'd be left trying to explain why she'd wanted to apologize but ended up somehow not apologizing at all.

Layla watched the interaction with a sharp look in her eyes. "Actually," she said slowly. "He's never been anything but polite. Almost too polite—that's the problem. You can't get anything out of him. He's a steel vault. What did you say to him, anyway, that made him get upset like that?"

"I told you this," Donovan interrupted. "She compared him to Winnie the Pooh."

"I said his playing was poo," Daphne clarified. "I was drunk. I barely even knew what I was talking about. The guy next to me said…anyway, it doesn't matter. I feel terrible about it, and I'm really sorry if it caused you guys any problems."

Layla shrugged. "I don't see why anyone would care. It probably would've been better if you'd at least paid for the seat you were heckling him from, but it is what it is. If anything, I'm more worried about how all this time off is going to affect my job."

This was one reason her sister-in-law intimidated her so much. She could casually rip you to shreds with a single comment—It probably would've been better if you'd at least paid for the seat—but then pivot right to something else.

"They have to hold it for you, though, right?" Daphne asked. "Since it's medical leave?"

"Sure," Layla said. "Officially. But they'll have to get someone to take my place while I'm out, and who knows. If the fans like that person better, or that person brings something to the table I can't…"

"That won't happen," Donovan said, squeezing his wife's shoulder. "You're the best."

Layla made a face like, I know I am, and Daphne found herself wishing she could have that kind of confidence. As it was, she ended up apologizing in every email she ever sent, even when she knew she was in the right about something. So sorry to bother you about this again, but…and then she would reiterate her fourth request to be paid for work she'd already done and the client had already used. Attached is a draft, but of course I'm open to suggestions if you had anything you wanted to add…even though she knew she'd delivered exactly what the client had requested, and if they wanted anything more they should really have to pay her extra.

"That little dillweed Preston's been gunning for my job," Layla said. "And the frustrating part is I could still do some of it. The prep work and the social media and all that—I just need someone to stand in front of the camera and point the microphone at Chris Kepler for his monosyllabic answers until I can return. Hell, you could do that."

"Me?" Daphne pointed at her own chest, even though Layla's eyes were clearly focused right on her.

"It'd be hilarious. Hand the heckler a microphone and let her actually talk to the players."

Daphne gave a nervous laugh. She was ninety-nine percent sure her sister-in-law was joking, but then again, Layla didn't joke much. "Yeah, hilarious."

"Most important," Donovan said, "is that you and the baby stay safe and healthy. We can figure out the job stuff as we go."

"Yes," Daphne agreed, relieved when Layla's attention turned back to her brother. "That is the most important part to remember."