Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

GABBY

“I’m sorry. That was not as fun as I thought it was going to be,” Christian says as he drives me back to my apartment.

He’s right, that was boring as shit, but I’m not about to tell him that.

“Stop, I thought it was fun.”

It was not.

The art was okay—no offense to his sister. The people were stuffy and pretentious. And the food that was passed around was not nearly enough to fill me up for a dinner date, which means when I get home, I’m going to be ripping open any and all food in the pantry, tilting my head back, and letting my chompers do the work.

And if I happen to add a drink . . . or two to that, then so be it. It’s a Friday, and I had a rough practice, trying to act like everything was normal even though I could feel Ryland’s gaze on me the entire time.

“Was it, though?” Christian asks as he turns down my road. “I think I saw you yawn five times.”

It was eight, but he missed three because I was discreet.

“I had a rough night last night,” I say even though that’s not the case. I slept like a baby because my legs are much better, and I’m no longer in pain while I sleep.

“You sure? You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

I so would.

I’m lying through my teeth.

“Either way, thank you for coming. My sister was glad to have another body in the building. She’s always worried that no one’s going to show up.”

“I can’t imagine how nerve-wracking that is. I thought it was a great show, though, and she sold a few paintings, right?”

“She did. She was really excited.”

“That’s great for her. It was fun to do something different. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thanks for saying yes,” he says as he pulls into the driveway. “Wait, is that . . . is that Ryland’s truck?”

“Yeah,” I say. “He actually owns the house. He’s my landlord.”

“Oh really? I didn’t know that.”

“Neither did I when I rented the place,” I say, sounding annoyed.

Christian puts the car in park and turns toward me. “Seems like there is some tension between you and Ryland. Everything okay there?”

I unbuckle my seat belt and turn toward him as well. From the corner of my eye, I catch movement, and that’s when I see Ryland sitting on the back porch of his house, holding his phone in his hand. What the hell is he doing out there?

“Hey, everything okay?”

“What? Oh yeah, sorry.” I let out a sigh. “Everything’s fine with Ryland.”

“You sure?” he asks. “Because it kind of seems like there’s some history there.” If he only knew. “And I really don’t want to step on any toes or anything like that. I already know Ryland’s not a fan of mine.”

“Ryland can keep his opinions to himself,” I say. “No one wants to hear them.”

“Ahh, so he did tell you how he feels about me.”

I look Christian in the eyes. “He might have said a few things, but that didn’t change my opinion about you.”

“I appreciate that.” Christian pushes at his hair. “Why would he tell you, though, unless something is going on there?”

“Trust me, nothing’s going on,” I say.

And maybe that’s what’s making me snappy. Because nothing is going on, yet he feels like he can approach me as if there’s more to us than there actually is.

“Do you wish something was going on?” Christian asks, catching me by surprise.

It takes me a few seconds to answer, but those few seconds are all Christian needs to hear.

“I get it,” he says. “I bet you guys have more in common with the whole baseball thing.”

“No, Christian, it’s not like that. It’s . . . it’s complicated.”

“I know, I can tell.” He sighs and looks out the window. “I like you, Gabby, but I don’t want to be mixed up with something complicated. I have a hard enough time trying to get along with him at school, and I don’t want to make it worse by stepping in on something he thinks is his.”

“I’m not his,” I say, wanting to make that very clear.

“You might not think that you are, but from the way he’s reacted when I’m around you, you are very much his.”

“That’s not for him to decide.”

“I know, and I respect you for that. But I think it’s something you need to settle with him before we do anything else, that’s if . . . you wanted to go out on a proper date. The offer is there, but I’m not going to push for it.”

I lean back in the seat and stare out the windshield. Do I want to go on another date with Christian? I’m honestly not sure. There wasn’t any...spark, if I’m honest. Not when he hugged me and not tonight. Part of why I yawned so much was because we had to try so hard just to make small talk. But I am not telling him that either. “God, I’m sorry, Christian. This is really messed up.”

“It’s fine. I know complicated. I did complicated before. It’s not fun. And I know what it means to be interested in someone else when things are complicated. From my experience, the best thing is to figure out the complicated and then move on from there.”

I nod even though I don’t think this is my problem. It’s Ryland’s.

Yes, I’m still attracted to him. He’s still an incredibly handsome man with enormous sex appeal. When he’s not being a jerk, he’s great to be around. Smart. His dry wit is awesome. But if living in foster homes taught me anything, it’s the ability to detach yourself from feelings. They’re often wasted emotions, anyway. And being rejected by your only biological parent gives you more resilience than anything else. Yep, that taught me how to disengage.

Ryland keeps making it hard.

“And I want you to know, if you do decide to move on, I want to be the first person to know.” That makes me laugh. He takes my hand in his and adds, “And if you don’t decide to move on, then just know, no hard feelings. Okay?”

I squeeze his hand, appreciative of how nice he’s being. “Thank you, Christian.”

Then I lean in and press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

He offers me a sad smile. I do the same, then exit his car, feeling Ryland’s eyes on me as I make my way up the stairs to my apartment. I unlock the door, shut it, then let out a deep, irritated sigh just as there’s a knock on my door.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart and head unable to take another fight with him.

But I should have known this was going to happen.

Turning, I open the door, willing myself to be ready, but then I’m met with the sad, confused expression in Ryland’s eyes.

Normally, this man airs out his pride every chance he gets. He’s confident, he’s unflappable, and he doesn’t show an ounce of weakness, but the man standing in front of me right now is not the man I’m used to.

Hollow eyes.

Bothered eyes.

Sunken eyes.

Depleted.

Restless.

But that doesn’t matter to me, because I can’t do this runaround anymore. I’m tired. I don’t have anything else to say. And I don’t have the energy to deal with how he’s feeling about me going out with Christian.

“Ryland, I can’t?—”

“I’m sorry,” he says before I can even finish. “I’m really fucking sorry, Gabby.”

I lean against the doorway. “Sorry about what, Ryland? About the way you’ve been acting or the way you’ve been leading me on?”

“I haven’t been leading you on. At least not intentionally. I told you that night it was the last time, and it has been.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been an ass ever since. And the way you stare Christian down, it’s just rude.”

Maybe I do have the energy to talk about it.

Maybe I’m just so fed up and frustrated that I don’t mind letting loose.

“I told you, Gabby, I’m having a hard time dealing with all of this.”

“And that’s not an excuse. You’re a grown-ass man, Ryland. Act like one.”

My phone rings in my purse, and I think about ignoring it for a second. However, I need to get out of this conversation, so I pull it out of my purse and answer it. “Hello?”

“Gab.” Bennett?

I lift the phone away and see his name on the screen.

“Hey, is everything okay?” I ask, recognizing the shake in his voice.

“Gab . . . I . . . I’m.” My heart pounds in my chest as I wait.

“What?”

“I’m playing tomorrow . . . in the big leagues. Gab, they called me up.”

Everything inside me drains as tears fill my eyes. My legs wobble under me, and I crumple to the ground before I know it.

“What the fuck,” Ryland says as he squats down next to me.

“Are you serious?” I ask. “Please don’t lie to me.”

“Gabby, I swore to you I’d never joke about this. It’s happening. Tomorrow, I’m starting at third.”

“Oh my God,” I say as tears are now streaming down my face. Full-on sobs wrack my body.

“Fuck, is everything okay?” Ryland asks, taking one of my hands.

“Are you with someone?” Bennett asks.

“It’s . . . it’s Coach Rowley.”

I look up at Ryland, and his face is full of concern.

“Put him on speaker,” Bennett says.

I pull the phone from my ear and put it on speaker. “Go ahead,” I say.

“Coach Rowley?” Bennett says, making Ryland more confused than ever.

“Bennett?” he says.

“Coach . . . I got called up. I’m going to the show tomorrow. Starting.”

“What?” Ryland yells and leaps to his feet, stealing the phone from me. He then takes my hand and helps me up as well. “Holy fuck, man. That’s incredible. Fuck, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Coach. I’m stoked. I’m on my way to San Francisco now. Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure, anything,” Ryland says.

“Can you make sure my sister gets to the game? I have two tickets with her name on them. I need her there, and I know she’s going to be a crying mess. I need her there safely.”

Ryland looks me in the eyes. “You can count on it, man.”

“Thank you,” Bennett says and Ryland hands me the phone.

I take it off speaker and walk farther into the apartment. “Bennett, I . . . I’m so proud of you.” More tears fall from my eyes. “You did it.”

“We did it, Gab,” he says softly. “We fucking did it.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “You soak in this moment, you hear me?” I say, my voice getting choked up. “You soak in every second when you walk out on that field, and you warm up, but the moment that game starts . . .”

“I clock in.”

“Exactly. You show them why you deserve to be there. Got it?”

“Got it,” he says.

I wipe my eyes. “Text me the info, and I’ll be there, and after, I’m taking you to dinner.”

“You better.”

“I love you, Bennett. Drive safe. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Gabby. I love you too.”

And then we both hang up. I set my phone on the counter and then cover my face as I slowly lower to the floor again and cry some more.

I cry for everything we’ve been through.

I cry for the heartache, the suffering, the unknown.

I cry for the countless hours we spent together on the field.

I cry for the years of him working his way up the system.

I cry for the injuries he sustained, the coaches who didn’t believe in him . . . and the coaches who did.

And I cry for the perseverance, the resilience, and the strength he has had through this entire process.

He deserves this more than anyone, and I just hope he can prove it. I hope he can have his moment.

Ryland settles in next to me, a warmth I was missing. He brings his arm around me and pulls me into his chest.

All the anger, the frustration, the countless circles we’ve been running in, they’re all washed away as I bury my head into his chest and let out my tears. I let out my happiness. I cry for what’s to come, tears of joy streaming down my cheeks.

And he holds me the entire time, stroking my hair, pressing soft kisses to the top of my head, showing me that I’m not alone at this moment—a moment I’ve been waiting for, for so long.

After what feels like forever, he lifts my chin with his forefinger and forces me to look him in the eyes. Those green eyes penetrate me harder than ever before. “Congratulations,” he says in a soft voice. “You should be really fucking proud of yourselves.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I am.”

And then I rest my head against his chest again and let out more tears as I let the relief drain from my body.

He did it.

No . . . like Bennett said, we did it.

With pajamas in hand, I walk over to Ryland’s house feeling elated, nervous, and sort of like I’m going to puke and cry at the same time. It took me a little bit to peel myself off the floor, but once I did, I thanked Ryland and said nothing else. He got the hint and headed toward the house to check on Mac, who was sleeping.

Bennett sent over the details of the game tomorrow when he stopped for some food. It’s a night game. His first big league game will be played under the lights, and the fact that the game is driving distance for me makes it seem like everything is aligning.

I walk into the house and glance toward the kitchen, and when I don’t see Ryland, I move right into the bathroom.

As I’m soaping up, I keep thinking about how when I get to the stadium, which we’re allowed to get there early and watch batting practice, I want to go to the team store and deck myself out in Bombers gear. I don’t really have anything because I wasn’t sure if he’d stay with the Bombers or move to a different team, but now that I know he’s been called up, I need a hat and a shirt and a sweatshirt and bracelets and foam fingers and everything you could possibly imagine.

God, I’m so freaking excited. Once out of the shower, I quickly go through my routine, brush my teeth, and lotion up before putting on my pajamas, hanging my towel, and exiting the bathroom with my dirty clothes. I find Ryland leaning against the counter, clearly waiting for me.

“Hey,” he says as his eyes give me a brief once-over.

“Hey,” I say awkwardly.

“Talked with Aubree and Wyatt, and they’re going to watch Mac for the weekend. They were thinking about taking her up to the Redwoods, one of her favorite places. Hayes also offered us his apartment in the city to stay so we don’t have to drive back late at night.”

“Oh wow, okay. That’s really nice of him. Um, were you planning on spending the night?”

“It’s about a three-hour drive, and we’re not going to want to do that after the game.”

“Right, okay. Looks like I need to pack.” I let out a deep breath. “Um, Bennett sent me the info. I can text it to you. We get to watch batting practice.”

“Really? That’s awesome.”

“And I told Bennett I’d take him to dinner after.”

“Not a problem. You two can do whatever you want after the game. I can give you the info to Hayes’s apartment so you know where to go after.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you weren’t invited.”

He shakes his head. “I’m uninviting myself. You two deserve the time together.”

And when he says things like that, it makes me want him all over again. It makes me wish he could get over this thing in his head where he doesn’t think he deserves or could handle a relationship.

“Thank you, Ryland.”

“And if you want to sit alone at the game, I can hang out on the concourse. I know things are weird between us, and I don’t want to encroach on your space. I just ask that I can at least see his first at bat, then I can leave if you want.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask him. “To leave me alone?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“I do,” I say.

He shifts on his feet and looks me in the eyes, sincerity pouring from him. “The answer is no. I don’t want to leave you alone. I want to be there for you. I want to hold your hand. I want to capture the moment of you watching your brother play his first big league game so he can watch it over and over and see how much pride you have for him. I want to make the day special for you because you deserve it. But I also want you to be comfortable, so if that means I step aside, I act as the driver, and that’s it, then I’ll do that too. I just want you to be happy, taken care of . . . protected.”

A lump the size of a golf ball forms in my throat because how can he say such beautiful, wonderful things without messing with my standpoint? How can he expect me not to want him, to run into his arms and beg him to second-guess his stance on relationships? On me?

And this is exactly why I was trying to keep my distance. This reason precisely because even though I’ve tried tirelessly to keep my heart out of this, I’ve been fighting a losing battle.

He’s too wonderful.

Too thoughtful.

Too much of everything I think I’ve ever wanted, everything I didn’t know I wanted. And I hate that. I hate that with one apology, I can let go of all my anger. That I can look him in the eyes and know that deep down we have a connection unlike anyone I’ve met before. And that despite everything he does, everything he puts me through, the mental game of does he want me or does he want me to push away , I still find myself gravitating toward him.

Wanting him.

Because he’s a damaged soul, just like me.

I swallow past the lump and softly say, “I want you there, next to me.”

“You sure?” he asks.

“Positive,” I answer, looking him in the eyes.

“Consider it done.” He offers me a curt nod, then pushes off the counter. “See you in the morning, Gabby.”

“Yeah, see you in the morning.”