Pitcher Perfect, page 26
Her face was already in her hands.
“Wow.”
A huge part of him had expected her to say no. To give another explanation.
There wasn’t one, though, and now a hook twisted inside of his chest cavity, making it very hard to breathe. Anger and resignation and regret caught him in the chin all at once. “Well,” he managed, staggering to his feet, getting his phone out of his back pocket and opening the Uber app, ordering a ride, so he wouldn’t have to borrow Skylar’s car. “Who’s the one who can’t be trusted now, huh?”
She came closer, looking down at the screen of his phone and starting to breathe faster. “Please don’t go. I want you here.”
“I want to be here, too, of course I do, because I love you. I love you, Skylar. But I’m fucking mad. And I feel empty and sick right now and you’re the one. You taught me to trust what I’m feeling and stop laughing everything off. So I can’t laugh at this. I can’t pretend I’m not feeling judged and punished when I just came here to love you.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hands pressed to her cheeks.
The sheen of tears in her eyes almost broke him in half.
He wanted to get on his knees and crawl to her, ask her to forget everything and go inside and make love and wake up tomorrow like nothing happened. But would this happen again? Could he live worried that she’d punish him every time an unsavory detail emerged from his past? And he meant what he’d said. Skylar had shown him how to express himself openly and now that he’d experienced that growth, going backward was impossible. The fact that this girl had made him a better person and he had to leave her there crying was the worst insult to injury imaginable, but right now, he had to.
His hurt was valid. He wasn’t going to disregard it.
Ignoring the agony in his middle that came from walking past the girl he loved without drying her tears, Robbie picked up his bag and strode for the end of the driveway to go meet the Uber that would take him back to Boston.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have left,” Robbie slurred on Monday as he bit into his Stouffer’s lasagna. “Maybe I should have stayed and fought it out. She was crying.”
“You shouldn’t cry and eat at the same time, man,” Mailer said, handing him a napkin. “You’re going to choke to death.”
“Good.”
Mailer reared back, alarmed. “You don’t mean that.”
“I fucking do mean it.”
“Ah, she’ll come back around,” Mailer said, recovering from his shock enough to slug him in the shoulder. “They always do, am I right?”
“No. That’s what I’ve been telling you. She’s not like anyone else.” Robbie stood and lumbered to the refrigerator, searching through various frozen meals for another lasagna. Not that he could find anything he was looking for when his brain was only showing him visions of Skylar. Practicing flirting with him at that rest stop. Pitching to those kids. Her face covered in raindrops. “She’s Skylar.”
Mailer groaned up at the ceiling. “You know, everything was fine when we were having empty sex with strangers.”
“Was it, dude?” Robbie shouted.
“I don’t know anymore.” They sat with that statement for a while, the modern kitchen feeling sterile and cold. Then Mailer said, “This is out of my depth. I’m calling Burgess and Sig.”
“No,” Robbie shouted, jabbing his fork in the air in front of Mailer’s face, before his arm gave up and dropped like he was holding a bowling ball. “Okay.”
Robbie lay face down on the couch while Mailer talked on the phone in the other room. He couldn’t make out the conversation, but he overheard the phrase he smells like cheese and ass. After that, he must have passed out, because when he woke up, Mailer was presenting him with another lasagna piping hot from the oven and someone was knocking at the door.
“That’s Sig and Burgess?”
“Yup,” Mailer confirmed, striding across the floor in his socks to let in Sir Savage and Sig—and they weren’t alone. Chloe, Sig’s future stepsister, breezed in with a beaming smile and Tallulah, Burgess’s girlfriend, entered more slowly and cautiously.
Burgess took Tallulah’s hand and guided her to a leather chair across from Robbie, grunting quietly for her to sit down, then proceeding to stand behind her with his arms crossed like a bodyguard. Meanwhile, Chloe took a while to stop flitting around the apartment checking everything out—the view, the mini beer fridge in the corner, a framed poster of Bobby Orr. Sig leaned against the wall and watched her explore with hawkish intensity, then tugged her into his side like he couldn’t stand the separation anymore.
Which was new. They usually just made blistering eye contact.
“Oh,” Robbie croaked. “Did you guys finally get together?”
“Yes,” Sig said in a hard voice.
“Yes,” Chloe bubbled.
A month ago, the kind of behavior currently being displayed by his two teammates and their significant others would have made Robbie roll his eyes. He got it now. Man, he completely understood. Finding your person was a miracle and once you did, keeping them close was pure necessity, which was probably why he felt drained of his will to live right now.
Sig stroked a hand down the back of Chloe’s hair. “Anyway, we called in the big guns to help you out.”
“So watch your language,” Burgess tacked on.
“And put on a shirt.”
Mailer disappeared into Robbie’s bedroom and came back with a gray Bearcats T-shirt, tossing it to him. And obviously he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, because the sleeve dipped into his lasagna and he almost started crying, but he managed to set aside the cheesy masterpiece and don the shirt. “I appreciate you all coming, but there’s nothing anyone can say or do to help the situation.”
“There is always a way to help, Robbie,” Chloe said comfortingly.
She started toward Robbie, as if planning to sit beside him on the couch, but Sig caught her around the waist and tugged her back. “Nope.”
“See?” Robbie threw a hand out. “This is the problem. My reputation. Sig won’t even let his girl sit next to me when I smell like cheese and ass.”
Mailer winced. “You heard that?”
“It’s not just you, Robbie,” Chloe rushed to say. “He doesn’t even like me sitting next to my coworkers—and I’m in an orchestra. It’s part of the job description.”
Sig shrugged.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened, Robbie?” Tallulah prompted. “I’m sure we can piece together a solution. It’s probably a matter of simple communication.”
Burgess put a hand on Tallulah’s shoulder and nodded.
Robbie took the final bite of his lasagna, no recollection of when he’d wolfed down the entire tray or how much of it was in his beard. “Well, she hated me in the beginning because she overheard me bragging about my nocturnal activities. Honestly, I think I was too blown away by her to realize I was fucked from the start.”
“Language,” Burgess chided.
“Sorry.” He sighed with his entire aching body. “Anyway, she was in love with her brother’s best friend, who is this big, quiet guy with an Irish accent, as if I’m not already at a disadvantage. I offered to pretend to be her boyfriend to make him jealous . . . and teach her a few tricks while we waited for him to notice she’s a goddess walking among humans.”
“Tricks?” Chloe asked, nose wrinkled.
“You know . . .” Robbie put aside his empty lasagna tray with a heavy hand. “Flirting, kissing, going on dates . . . other stuff.” No big deal, just the most incredible sex of my life. “It had been established that I’m the master. She wanted to learn from me.”
“So . . . the whole time, you were essentially reminding her how skilled you are with women,” Tallulah deadpanned. “Go on.”
“Well, that recap stung, thank you very much,” Robbie said, rubbing at his chest. “She didn’t even need the help. She’s perfect. She’s so . . . perfect. Funny and driven and honest and encouraging. Beautiful as sin. Competitive like me.” He pinched his fingers together. “She has these little stickies for her planner and she looks so serious while she’s writing in it. She can’t stop messing with her ponytail when she’s nervous. She doesn’t let me breeze through uncomfortable conversations. She makes me talk them out. I feel like knowing all these things about her is going to kill me. I can’t forget them.”
Chloe sniffled.
Sig turned her face into his shoulder and started to rub her back without missing a beat, gesturing for Robbie to continue.
“At some point, it stopped being about making him jealous and it started being about us. Everything was going great, you know? At least I thought so. The second I turned my back, she went out with him. And his accent. I probably never would have found out . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “No, that’s not true. She would have told me eventually. She’s not a secret keeper. There isn’t a deceptive bone in her body.”
“Why did she go out with him?” Burgess asked. “And why did you let him live?”
“It wasn’t romantic. Don’t get me wrong, I’m jealous as hell, but I think Skylar just wanted to . . . emotionally bodycheck me after seeing some garbage about me on the internet.”
Mailer stepped forward with his phone aloft. “I have the website in question right here.”
“Dude.” Robbie kicked his roommate in the back of his leg. “What the hell.”
“They need the full picture.”
“No, they don’t!”
Burgess plucked the phone out of Mailer’s hands. “Yes, we do.” He went back to his post beside Tallulah, scrolling with his thumb. “Jesus Christ, Corrigan.”
Robbie doubled over, dropped his head into his hands, and groaned loud enough to shake the windowpanes.
Both women scrambled out of their respective spots to look over Burgess’s shoulder, which was physically impossible, of course, so he handed the phone to Tallulah. The twin gasps arrived five seconds later.
“She saw all this?” Chloe whispered.
“I assume you’ve contacted a lawyer,” Tallulah said.
“You’re not going to want to hear this, Robbie,” said Chloe, “but I would have gone on a date with an Irish guy, too. Ten of them. And I would have thrown in an Aussie.”
Sig did a double take. “How about you don’t put that image in my head, Chlo?”
“Only kidding!” She looked at Tallulah and mouthed, I’m not kidding.
“Look . . . I haven’t done any of that shit since I met Skylar. I don’t want to. But I can’t be looking over my shoulder waiting for her to doubt me again. It’s going to be painful every time. It hurts to be doubted by someone I’m so goddamn in love with. I’m mad, all right? I’m fucking mad and . . . devastated.”
Tallulah’s expression had gradually turned sympathetic. “Did you tell her all this?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She said she was sorry.” His chest erupted with a fresh wave of pain. “She was crying when I left on Thursday night.”
“Making your woman cry.” Burgess shivered. “It’s worse than two broken legs.”
Tallulah reached up and threaded her fingers through Burgess’s, squeezing.
“Let me ask you a question, Corrigan,” Sig said. “Let’s say she gets on a plane tomorrow and moves to . . .” Momentarily, he eyeballed Chloe. “Ireland or Australia. And you’re never going to see her again. How do you feel about that?”
Robbie’s ribs almost cracked from the sudden pressure. “What?” he wheezed.
“How. Do you feel. About that?”
“Like I want to die.” Even that was an understatement.
Sig dipped his chin. “Then guess what? You’re a lucky son of a bitch, because she lives in your town. And she might even still like your ass. So quit wasting time.”
“Sig, you’re so smart,” Chloe said, hands tucked beneath her chin. “I wouldn’t leave you for all the Australians or Irishmen in the world.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Hold on, though,” Tallulah broke in with a wave of her hand. “He can’t just get back together while he’s holding on to this feeling of betrayal and judgment. Although . . .” She held up the phone Mailer had given her. “If anything deserves a bit of side-eye . . .”
Robbie threw up his hands. “We were all consenting adults.”
“True.” Tallulah tossed the phone back to Mailer. “Rebuild the trust before you jump back into the relationship. Spend some time with her on your terms. Decide if your feelings are the same or if they’ve changed—”
“My feelings for her are never going away,” Robbie rasped, visions of Skylar flipping through his mind like the pages of a glossy magazine.
“Then work your way toward a better place. Take your time.”
Being encouraged to go see Skylar was like being handed the keys to a golden kingdom. That was exactly what his heart urged him to do and God, he was grateful to have that feeling seconded. “Go see her,” Sig enunciated.
He stood up and walked straight to the front door, his pace accelerating as he went. “Okay. Her home opener is tonight.”
Mailer blocked his path. “Maybe a shower first, buddy?”
Chapter Thirty-One
With one hour to go until the home opener, Skylar sat in her car staring at the license plate of the SUV parked in front of her. BUBOUND read the license plate. On the glass, just above the stationary windshield wiper, were various boasts. My kid graduated with honors from Sun Valley High School. Sun Valley Honors Society.
How many kids did this person have? Surely it couldn’t all be the same kid.
What kind of bumper stickers would she and Robbie have on the family car? Hypothetically, of course. If she hadn’t blown the whole relationship to smithereens.
He’d definitely have to slap something hockey-related on there.
Our kid ate your honor student. Easily.
She’d let him put whatever bumper stickers he wanted on the car with the caveat that she be allowed to get her dream license plate. 3XUROUT. If their kids turned out to be competitive freaks like their parents, that car would always be parked outside of arenas and gymnasiums and fields, just like the one in front of them.
Thinking this way was pointless. Premature, too. Skylar hadn’t heard from Robbie since Thursday night when he left Rhode Island in an Uber, and she didn’t even know if he wanted children. These tales she’d been weaving in her mind since that awful night were a form of self-punishment and she couldn’t seem to stop doing it. Upon waking up every morning, she opened her eyes and thought, What would Robbie say if he was waking up beside me right now?
I’m starving was usually the front-runner.
Skylar rubbed her weary eyes and dropped her head back heavily against the rest. “Get out of the car,” she urged herself, hyperaware that she only had ten minutes before she was due on the field for warm-ups. “Go to the locker room. Change. Wake up.”
Not so easy, it turned out. Her legs didn’t want to work, let alone her pitching arm.
Instead of exiting the vehicle, for the one-millionth time she went into her Notes app and read through the various text messages she’d drafted to Robbie. None of them were good enough to send. He’d probably already moved on in spectacular Robbie fashion, anyway, and she couldn’t blame him. At some point, she’d have to do the same, but . . . she didn’t want to. That was the problem. She wanted to stay right where she was.
In love with Robbie Corrigan.
That’s where she was supposed to be.
Skylar turned off the engine with a choppy grab, using the back of her hand to swipe away the excess moisture in her eyes. She stepped out into the cool spring evening, popping her trunk to remove her equipment bag, settling the strap on a shoulder that only wanted to droop.
After securing the trunk lid and locking the car, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, beginning the shaky walk to the locker room entrance. As she approached, the voices in the distance grew louder. Her younger teammates and their loved ones exchanged final well wishes before the players disappeared into the red double doors. Her parents never walked her to the entrance on opening day, though she’d always wished they would—
Skylar slowed to a stop when she heard her father’s unmistakable chuckle, followed by her mother’s high-pitched titter. Elton’s sarcastic tone. They were waiting outside the locker room? Really? She’d known they were coming to her home opener, of course, but they usually just went to their seats and waved to her during warm-ups.
As she got closer and noticed they were in the Boston University T-shirts Robbie had bought them, Skylar almost turned around and ran back to her car, because everything north of her belly button tightened at once, her neck tendons turning like cranks, her tear ducts burning. But she couldn’t turn back now, because Elton had spotted Skylar, giving her that smug/dry smile reserved only for siblings.
This is what she needed. A boost from her family.
She’d take it, then do her best to get focused.
“Well, if it isn’t legendary pitcher Skylar Page,” Elton said, too loudly. On purpose.
“Hey,” she called back, forcing a smile and reshouldering her bag. “What are you guys . . .”
That’s when she noticed the man standing beside Elton. He’d been crouched down tying his shoe. But he stood to his full, impressive height now, red hair visible around the edges of his Bearcats cap, his gaze cutting through the agony of the last few days and stopping Skylar in her tracks. The bag slipped off her shoulder and landed with a shoof on the ground, her pulse flying into a chaotic sprint. She couldn’t find any words, probably because they were all twisted around her vocal cords and squeezing.
“Hey, Rocket,” Robbie said, levelly.
Still mad at her. Still mad. “You came?”
“Didn’t I say I would?”
She zipped her gaze to the ground and left it there while she tried to swallow the emotion in her throat. Looking at him was too hard when she needed to be composed. Focused. When she finally gathered enough wherewithal to lift her chin again, though, Robbie was standing directly in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking out everything behind him.
