Heartless (10 page)

A
ce

“
I
’m going
to shower really quick.” I carry my plate to the sink. “Don’t clean up. Just leave everything. Make yourself at home.”

Aidy dabs the corners of her ruby red lips with a napkin and swallows the last of her omelet.

“When I get back, we’re going to talk,” I call out before disappearing down the hall. We didn’t talk over breakfast. I watched her cook, and we sat in silence, side by side, as we ate. I’m sure I smelled like alcohol and dirty sheets, and I wasn’t about to blast her with all that in the name of getting a few answers.

As soon as I step out of the shower, I dry off and then slip on a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt. Slicking my hair back with my fingers, I finish getting ready and come out as soon as I’m confident that I don’t smell like I slept in a pile of garbage all night.

“You ready?” I ask, startling her. “Thought we could get some fresh air. Do a little walk and talk, as my old coach liked to call it.”

She was standing by the mantle, examining the assortment of photographs lined up in varying sizes. Most of them are of family, but there are a few pictures of me with some Firebirds.

“Yeah.” She exhales, smiling. Her eyes drift to the mantle once more, to a picture of me and my four younger brothers, and then she spins on her heel. “Let’s go.”

Outside, the streets are almost vacant. I’ve always loved the way the city clears out on the weekends. You never know how much you need that breathing room until you experience it firsthand. Holidays are like that too. Labor Day. Fourth of July. Memorial Day. Everyone scatters to the Hamptons or Cape Cod. Me? I prefer to stick around and enjoy the depopulated city before they all come back.

“So,” she says.

We kick along, our shoes scuffling lightly on the sidewalk.

Aidy shoves her hands in the pockets of her white denim shorts and her blouse hangs off her shoulders. I’m beginning to think it’s intentional, this look of hers.

“You going to tell me what I said?” I ask.

Fuck me if I rambled on about Kerenza.

Her lips pull up on one side as she looks up at me. “I don’t know where to start. You said a lot of things. I never knew you could talk so much.”

Massaging my temples, I pull in a sharp breath. Whatever I said, it must have compelled her to come here today, because I can’t think of another reason she’d show up at my door offering breakfast and a listening ear.

“You were vague about everything,” she says. “Mostly. You didn’t give a lot of details about anything really.”

Oh, thank God.

“First you apologized for calling me.” She laughs, reaching for a dainty gold necklace hanging around her neck, twisting it between neon pink fingernails. “Took a while for you to realize you weren’t dreaming. And then you said you’d been having a rough year, and that you haven’t been yourself lately, and you were sorry for being an asshole.”

I exhale. Okay. Not as bad as I thought it’d be.

“You also mentioned you’d made some poor choices over the last year and you had a lot of regrets, but you wouldn’t go into detail,” she says, releasing her words slowly and carefully. “I actually Googled you after we hung up. I mean, I was wide awake anyway and curious as could be. All I saw was that you were in a car accident about a year ago, and that it shattered your right shoulder in five places and forced you into early retirement.”

I find it hard to believe she hasn’t Googled me until now. But it’s also refreshing.

“Yeah,” I say, jaw clenched. “That’s pretty much what happened.”

“I don’t know what kind of regrets you have,” she says. “I’m almost afraid to ask. Not that you’d tell me anything. And not that it’s any of my business. But you seem really unhappy, and I’m pretty sure it has to do with your regrets. I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you want to talk about them, I’ll listen.”

I don’t respond. I don’t know her well enough to explain the things I’ve done or to fully express the magnitude of my regrets. They run deep. Deeper than the gash on my face and the wound in my soul.

“Anyway, then we talked about how ever since you retired, you feel like you’ve been treading water, and you’re kind of at a loss as to what to do because baseball was your life for so long,” she says.

“I said that?”

Aidy bumps her elbow against mine. “Sure did.”

“I, uh . . .” Slicking my hair back, I clear my throat. “I don’t usually tell anyone those things.”

“It’s probably why you’re so tightly wound all the time.” Aidy pulls her hands from her pockets and clenches her fists. “You’re like this. Angry. Hard. But you need to relax.” Her fists release and she drags a hand down my arm, which stiffens at her touch. “Even your arm is all tensed.”

An older woman walking a Pomeranian passes us, giving us a bright-eyed grin as her gaze flicks between us. She thinks we’re together, which I find hilarious because the two of us strolling side by side must look like the sun hanging out with a rain cloud.

“Before you hung up,” Aidy says, “you said you wanted to stop being heartless. Maybe you were just being dramatic, I don’t know you that well, but I don’t think you’re heartless, Ace. At least what I know of you. Grumpy? Sure. Moody? Definitely. But you’re not heartless. A heartless person wouldn’t feel remorse for the things they’ve done, and a heartless person sure wouldn’t have texted me asking if they could send an autograph to the little boy with tears in his eyes.”

My shoulders feel lighter, and I glance down at Aidy, watching the way her hands animate when she talks. She keeps tucking a piece of hair behind her left ear but it refuses to stay put for more than a few steps at a time. Still, it doesn’t faze her.

We’ve circled the block now, returning to the spot just outside my steps, stopping under the shade of a red-leafed maple.

“Did I say anything else?” I ask.

Aidy turns to face me, her chin pointing up as she stares to the side with her brows furrowed.

“Nope,” she says. “That was it, really. You were just plastered, and I think you needed to let it all out. Not sure why you picked me.”

She laughs, and I agree. I have no idea why I picked her, though it’s not like I have an overabundance of options these days. Guess she’s easy to talk to. I don’t really have anyone like that now.

I’ve let too many people slip away over the years. And the ones who tried to come around this last year, I pushed to the wayside, convinced they were better off without me in their lives.

I’ve done some shitty things in my life.

And I’ve made some bad calls.

But standing here, watching Aidy chew the inside of her lip and stare up at me like she doesn’t see the living, breathing monster inside me, gives me a sliver of hope that I didn’t have until today.

This woman, this beautiful, Mary-fucking-Sunshine of a woman, doesn’t believe I’m heartless.

My chest falls as I exhale, and I jam my hands into my pockets because my fingers twitch with an urge I haven’t felt since I’m not sure when.

I want to touch her.

I want to feel her soft, creamy skin under my palms. I want to taste that bee-stung pout that’s constantly slicked in a different shade every time I see her. I want to gather a fistful of her hair as I press her against the wall and graze my lips against hers.

And in an irrational flicker of a second, I want to know what it might be like to love her so hard, it physically hurts.

A
idy

“
W
hat do
you think of this one?” Wren slaps a wedding magazine in my arms when I get back from Ace’s.

Dazed, I snap out of it and take the glossy booklet, flipping to the dog-eared page in the middle. The dress is covered in lace, the back exposed, with long sleeves and a traditional A-line skirt.

“It’s very you,” I tell my sister.

“Is it too Kate Middleton?” she asks. “I don’t want people to think I’m trying to copy her. It’s bad enough we look the same from behind. God, why couldn’t I have at least been given Pippa’s ass?”

“Squats. I’m telling you.” I smack my behind and kick off my shoes.

“So how’d it go?” Wren asks. “I take it he appreciated the breakfast.”

“Scoot over, bud,” I say to Enzo before stealing his spot on the couch. “He didn’t remember talking to me last night.”

My sister’s jaw falls. “What?”

“No recollection.” I lean back, exhaling. “So I looked like a crazy person.”

Wren snickers.

“It’s not funny,” I say.

“It’s hilarious.”

Enzo chuckles too, though I’m not sure he knows what he’s laughing at. Wren licks her pointer finger and flicks to a new page in one of the seven hundred wedding magazines on her lap.

“But whatever, it was fine,” I say. “He invited me up. I made us omelets and then we went for a walk.”

My sister glances up at me, one eye squinted. “You went on a walk? That’s . . . cute.”

“He called it a walk and talk.”

“Even cuter.” She turns to another page. “Did he bring up Topaz? And the date?”

I pick at a loose thread on the arm of the sofa. “Nope. I don’t think he has any desire to date me. Matter of fact, I don’t think he knows what to think of me.”

“Ha.” Wren looks up. “I don’t even know what to think of you half the time and I’ve known you your whole life.”

“Anyway. It’s okay. Who has time to date, right?” I rise, stretching my arms over my head.

“Yeah, dating and relationships are for total losers who have no life.” Wren clucks her tongue, winking at me and flashing the glittering cushion-cut diamond on her left ring finger.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Leaning down, I ruffle the top of Enzo’s messy hair. “Okay, I’m going to return some emails and relax for a bit.” I turn to Wren, “And please, please, please stop emailing me links to dresses. If you need my opinion, you know where to find me. Seems like every time I clear an email lately, five more pop up and they’re all from you.”

“I’m in full wedding planning mode,” she says. “Welcome to your life for the next six months.”

I chuckle, pleased to see my sister finally embracing this whole bride thing. Chauncey’s a great guy, and he’s more perfect for her and Enzo than she realizes. When I return to my room, I grab the notebook and flip to a random page.

I need a distraction from the fact that six months from now, all our lives are going to change. Not just Wren’s and Enzo’s, but mine as well.

We’ve talked about expanding Glam2Go, offering it in other cities besides New York. L.A. has always been next on our list, and I suppose it makes the best sense anyway. With all those production companies and actors and actresses and reality show housewives, a good makeup artist could have a pretty good thing going out there.

Lying on my stomach, I prop my head in my hand and scan the ink on the page in front of me.

Tonight we were almost caught. Again. The first time was just after we’d made love on the bearskin rug at the lake house as he slept, passed out, in the next room. The second time was in the guestroom of their apartment. Tonight I fucked her on his bed, seconds from coming inside her until the sound of his footsteps carried from down the hall. It was terrifying and exhilarating, my hand clamped over her mouth, my cock wet with her arousal, both of us breathless as we sought a place to hide in the back of the master closet.

Perhaps I’m a selfish man, but I almost wish we’d been caught. He would hate her if he caught us. He’d hate me too. But it would finally put an end to all this nonsense, and she would finally be with the man who loves her most. The man most deserving.

I don’t want to sneak around with her. I want to wear her on my arm. I want to be free to love her openly. Proudly. I want to show her off. I want to marry her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.

And I can’t do that until he lets go of her once and for all.

A
ce

A
idy’s been
on my mind all day.

Actually, she has been for the last three days, since she rang my doorbell with an armful of groceries Sunday morning like some crazy person.

I’m seated at some sidewalk café in the Lower East Side. I’ve never been here before, but coffee sounded good. The server reminds me of Aidy. Her hair, at least. She doesn’t smile as much and she doesn’t make much eye contact. Her shoulders are covered, and for some insane reason that makes me miss Aidy’s shoulders.

Shit.

Never thought I’d see a day when shoulders made me hard as a rock, but damn that Aidy Kincaid and her repertoire of shoulder-baring blouses. Guess when you haven’t been laid in over a year, it doesn’t take much to get stirred.

Thumbing through the contacts in my phone, I stop when I find hers at the top.

I could text her.

But I know myself. I’d sit here, staring at the screen, waiting for the notification that my message has been read, and then I’ll stare at the bouncing dots, anxiously awaiting her response like some lonely, pathetic loser.

Manning up, I pick up the phone and call her. If she doesn’t answer, fine. I won’t leave a message, and she’ll never know what I wanted unless she calls me back. I’ll take that over the chance that she might read and subsequently ignore my text.

I don’t want to feel like a schmuck.

“Hello,” she answers on the second ring.

I clear my throat. “Aidy.”

Aidy laughs. “You sound surprised that I answered.”

I am.

“No, no,” I say. “Just calling to see if you wanted to maybe meet for coffee.”

She’s quiet.

My breath suspends.

“Oh, um . . . yeah. When?”

“Now.”

She pauses for an endless couple of seconds.

“Where?” she asks.

“Arcadia Steam,” I say. “It’s just off-”

“I know where it is. Give me fifteen, okay?”

Easy enough.

* * *

“
H
ey
.” Her voice greets me before she does, and I turn in my chair, eyes honing in on her shoulders, which are tragically covered on this unusually cool late June afternoon. Aidy grabs the seat across from me and dives for the menu. “Love this place. Great neighborhood actually. Topaz and I do lunch around here all the time.”

“This is my first time.”

She flips a page in the menu. “What brings you all the way down here?”

“I had a photo shoot earlier.”

Aidy stops, her wide eyes glancing across the table and settling in mine. “Oh, really? What for?”

“American Athlete magazine.” I say it like it’s no big deal, and it probably isn’t a big deal to someone like Aidy, but every red-blooded American athlete in this country would give their right arm to be on the cover of American Athlete.

“That’s cool. Are they doing a story about you?”

“My old agent’s trying to get me back out there. He’s the one who talked me into co-hosting Smack Talk. He thinks I can make some kind of comeback, and he still thinks I’m in therapy. Hate to tell him this thing’s useless.”

I cup my hand over my lame shoulder.

“Never going to get that range of motion back,” I say. “Just finished ten months of intense physical therapy and it hardly made a damn bit of difference as far as pitching goes.”

“That’s depressing.” She slumps forward.

I nod.

“So what kind of comeback does this Lou guy think you’re going to make?” she asks.

Shaking my head, I chuff. “Who knows. He gets these crazy ideas sometimes. Hate to tell him he’s been praying for a miracle that’s never going to happen.”

“Never know.”

“Least I can do is let my fans know I’m still here.” I take a sip of my coffee and spot our waitress returning from the corner of my eye. She takes Aidy’s order, a hot tea with milk and sugar, and shuffles away. “Not a coffee drinker?”

“Not unless I have to work late,” she says, running her hands along her thighs, like she’s cold. She’s in long sleeves, a sweater that’s gray and nearly see-through, and jeans that hug her every curve. “Can you believe how cold it is? It’s June. We’re supposed to be melting, and I can’t stop shivering.”

Yesterday was hot. Today is cold. This month can’t decide what it wants to do, and I can sympathize with that.

“We can move inside,” I offer.

“No, I’ll be fine once my tea gets here.” Her teeth chatter, and she wraps her arms around her sides.

“Don’t be a martyr. Come on.” I stand, taking my coffee cup in one hand and offering my other hand to Aidy.

She hesitates at first, and then she slips hers in mine. For a second, I can’t breathe. It’s like I’d completely forgotten how good it feels to touch someone. To hold their hand. To revel in that brief, heart-stopping “what if.”

I lead her inside and we take up residence at a small table for two in the corner, away from the door.

“Thank you,” she says when we sit down.

There’s a flickering candle between us and a single pink carnation in a white vase. It’s almost romantic in here.

“There you are.” Our server returns, balancing Aidy’s tea and a side of milk and sugar on a small tray.

“Can you believe this weather we’re having?” Aidy says to the two of us. “Hope it’s not going to be like this all weekend.”

“I think it’s supposed to warm up.” Our server slips the tray beneath her arm. “Can I get you anything else?”

“We’re good, thanks.” Aidy smiles.

“Why? What are you doing this weekend?” I ask.

“It’s the Fourth of July,” she says.

It had completely slipped my mind. Living a life with no set schedule, the days and weeks tend to blur together, and with no family around, holidays are like every other endless fucking day.

“That’s right,” I say. “Got any plans?”

Aidy mixes her tea, pouring little drips of milk on top and stirring until it turns a creamy shade of caramel. Adding just a sprinkle of sugar, she stirs it again and takes a sip. The whole concept of milk and tea together has never sat right with me, but it looks good the way she’s mixing it.

“Normally Wren and Enzo and I sit on the roof of our building and watch the fireworks from there. But this year, Enzo’s going to his dad’s and Wren’s going to Chauncey’s building and watching them with Chauncey’s parents.” She palms the white tea cup, blowing across the steamy liquid. “She invited me, but I don’t want to be the third wheel, you know? This is going to be her new family. They need time to bond and all that.”

“Who’s Chauncey?”

“Wren’s fiancé. They’re getting married in six months,” she says. “He owns that pizza place, Finnegan’s.”

“No shit? That’s one of my favorites. Their corned beef and cabbage pizza is-”

“Disgusting,” she interrupts. “Love Chauncey, but some of that stuff on his menu isn’t meant for human consumption. Cabbage roll pizza? Lamb stew on pizza? Who thinks of this stuff?”

“What do you eat there?”

“Cheese, usually. Sometimes pepperoni. He lets me order off the kids’ menu.”

Aidy takes another drink, glancing around the small café. It’s beginning to fill up the closer we get to dinnertime.

“So what are you doing this weekend?” I ask. “Since Wren and Enzo are going to be gone?”

She sits up straight, staring down and to the side. “I don’t know. Guess I hadn’t thought about it. Working maybe?”

“I’m going to my lake house,” I say, and before I can talk myself out of it, I invite her. “You should come.”

Her blue eyes widen, her lips fighting a smile. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Her head tilts.

Chuckling modestly, I nod. “Yeah. I was going to go alone, but if you don’t have plans, you should come.”

“What do you do there? Where is it?”

“It’s in Rixton Falls,” I tell her. “Upstate. And I just relax. I fish. I canoe. Watch the fireworks over the waterfalls.”

Aidy’s full lips press together, widening into a timid grin. There’s a crease above her cupid’s bow when she smiles, and I’m not sure how I’d never noticed it before, but it’s halfway between her top lip and her nose and it’s fucking adorable.

“You want to come?” I ask. “I can pick you up Friday. Bring you back Sunday.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’d love to.”