Heartless (22 page)

A
idy

M
y bed is
empty and cold when I wake Sunday morning, but my bedroom door is slightly ajar. Flinging off the covers, I head to the bathroom to freshen up, and then I follow the trail of voices and the wafting scent of breakfast coming from the kitchen.

“What’s the oldest stadium in MLB history?” Enzo asks. When I round the corner, I see him sitting at the kitchen table, a handful of trivia cards in his hands.

“That’s easy. Fenway Park,” Ace scoffs. Peeking into the kitchen, I watch as Ace pours waffle batter into the iron and closes the lid. “Next question.”

“Name the only player ever to hit a Major League home run and score an NFL touchdown in the same week,” Enzo reads off his card.

“Psh. Deion Sanders. Give me something harder. Come on. I know you can do better than this.”

Enzo laughs, and Ace flips the waffle iron.

“Who was the all-time hits leader in 1985?”

Ace is quiet, and I think Enzo may have finally stumped him. I watch as Ace’s face twists, like he’s deep in thought, and then I realize he probably knows the answer, he’s just putting on a show for Enzo’s sake.

“I don’t know, kid. I think you got me with that one.”

“Ha!” Enzo drops the cards on the table and points to Ace. “It was Pete Rose.”

Ace smacks his forehead with his hand and pretends to be disappointed in himself. “Ah, that’s right. Pete ‘Charlie Hustle’ Rose. Didn’t think you could stump me, but you did.”

“What’s going on in here?” I strut out from the shadows of the hallway with my hand on my hip and take a seat beside my nephew, who’s grinning. It doesn’t hit me until now that having some famous ball player making him waffles is probably going to be one of the biggest highlights of Enzo’s childhood.

“Ace is cooking waffles,” Enzo says, smiling ear to ear.

“Aren’t you special. How’d you talk him into that?” I ask him, winking at Ace.

“It was his idea.” Enzo says, pointing at Ace as he carries a plate to the table. Enzo’s waffle is drenched in syrup, and he wastes no time digging in like an eight-year-old caveman.

When Ace takes the chair beside mine, he slips his hand under the table and rests it on my knee, and I slide my palm over his. He leans over, kissing my forehead.

“Thank you,” I mouth.

He nods.

He has no idea how much this means to Enzo. Wearing a warm smile, I rest my head on Ace’s shoulder.

“I hope it’s okay, but I made a phone call this morning,” he says.

Sitting up, I turn to him. “Yeah?”

“Called up the manager for Millenium Park, the Firebirds’ stadium in Baltimore,” he says. “Got us three tickets to today’s game.”

Enzo’s jaw hangs and he drops his fork mid-bite. It hits his plate with a single clink.

“You guys want to go?” Ace asks, dark brows lifted.

I turn to Enzo, who’s so elated he can’t speak, and he shakes his head up and down, side to side, and around. Silly boy.

“It’s a four-hour drive,” he says. “I’ll have to line up a rental, but we can make a day of it. I know Enzo’s got school in the morning. If that’s going to be a problem, we don’t have to go.”

I place my hand on his arm. “We’re going. We’re going to make this work. Enzo can sleep in the car on the way back. Seriously, you just made this kid’s
life
.”

Enzo shovels the last bite of waffle into his mouth, and I tell him to get in the shower ASAP. When he’s gone, I climb into Ace’s lap, straddling him in my kitchen chair, draping my arms over his broad shoulders.

“You okay going back there?” I ask. “Can’t imagine it’s the easiest thing for you to do.”

He rakes his white teeth across his bottom lip. “Yeah. It needed to happen sooner or later. Can’t stay away forever. Besides, I’m looking forward to reliving that excitement through Enzo.”

“God, you have no idea what this means to him. He is a diehard Firebirds fan.”

Ace smiles, wide, and my heart flutters as I realize I’ve never seen him smile like this before. He’s truly happy, and that makes my heart want to sing like Maria in
The Sound of Music,
spinning through the hilly Bavarian mountainside.

Kissing his mouth, I move to his ear, nibbling before working my way down his neck, breathing him in all the while.

“You smell like me.” I straighten my posture.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not a bad thing. I happen to think I smell like a desert sunset.” I smirk, giggling.

“What does a desert sunset smell like, exactly?”

“Jasmine . . . lily . . . cactus flower.”

“That’s . . . very specific.”

“It’s my soap, okay? Jeez.” I graze his mouth, depositing a kiss, tasting a hint of maple syrup on his lips. He must have gotten some on his fingers and licked it off earlier. “I just like it when you smell like . . . you.”

“What do I smell like?”

I pull in a long breath and grin, my eyes resting in his. “Like a man. Cracked leather and musk and testosterone.”

I’ll bet once upon a time, he smelled like baseballs and dirt and sweat. I’m momentarily jealous of the woman who had him all to herself during those years. I’d have loved to see him in action, but instead I’m relegated to thirty-second highlight clips on the Internet.

Oh, well.

Something tells me I’d prefer this Ace over the other anyway.

“I don’t think you can actually smell testosterone,” he teases gently.

“Whatever. I’m going to jump in the shower,” I say, climbing off my ridiculously sexy boyfriend and brushing messy strands of bedhead from my face.

“I’m going to head home and get ready. I’ll pick up the rental car and call you on the way.” He stands, hooking his hands on my hips and pulling me against him to give me another kiss. He’s addicted to me, but I don’t mind, because the feeling is severely mutual.

Maybe it’s crazy, because he’ll be back here in such a short amount of time, but I feel it necessary to tell him I can’t wait to see him again.

I watch from the kitchen as he swipes his keys off the ledge and jams them in his pocket before slipping his shoes on. He’s still wearing last nights’ clothes: black pants, a white button down. His black jacket is draped over his arm.

His hand rests on the doorknob as he turns to look at me, like he needs to steal one last glance before he goes. But I go to him, throwing my arms around his neck again, smothering his handsome face with kisses like it’s the last time.

Only this time, I know damn well it won’t be the last time.

I love this man.

I love him from the seat of his soul to the depths of his blue-green eyes.

A
ce

“
I
wonder
if we’ll see Rodrigo Gutierrez?” Enzo hasn’t stopped talking since Aidy buckled him in the back. “How many fastballs do you think Brandon Sousa’s going to pitch today? Can we get a souvenir? Like a cup or something. Something I can show Owen next door because he’ll never believe me when I tell him . . .”

Aidy turns to me in the front seat and we exchange smiles, heading toward the New Jersey Turnpike. Reaching across the console of the rental car, I take Aidy’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

I thought going back to Baltimore would be harder than this. I thought it’d be unpleasant. Honestly, if it weren’t for Aidy and Enzo, I’m not sure this trip would be happening. At least not yet. All I wanted was to make it up to the kid for blowing him off a couple months back and making him cry.

This morning, I woke before the sun came up and headed to the living room because I didn’t want to wake Aidy. Within twenty minutes Enzo came out, staring and blinking and rubbing his eyes. He’d passed out last night at the reception, before we even made it to the cab. The kid had no idea that I carried him or that I stayed the night.

“What are you doing in my living room?” he asked. I saw him pinch the inside of his wrist, like he was checking to see if he was dreaming. I told him I stopped by this morning to surprise his aunt, and then he grabbed the remote and asked if I liked cartoons, to which I replied, “Who doesn’t?”

After a little while, he asked if I knew how to make waffles, and then he ran back to his room and returned with a handful of baseball trivia cards.

We’ve been best buds ever since.

“Oh, Wren’s calling,” Aidy says, placing the call on speaker. “Hey, Wren, what’s up?”

“Morning,” Wren says. “We’re here in Houston, just waiting on our connecting flight. Thought I’d call and see how everything was going.”

“Hi, Mom!” Enzo calls from the backseat.

“Hey, buddy. I miss you. I love you,” Wren says sweetly. “Can’t wait to see you again. Are you being good for Aunt Aidy?”

“He’s being an angel,” Aidy says.

“Ace made me waffles this morning,” Enzo announces.

Wren is silent for a moment.

“They were the best waffles I’ve ever had,” he adds.

“Good for you, buddy,” Wren says. “That’s . . . that was very kind of him. You’ll have to do something nice for him one of these days.”

“Not necessary. It was my pleasure,” I chime in, squeezing Aidy’s hand.

“Oh. Hi, Ace . . .” Wren says.

“We’re in the car right now. You’re on speaker,” Aidy says.

“What car?” Wren fires back.

“Ace got us tickets to the Firebirds game. In Baltimore. We’re driving there now,” Aidy says.

“I’m so excited, Mom!” Enzo adds. “Ace said we could tour the dug out, and he’s going to introduce me to the team!”

“It was all last minute,” I say. “I hope it’s okay. I promise they’re in great hands.”

Wren is quiet again, and then she comes back on the phone. “No, no, it’s fine. I trust you. Enzo, be good and stick with Ace and Aunt Aidy. Don’t leave their sides. Do everything they say.”

Aidy turns to me and mouths, “Helicopter Mom” as she twirls her finger in the air. I laugh.

“He’s going to have a great time today, aren’t you, buddy?” Aidy says. “I’ll text you when we get there,” she adds. “And I’ll take lots of pictures.”

“Okay, well, they’re calling us to board now,” Wren says. “Love you guys.”

“Love you, Mom!” Enzo calls.

Aidy hangs up and reaches for the radio, tuning into the same Jersey classic rock station I grew up listening to.

Within a half hour, we’re passing by the exit that leads to my hometown.

Yeah.

I’m going to take Aidy home next weekend to meet my mom.

And my mom is going to love her just as much as I do.

A
idy

T
he sky is pitch black
, not a single star in sight. Enzo’s snoring in the backseat and Ace is focused on the road ahead. Headlights whir past us and the radio hums quiet tunes.

We’re sunburnt and deliriously exhausted, but today was a day none of us will ever forget.

I can see the city skyline from here, which means we’re almost home, which also means this day is coming to an end.

“Thank you,” I say, reaching for Ace’s hand. “Thank you for everything. I think Enzo almost passed out when you gave him a tour of the dugout and let him throw out a pitch before the stadium filled up.”

Ace smiles. “I owed him. Plus, he’s a good kid. He deserved it.”

I pull out my phone and flip through all the photos. I must’ve taken at least two hundred today and half a dozen videos, and I’ll share them all with Wren when she comes home.

“The poor kid almost stroked out when he got to meet the team,” I say, laughing to myself. I thought he was going to faint when Ace introduced him to Guy Ditka and Mike Baltierra. A bag in the backseat is full of swag. Hats. Pennants. Signed balls.

That’s the stuff little boy dreams are made of right there.

It hits me a few miles down the road that we’re not going to be able to do this kind of stuff much longer. Within a month, I’ll be living out west, and if I’m lucky, Ace might come visit a couple times a month. Or maybe I’ll come back here. I’m not sure. We haven’t worked out the details. Our relationship will be relegated to squeezing in a whole lot of stuff in a few short days, and we’ll be waiting with bated breath every agonizingly long day in between.

Still, I’d rather have Ace in my life than not.

I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.

“You doing okay?” I ask him. I’m probably annoying him because I’ve asked him this every other hour all day, but I saw the wistful glint in his eye as we returned to his home turf. I saw the sad smile on his face when his old coach wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him aside. I saw how happy his old teammates were to see him, and I heard the melancholy in his voice as he assured them he was doing alright without baseball in his life.

“I am.” Ace nods, lips tight. “I’m better than okay, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“In a weird way, it’s like I finally got closure. It’s like I’m free to finally move forward from all of this,” he says, hands slicking the steering wheel as we come to an exit. He veers right, checking the rearview mirror. “After today, I’m really looking forward to whatever comes next for me.”

“Okay, so what’s next for you?”

Ace lifts a heavy shoulder, letting it fall. “Still trying to figure that out.”

“The good thing is you have options. You can go anywhere. You can do anything.”

“Yeah,” he says, turning to me quickly. “I was thinking today, and I wouldn’t mind checking out the West coast. Not exactly a palm trees and sunshine kind of guy, but I can throw on some shorts and catch a tan if it means being closer to you.”

My jaw falls and I lean toward him, clamping my hand on his meaty bicep. “What? Really? Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Is that crazy?”

“Yes. Certifiably.”

“You want me to come with you?” he asks.

“Of course. But you’re going to hate it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you might actually have to smile once in a while. Those Californians are laid back and generally happy most of the time. At least when they’re not stuck in traffic.”

“Jesus, Aidy, I’ll be smiling all the damn time if I’m with you.”

I bury my face against his arm, dragging in his scent. Cologne. Beer. Popcorn. Sunshine.

“I love you,” he says. “I’m coming with you. I’m not losing you again.”