Chapter 17 #3
Oh God, what if he did that with every single ball?
As soon as she’d had the thought, she watched it happen.
Most of his team had been caught out or stumped out by now, so he was soon up to bat again, then again.
Each time Rob socked the ball. He failed to realize that this level of skill and accuracy wasn’t realistic.
“Way to outgun us,” said Sean, watching Rob run in bemusement.
“What is going on?” said John, watching Rob run around the bases. “Who hits like that, every time?”
Chloe didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to catch Rob’s attention.
But still, Rob hadn’t once glanced her way—not even to share a smile or check in.
He was fully absorbed, caught up in the game, each new round of cheers seeming to inflate him further.
The deep fielders were flagging now, visibly wilting in the late afternoon sun, while Rob—now the only batsman left in—just kept swinging.
Chloe scanned the park, as if someone else might step in. But of course, no one was going to.
“Rob, why don’t you let someone else have a turn?” she called out, but he didn’t take the hint.
“I am not out,” he said, as though Chloe weren’t aware of the rules. Then he reset his stance, ready to go again. She looked back at John, but he couldn’t help her.
“What is happening?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “Why are you sweating?”
“I’m not sweating. Am I sweating?” she asked, reaching up to feel her brow.
“Like an Olympic coach whose athlete just got pulled aside for a random drug test,” John said, eyebrows lowering even farther.
Chloe looked back at Rob, all eager beaver, back on the batting square, bat ready to swing, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
She felt the panic grow in her chest. If people discovered what Rob was, they would freak out.
Worse, they’d think she was insane. She would be in trouble with Perfect Partners too.
She vaguely recalled a clause in the contract about “minimizing repeat social interaction with non–device users.” She guessed that bringing Rob to this reunion wasn’t strictly adhering to those guidelines.
Now Rob was running again, heading toward second, on course to get his fifteenth rounder.
Thinking quickly, she stuck her foot out just as he ran past. It worked—he tripped, flying several feet, before landing on the ground with a thump, arms outstretched in front of him.
She rushed over to him. “Oh no, I’m so sorry, honey,” she said loudly, then leaned down and hissed, “Stop being so good.”
“Sorry,” he said, blinking up at her. Then he twisted his neck from side to side, snapping out of whatever hyperfocused state he’d been locked in. Standing up, he brushed himself down, put on a smile. But when they both looked around, everyone was staring at them, open-mouthed.
“She tripped him,” Elaine cried, horrified. “I saw her trip him!”
“It was an accident,” Chloe said weakly.
“Chloe, we all saw you trip him,” Sean said, his whole face scrunched in disapproval.
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Rob assured them, holding up his hands to show everyone how fine he was.
“It is not fine,” said Lorna. “Chloe, you’re disqualified. Poor form.”
“Very poor form,” said Elaine. “Poor Rob.”
Chloe had to slink back to the picnic area, cheeks burning, while everyone fussed over Rob.
She heard Lorna declare him man of the match, and Elaine asked him to sign the rounders bat for her.
John didn’t say anything; he stood apart from the crowd, his gaze following Chloe as she went to sit down.
Richard trotted over to commiserate with her for being disqualified.
“That was super-aggressive behavior, Chloe,” said Salma, who’d been watching from the picnic blanket. “It’s only a friendly game.”
Great. Now everyone thought she was a grade-A psycho. She nuzzled into Richard with a groan, grateful that he, at least, was not judging her.
The fielders went in to bat, and Chloe watched the game play on without her.
When it finally ended and everyone came back over to the rugs, Rob reached for her hand.
“It was an accident,” he said loudly, making a point of showing everyone he didn’t blame her, but now he just looked like a henpecked boyfriend.
Richard started squeaking as soon as Rob sat down, then bared his teeth and let out a low, steady growl. “Oh,” said Rob, cocking his head at the dog, not sure what to do. Richard growled again and then barked loudly. John ran over to put his dog on a lead.
“Sorry, I don’t know what’s got into him. He never barks,” said John, holding Richard by the collar. “You must really smell of your cat or something.”
“We should go,” Chloe said, jumping up.
“No, we’ll go,” John said. His eyes connected with Chloe’s, some new distrust there, and it was like he knew. He couldn’t know. Could he?
She wanted to persuade him to stay, but that felt dangerous, in more ways than one. Before she could move, John was already walking away, pulling Richard with him, talking to him like he was an errant child: “What’s got into you, buddy?”
“I’m so sorry,” Rob said quietly. He looked devastated. “Animals don’t tend to like me.”
“We’re animals, we like you,” said Harriet with a giggle. As people turned their attention back to sandwiches and lemonade, Chloe felt one step removed from the conversation. She couldn’t tune in to what people were talking about, her mind awash with too many competing thoughts.
“Are you okay?” Rob asked, reaching for her hand. “You seem distracted.”
“Yes.” She tried to shake off the unsettled feeling. “You said you grew up in Ireland, didn’t you? Did you ever go to the National Gallery of Ireland?”
“Yes. I loved the prehistoric exhibit. You could try on all these shields and helmets. My brothers and I got in trouble because we started fighting.” He gave a vague, untroubled smile and reached for her hand. “Why do you ask?”
Chloe shook her head. “I just wondered.”
Chloe studied his face. He looked sincere.
Earnest. Like someone recalling a real memory.
And maybe he was, in the way he’d been programmed to.
But how could she take an interest in a life that didn’t exist?
How could she ask about his past, knowing it was just a patchwork of algorithms and borrowed details?
Then again, hadn’t she spent her whole life caring deeply about people who weren’t real?
Fictional heroes. The imaginary lives of book characters whom she felt more connected to than some of the people she knew in real life.
How was Rob’s backstory any different from theirs?
As Rob held her hand, fingers sliding neatly between hers, she glanced up and spotted John across the field.
He was running with Richard bounding beside him, stick in hand, laughing as the dog leaped to catch it.
The two of them moved in a kind of chaotic, pure, unguarded joy.
As Chloe watched them, something caught in her chest. Then she looked back at Rob, who was still beside her, steady, attentive, drawing quiet circles against her palm.
It dawned on her that if this were a book, it would not be science fiction, it would be a love story.
And the worst kind of love story at that—a love triangle.