18. Cooper
18
COOPER
T he trip home was worse than the one going.
When I wasn’t sleeping, I stared out the ocean below. When we landed at LAX, I dropped to my knees and kissed the good ol’ USA.
I never thought I’d get home. Heartsore and mind-fucked, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. Renée had given me a lot to think about without even saying a word. No, she’d shown me by example. By being herself. By being an icon in her field and coming from a shit childhood.
Did I believe her? Oh, hell yes. Eyes like hers didn’t lie. Even so, she made no excuses for her parents, or for the fact she stayed in touch with them. I didn’t think that made her a bad person. On the contrary, she wasn’t that different from me in that respect. Neither of us had what anyone would call a good relationship with those who brought us into this world, but we hadn’t counted them out either.
Damn, I missed her so much. It was a constant ache in my heart. I pumped my hand a few times because mine felt so empty without hers in it.
I had to switch planes to catch one to Atlanta. I don’t know why the airline hadn’t put me on a direct flight. Didn’t matter. I’d already spent almost an entire day flying. Might as well spend some more. From Atlanta, I’d catch a flight to Jax and then drive the rest of the way home.
My life was supposed to be better after spending the weekend with a billionaire. Not a fucking shitwreck. But it was.
The fact I had to pick the pieces of it up again was a kick to the ‘nads. Why I couldn’t shake her off and get on with it, I had no idea. I’d never been this gone for a woman before. The fact she was entirely out of my league and half a world away notwithstanding.
I went home to my big, small-town of Suwannee Grove, Florida and stewed in my own juices for a few days. Mostly, I slept because damn that was a long trip for a short turnaround time. And fucking that much during those forty-eight hours would probably have deep-sixed an Olympian.
On the morning of the fourth day, I finally got up with the purpose of getting my head and ass wired together. First thing I did, though it made me take a deep breath and a leap of faith, was to start cold calling farm league teams to make my own connections. What did I have to lose? If they didn’t want me, I’d start looking into actually using my degree to generate the majority of my income. Right now, I had a side hustle that paid pretty well, but I didn’t live anywhere near comfortably, and I couldn’t see doing it the rest of my life.
Farm league might have been going backwards, but at least it was baseball. If I redeemed myself, maybe I’d get another shot at the minors.
The next thing I did was set up an appointment for a therapist. Talking to Renée had uncovered a lot of issues I still carried that had a foundation in my upbringing. I’d been stuffing that shit down for so long and denying I had a problem with it that I really didn’t want to feel weighted down by their bullshit baggage any longer. Maybe it would work; maybe not. But I felt I had to at the very least give it a try. Made me wonder what my parents would say if I handed it back to them and said I no longer wanted their gift that kept on giving.
Next, I visited the ballfields where I’d played as a kid. Honestly, I hadn’t been there in a long time because it was so painful. No one was there, so I simply walked around. Then, I went to some batting cages and practiced for a couple hours.
That felt good. Right. Like I was in my element. My head started to clear as I hit the ball over and over.
I had to get myself together. To be the guy that Renée thought I was. I know that sounded weird since the chance of me ever seeing her again was slim to nil. However, I wanted to live up to who I’d been in Bali—to be that guy for real. I owed it to myself and my life to not screw it up again. To be the guy, I could be proud of.
Was the sex life changing?
No, not in so many words. Maybe it was the fact she trusted me so intimately that changed me. Here was a woman who I had thought horrible things about, who I called a fake and a charlatan, who had let me tie her up and take her from behind.
Excitement raced through me at the memory. I wondered where she was and if she was happy. Did she think about me? Or was I a disposable weekend dick that she got to ride before heading back to her glamorous life?
Yeah, and thinking that way was counterproductive.
I had to stand on my own two feet and take responsibility for my own actions. My own problems I’d caused and make things right.
I left the batting cages and scrolled through my phone on the way to the parking lot. I found Benny LaGasa’s number. He was the manager of the Redd Port Sharks—the team I’d been playing for when the worst incident occurred. The one that got me blackballed and sent home packing.
The phone rang a few times before going to voicemail. I figured he saw the number and didn’t want to answer for obvious reasons. Putting an apology in a text didn’t seem sincere enough to me. If he didn’t respond, I’d know the apology was rejected, and I could go on knowing I’d tried.
My phone rang a few minutes later. It wasn’t Benny, but my sister, Jewel.
I blew out a breath and debated whether or not I wanted to answer a call from her. Man, I was sitting in the center seat of the struggle bus and here was one of the people I resented the most calling me like some damn harbinger of doom. Or worse, the universe telling me that no matter how hard I tried, I’d never be anything more than what I was in that one moment.
When I didn’t answer, she texted me.
Is this you?
She sent me a picture that made my stomach drop and face heat.
Renée and I stood at the open-air market in Bali. The shot was from somewhere across the market. We stood at a stall that sold fresh herbs and Renée was leaned into my side. Our hands were clasped, and I had my arm around her waist so her arm was bent behind her. The pose made it quite obvious we were together and had been intimate. Thank God, it was when we were fully clothed and not one of the ones where we had wild, hot sex on the beach.
The next pic she sent was of us sharing a kiss before walking away from the stall.
People are wondering who Renée Palmer’s new man is. Is it you?
Well, shit. What was I supposed to do now?