Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Decker
Peeper’s Alley is mostly dead tonight. The regulars are perched on barstools, watching replay games since no Chicago team is competing tonight.
This evening at Penelope’s house floats through my mind as I try to process how normal it felt. Normal. Not awkward but for a heartbeat when I first arrived.
The three of us, her preparing my favorite meal. The way the kitchen felt like somewhere I’d been before even though I’ve never set foot in her house. The farther the Uber drove from her house, the more lost I felt.
Ruby comes out from around the bar with a beer in her hand for me. “I thought I was going to have to call the missing person hotline.”
I follow her into the private room in the back, reserved for those of us who live in the building, although we’ve had to share it with the Falcons a few times over the years. But they’re mostly busy raising children and riding off into sunsets these days.
“Our schedule has been crazy.” I sit at the table and turn on the television to ESPN. Anything will do as long as it takes my mind off of earlier. Chase tag? Sure, I’ll watch people run and try to get away from their opponents.
“You look like you need something stronger.” Ruby stands next to me.
“Beer is good. Thanks, Ruby.”
Her hand lands on my shoulder. She’s always seemed to have a softer side with me than with the others, and I try not to think it’s because she feels sorry for me. “I hate to ask, but girl problems or baseball problems?”
I shrug at first, then since it’s just the two of us, I decide to open up a little. “Both.”
“You know I’m not a yapper. You can trust me.”
I laugh quietly. “I’m okay, Ruby. But thank you.”
She squeezes my shoulder. “I’m not gonna try to get water out of a dry well, so if things change, let me know.”
“I will.”
She walks out of the room, and I’m thankful for the alone time—but as her footsteps fade out of the room, I hear her say, “Nope. Room’s closed tonight.”
“Come on, Rubes, it’s our room.”
Easton.
“And the three blind mice can find somewhere else to hang,” she says.
“Chipmunks, Ruby. Not mice.”
Oh, fuck. The Chipmunks are here too.
“Could’ve fooled me. Sorry, Decker.”
“Decker?” Easton walks in and pulls out the chair next to me, dropping into it. “Why didn’t you call me if you’re here?”
I’m not sure Easton even realizes how much he hates to be alone. Which explains why three large professional hockey players join us at the table, two of them turning their chairs around to straddle them.
“Deck, man, what’s up?” Simon says.
“You sick or something?” Theodore asks and slides his chair back, covering his mouth. “I can’t catch anything. I’m finally getting regular ice time.”
“Nah, he looks like Conor did, remember?” Alvin elbows Simon, and they nod in agreement with Theodore. Then Alvin rubs his hands together. “Lucky for you, we’re here now.”
“Lucky?” I arch an eyebrow.
“We’re the entire reason Conor Nilsen is married to Eloise.” Alvin puffs out his chest, clearly not hearing the sarcasm in my voice.
“That’s a bold statement.” Easton leans back in his chair.
“It’s true,” Simon says.
They all raise a hand. “Swear,” they say in unison.
“In the Uber with him on the way to the church,” Alvin starts.
“We convinced him to stop her wedding.” Theodore smiles at his buddies.
Easton and I share a look. We’ve heard the story a few times, and that’s not exactly the version we got, but if they think they did it, who am I to argue?
“Goldie, you do look like shit. Talk to us.” Easton’s face is filled with genuine concern.
I glance at the three guys to my left. They play another sport, on a different team, but I can’t risk them finding out who I’m talking about. Easton knows enough to suspect, though I’ve never come right out and told him Penelope’s invading my every thought, my marrow.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Easton leans back in his chair, seeming to accept my answer.
We watch some guy chase another guy across the screen, flying over poles, jumping and sliding under risers. It does take some strategy. Maybe I should quit baseball and enter chase tag. I was always a good runner.
“Come on. Let’s play darts.” Easton stands and pulls the darts from the board.
“Good idea!” Theodore joins him by the boards. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” He spreads the darts out around each of us as though he’s running a board meeting. “Every round, if you hit your number, no questions. You miss, you answer.”
I frown. “Answer what?”
“Whatever question we ask.” He shrugs with a cocky glint in his eye.
“I’m not playing a game about my personal life with you three.”
“Four,” Easton says. “I’m playing too.”
“Kodiak.” My tone implies I’d appreciate him putting an end to this.
“You can trust us. Right, guys? Let us help you.” Easton puts a hand on his chest as though he’s about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance or something.
I glance at the door, knowing I should leave—but hell, I wouldn’t mind a little advice, even from four bachelors who aren’t anywhere close to settling down.
“One game.” I push out my chair.
Theodore grins. Alvin downs his beer and joins us. Simon nods, sauntering over to the board as if he knew I’d agree.
We move in front of the dartboard, and Easton puts a hundred-dollar bill on the rail. “A little incentive never hurt anyone.”
“You have the worst arm on the team,” I say.
“Fuck you. That’s Torres.”
Alvin goes first and hits a seven, using it as a warm-up nobody asked for. Theodore sets the rules. Singles, doubles, and triples count. Hit your number, and the question skips to the next person. Miss, and you answer.
I go first. Hit the twenty clean.
“Lucky shot,” Theodore says.
“I throw things for a living.”
“Baseballs to bigger targets,” Alvin says. “Completely different.” He lines up his dart. “Unlike me, who has to shoot a small black puck into a net with a big body blocking it.”
Second round. Easton misses by two inches.
“Kodiak, how did you ever become a baseball player in Alaska? Were bears your teammates?” Theodore asks.
Easton takes the time to explain to them how his dad was a hot prospect in college, but then his parents died, and he had to come back home to raise his eight siblings. His dad became the high school coach, and what didn’t come from his dad’s genes is just raw talent, according to Easton.
Ruby comes in with refills, shaking her head when I miss on the third round, and she overhears Simon’s question.
I thought maybe they’d go easy on me, but he goes right for it.
“Who is she?”
The other three guys turn to look at me with the synchronization of people who have been waiting for me to miss.
“I’m not answering specifics,” I say.
They grumble, but I hold firm. They do not need to know I want the coach’s daughter.
“Okay.” Simon puts up his hand. “New question then—how long have you known her?”
“A long time.”
“How long?” Theodore asks. “Specifics.”
I look at Easton. “Isn’t that two questions?”
“Technically, you’re not answering the question.”
I blow out a breath. “Since I was eleven.”
Alvin whistles. “Eleven? That’s a lifetime.”
“It’s not a lifetime.”
“It’s a long fucking time,” Easton says, lining up his next throw.
Fourth round. Theodore misses and has to explain why he’s been banned from two bars in the city—the answers involve a live aquarium at one and a deer’s head mounted on the wall at another.
Fifth round. I miss again and groan.
“Does she know you’re sitting in a bar on a Tuesday looking like someone kicked your dog, asking us for advice?” Alvin asks.
“No, asshole.”
“Why doesn’t she know?” Simon asks.
“There’s no—” I stop. They’re all looking at me. Even Easton has the decency to look slightly apologetic about the situation he’s created. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s always complicated,” Simon says. “That’s not an answer.”
“She’s aware of our history.” It feels obvious but apparently isn’t. “That’s two questions answered.”
I line up my next throw. Hit the eighteen. It’s a small mercy.
The sixth round passes without incident. Theodore wins the sub round and doesn’t have to answer why he called his coach the wrong name for an entire season—which Alvin brings up anyway just to annoy him. I welcome the distraction.
Seventh round. I miss by a margin that seems to match my play on the field lately.
Easton doesn’t even turn away from the dartboard. “How long have you been playing like you don’t want her?”
“Three years.” I give my half-truth because I’m tired, and the beer is doing its job. I’ve apparently decided tonight is the night I’m done keeping it all inside.
The room goes quiet for a second.
“Three years?” Alvin repeats.
“Give or take.” They don’t need to know about all the years before that.
“And before the three years?” Simon asks.
“A long time.”
“How long is a long time?” Theodore takes a pull from his beer.
“Her dad was my coach.” My answer is the left of the truth because I’m not telling them it’s Penelope Ripley, but they get the gist of the reason why there’s a line in the sand.
Simon sets his darts on the rail. “Her dad was your coach?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been in love with her since before that?” Something in Simon’s tone tells me he already understands the situation I’m in.
I don’t answer.
“That’s a yes,” Alvin tells Simon.
“I know it’s a yes,” Simon says and rolls his eyes.
Theodore picks his darts back up. “Okay, here’s my question. And I’m asking this as someone with zero personal investment in the outcome.” He points a dart at me. “What are you waiting for?”
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.
Easton crosses his arms and looks at me. We’ve never had an actual conversation about Penelope and me. Mostly because Foster is tangled up in our history, and it feels like a betrayal to talk to Easton about it.
“I’m out.” I set my darts on the rail.
Easton nods, knowing he’ll corner me later to really press the issue. Theodore shakes his head. Alvin and Simon go back to the dartboard.
I finish my beer and say good night, leaving Easton to manage the Chipmunks—which he doesn’t need help with. He’s older than they are. There’s a good chance they treat him like their bachelor god, all-knowing.
Outside, the air is cool. I stand on the sidewalk for a minute and blow out a breath.
“Late night?”
I turn to find Foster walking up the sidewalk.
“Diapers,” he says, holding up the bag. “She’s cute as hell, but damn, she shits a lot.”
He studies me for a second with that quiet attention of his that makes me feel as though he sees right through me. Does he somehow know where I’ve been tonight? And if he did, would he see it as a betrayal?
“You need to get out of your head.” He peels The Dugout sign off the door and walks it over to the trash. “I really wish they’d respect that Callie and my kid live here now.”
“There are still two single players in the building.” I hold the gate open for him.
“Are you sure there isn’t just one?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, you don’t.” He stops just inside, his stare unnerving. “I’m serious though. You’ve got to stop being scared.”
“What?”
His expression says stop pretending. I think he might know more than he’s letting on. “You’re playing scared, and that’s never going to help get you where you want to be.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He walks up the stairs to his condo, presses in his code, and disappears inside without ever looking over his shoulder.
And I’m still standing here, terrified that if I tell him the truth, that’s all I’d see—his back.