Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Callie
“So he just moved you in here?” Lex looks around the condo like a detective on a missing person’s case.
“After we found Jerry dressed in my underwear, yeah.”
She freezes and glances at where I’m getting ready for our guest today at the breakfast bar. “How many times did I tell you about Slummy?”
We’re setting up the equipment for the guest Foster scored me, which I’m still in complete disbelief over. I haven’t even told Lex about it yet because I want to see her expression in person.
“I know, but how was I to know that he liked my lingerie?” I shudder from the visual again.
“And now you get to live with the Reaper.” She shoots me a wide smile and peeks into his bedroom. “Are you cleaning this place? Is it, like, a swap or something? He lets you live here, and you make his bed?”
“What? No!”
“So there must be a cleaning lady then.” She slides up on the breakfast stool and takes the microphone from me to get it situated, since there’s a reason she’s the tech person and not me.
“Not that he’s said or that I’ve seen. I think he’s just a tidy person.”
“Don’t let that get out. You’ll ruin his reputation.” She laughs, unpacking her bag with the various microphones and cameras and cords she usually carries around with her.
“He can’t be neat?”
She looks at me with interest as if she’s trying to figure out why I sound defensive. I feel caught in a corner, unsure how to find my way out of this without her figuring out that Foster is different than what people expect.
She raises her hand. “Okay, I’m not going to address the fact you sound like a defensive girlfriend right now. I’m just saying an anal, tidy, and organized bad boy is an oxymoron. Am I wrong?”
I feel my lips tip up into a grin. I thought the same thing when I moved in.
He picks up his mail every day he’s home, and it rarely ever sits on the counter.
He sorts through it as soon as he walks in, throws away the junk mail, and puts the rest somewhere in his room.
He never goes to bed with dirty dishes in the sink.
Even a cup gets put in the dishwasher when he’s finished with it.
“I guess not everyone is who you think they are.” I shrug. “I’m grabbing my jacket, and then we’ll leave.”
I hurry to my room, hoping she can’t see it written on my face. Foster Davis is softening the part of my heart I prefer to keep frozen.
“I’ll let you think you’re fooling me. Now tell me the guest.”
I stop in my doorway, sliding my arms into my jacket. “Ready?”
I’m so excited. I haven’t even told Leighton yet just in case Foster didn’t come through. I wasn’t ready for the pity or questions.
Lex rolls her eyes. “Stop with the antics.”
“Maren Hale.” My eyes widen, and my smile grows.
“Wow. Foster got you Maren Hale?”
Maren was a hugely popular influencer who was once engaged to a professional baseball player before her current husband. She documented their entire wedding planning, and it appeared as if the entire country was following along. So when he jilted her at the altar, it was big news.
She moved away from the influencer thing, but now she’s back, but her star has risen even higher because everyone admired the way she handled the humiliation of what happened.
I nod and rush across the room. “That he did.”
“Did he fuck her once upon a time before she married Eli Hale?”
I freeze as I grab my purse. I hadn’t really considered it actually.
From what I know, Eli Hale and Foster have never played on the same team.
Eli never played for Seattle, and I would know since Hayes played there too.
Would Foster really set up an interview where I’d have to chat with a woman he’s slept with?
“I’m not sure.”
“Sorry for putting the pin in your happily-ever-after balloon. I should’ve thought about it before saying it out loud.” Lex grabs the equipment. I can tell from the look on her face that she legitimately feels bad.
“What are you talking about?”
“You and him playing house. You can’t tell me that your imagination hasn’t run away from you.” She opens the door.
I would unload a lot of what Lex is saying, but I don’t really want to dig into myself that much at this point. “We don’t want to be late. Let’s go.”
“You’re the boss.”
I’m thankful Lex allows me the reprieve, and we walk out of the condo, heading down the stairs.
“I asked her to meet me at Peeper’s.” I push open the security gate.
“Do you want her to run away before you’ve even spoken to her? Ruby isn’t exactly the welcome wagon.”
I turn to face Lex after we’re through the gate, seeing a new Dugout sign posted with a white piece of paper and Reaper written on the front of it.
Lex lifts the piece of paper and reads it. “‘Reaper, I’m desperate for your slider to hit me deep and hard.’” She pretends to gag but puts the note back on the sign.
I resist the urge to rip off the note and tear it in two, or worse reply back that he’s taken. He’s definitely not taken.
“Yeah, I don’t miss those.”
We both turn to see Maren Hale standing outside of the bar.
She’s as fresh-faced and beautiful in person as she is on social media. Her dark blonde hair is messy but somehow still appears styled. Her gold nose ring and her no-makeup rule somehow make her look younger than she is. She’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and walking shoes.
Maren pushes off the door. “Callie, right?”
“Yes. I’m sorry—were you waiting long?” I break the distance, and Lex leaves the sign, following me.
“No, but that lady in there isn’t very friendly.
” She laughs. “I told her that I knew Foster, and she told me that he’s got more important things to worry about than getting laid.
” She shakes her head. “I tried to say I was a friend, but she wasn’t having it.
Thought I was here to screw him even after I showed her my wedding ring and a picture of Breelyn. ”
“She thinks everyone wants the guys,” Lex chimes in next to me. “It’s her thing.”
I glance at Lex and back at Maren. “It’s more of a protective thing with her, but I should’ve warned you. This is Lex, she’ll be handling the camera. Are you still comfortable with walking and talking?”
Maren glances around the area. “Definitely.” She lifts her foot. “Wore my comfy shoes.”
Lex gets her hooked up with a microphone, and before we’re about to start the walk, Maren says to me, “You must be important to Foster.”
I don’t want to kill the vibe by telling her the deal we’ve struck, but she continues on, and I’m wondering who is interviewing who here.
“No offense, but I told him no three times—more because I don’t have the time with Breelyn now—but then he went into your whole story and said I’d be an idiot for not getting on your podcast now because it’ll be the next big thing soon.
” She laughs and touches my shoulder. “You know how he can be. So I said yes, and here I am.”
“Well, he’s certainly been a big help and a good friend. Thank you again for agreeing to do this.”
She gives me a knowing smile. “It’s rare to find someone who has a kind thing to say about Foster.” She takes me in, and I wonder if she sees all the feelings stirring inside me. “Anyway, I see you’re ready.” She touches my arm again. “Let’s get started. I’m an open book—nothing is off the table.”
We walk down Sheffield toward Waveland. Lex walks in front of us, changing angles. I’m glad that Maren seems okay being out in public, since it’s the basis of my show. Thankfully, it’s a workday, and the Colts have been away and don’t play home until tomorrow.
“Start wherever you want.” I prefer not to lead into our conversation with questions that will direct where the conversation goes. I want my guests to start where they think they need to because it’s usually the exact right spot whether they know it or not.
Maren slips her hands into her jean pockets. “For a long time, I thought my ex blindsided me by jilting me at the altar.”
She goes into the embarrassment and shame she felt when things didn’t work out with her ex.
How she felt pressured to make it seem on socials as though they had the most magical love story, and having it exposed in such a public way was devastating.
The mean comments from complete strangers who acted as if they knew them and the situation but really had no idea.
How she got completely off social media—deleted all of her accounts and wanted to crawl into a hole.
“I was furious because I’d never asked for much from him,” she continues.
We pass a couple arguing softly about which street they’re supposed to get to.
“When he didn’t show up,” Maren says, “I didn’t see it coming.
I thought I’d been the perfect fiancée, planning it all myself, making sure everything was perfect and documenting it every step of the way.
Sure, he never seemed thrilled with the videos and stuff, but I figured that was a guy thing.
He didn’t understand me chronicling our wedding planning. ”
My throat tightens because I can’t imagine being dressed in your wedding gown and having all your guests there, only for the groom not to show up. It has to be the biggest embarrassment someone can go through. And to think she found a way to trust another man with her heart.
“I kept replaying it,” she adds, “wondering what I could’ve done better.
And that maybe I should have been… less.
” She glances at me, her gaze gentle. “But here’s the thing no one tells you, and the one thing that took me a long time to understand.
Oftentimes, the people who leave were hoping you wouldn’t realize you deserved more. ”
Her words sink in slow and deep.
We stop at the corner, waiting for the light to change. Cars rush past, music thumping from one of them.
“When I met Eli,” Maren goes on, her voice holding a more loving note, “it scared me. Because he was so different, and so was I. I was becoming someone I was still getting used to.” She laughs. “I turned him down at least ten times.”
We turn the corner and glance at one another. She holds my eyes for a moment.
“He showed up,” she says simply. “Every time. Not just with big bouquets and fancy restaurants. In quiet ways. He asked what I needed to feel secure in our relationship. He waited and took a step back when I said I wasn’t ready to move forward.
Most of all, he never made me feel like loving me was work. ”
The light turns green.
“And that’s when I realized,” she adds as we step off the curb, “the guy who wins you won’t treat loving you like a job. He’ll treat it like a privilege.”
I swallow hard. It’s clear why her fans love her so much.
We talk about her life with Eli and how having their daughter, Breelyn, is a difficult transition, but she loves being a mom—she just wishes she had more sleep. She’s raw and honest and everything I hope for when I begin one of these conversations.
“I’m really glad I said yes,” Maren says as we get closer to returning to the condo building.
My heart stutters. “Really?”
She smiles. “I’m picky with my interviews.”
“I’m honored,” I say, meaning it. “Your story… is beautiful.”
Maren slows, glancing at me. “Foster told me if I came on, I had to be honest. That you don’t tolerate any bullshit.”
I laugh because that sounds exactly like Foster. “He would say something like that, wouldn’t he?”
She nods. “He said you listen. That you want human connections that listeners can relate to.”
My throat tightens, and we stop at the curb.
“You know,” she says quietly, “the people who give others room to be honest usually don’t always give themselves the same grace.”
I swallow. I’m starting to wonder if Maren should be doing this and not me.
We cross the street, and my gaze snags on Foster leaning against the brick wall of the building, head buried in his phone.
Maren follows my gaze and smiles. “He asked me because he believes in what you’re building with this podcast.”
As I’m about to respond, Foster glances up and smiles. It just about kills me. Maybe because so few people get it.
“Shit, are you Maren Hale? Wife of the Gold Glove winner Eli Hale?” he jokes.
Maren walks right into Foster’s arms, and they hug tightly. “That’s Eli Hale, husband of the amazing Maren Hale, you’re talking about.”
They both laugh, and although I have no reason to feel it, my chest stings with jealousy.