Chapter 9
Nine
Present Day
“Fran!” I call, very aware that I am walking into my best friend’s house unannounced at eight in the morning, all while bellowing for his wife. “Franny!”
“Kitchen,” she calls back. The best thing about Fran is that she doesn’t get fazed or offended by anything. She doesn’t care that I’m barging in before ten in the morning. She’ll just go with it.
I’m greeted with orange juice, muffins, and a scowling Callum. So, Fran doesn’t care, but maybe Callum does. The man is in boxers and a T-shirt. So what? We share a locker room; I’ve seen him in less. What’s his problem?
“Good morning to you, too,” he says, unnaturally grumpy. Fran and Callum are both sunny humans.
But I don’t care about any of that at the moment. “Fran, Stella told Roman and Roman told me—”
“Oh brother,” Cal mutters.
I ignore Cal and keep talking. “That she saw Robert yesterday.”
Fran’s face is full of compassion. Even Callum’s morning glare has softened. The last six and a half months have been the hardest of my life. They both know it. They’ve both been up close and present through every bit of it.
While I’ve had to take a backseat to Rosalie’s life, Fran still gets to be her best friend.
“She did,” Fran says, holding a muffin out toward me.
I don’t take it. I couldn’t eat if I was starved. “And? Is she okay? Was she upset? Did he hurt her? If he hurt her—”
“Sweetie.” Fran sets her muffin on the counter and steps around the island to reach me. She rests a hand on my upper arm and pats. “He did not hurt her. He said hello. He mentioned Margo. She doesn’t remember the pain he caused her.”
“Okay.” I swallow. And then it hits me—somehow this situation could be even worse. My Rosalie might not be feeling hurt, but she could believe herself in love with that man—with Robert. “And?”
“And it was confusing and a bit shocking. But she handled it well. No attacks. He’s married.”
“I’m aware.” I grit my teeth. “To Margo.”
“Yes. He told her.”
I hold my breath. Because as much as I don’t want her to be in love with Robert, I also don’t want her hurt by him again. That man already did his damage. “You’re certain she’s okay?”
“She’s having…” Fran’s shoulders rise in a slow shrug. “Feelings. Confused, unsure feelings. In her mind, he didn’t do all those awful things. It’s strange.”
I nod and sniff and hold back the emotion building in my gut.
Callum goes to wrap an arm around my back, but as his eyes drop to his boxers, he thinks better of it and settles on patting my shoulder. “She’s accepting he isn’t in her life.”
“But she wants him?” I swallow. He never deserved her.
“She doesn’t know what she wants. Not in that sense,” Fran says. “She just wants to move forward with her life, find some semblance of normalcy.”
I nod, my head bowed like a child in trouble.
“Maybe we should tell her about you,” Callum says.
“She doesn’t want that.” My throat aches with the truth of those words and the emotion I’ve forced back.
Fran’s eyes crease and her mouth forms a sad smile. “I think it would overwhelm her.” She’s right, but I’d hoped she’d disagree with me. She walks over to the cupboard and pulls out a plate, setting a blueberry muffin atop it. She sets it in front of me. “Orange juice?”
“Sure.” I sit on one of the barstools at their kitchen island, slumping in my seat and pouting into my pastry.
Callum sits next to me, sliding over his own plate. “Are you coming to practice today?” He’s changing the subject. But this topic is only slightly better than the last.
My leg pinches, the pain traveling from my tibia to my thigh. “You mean the practice that I’m not cleared to train at yet?”
“Yep. That’s the one.”
I exhale a sigh. “Yeah. I have PT and then I’ll be there.”
I’m pretty sure my physical therapist has decided that his mission in life is to murder me.
A slow, painful, tedious death. After an hour of torture, I limp out of Darwin’s office and hobble off to my car.
I’m at the Red Tail training center with our team PT, however, after that workout, I’m not walking the half mile to the field.
My life feels like an aimless arrow right now.
I have no idea the direction it’s going.
My surgeon believes I’ll be able to play again, but he isn’t certain when.
My leg is taking longer to heal and we don’t know why.
While I’ve finally spoken to the love of my life for the first time in months, she still has no idea who I am.
In fact, she might be pining for an ex who turned her life into a fiery furnace.
I pull out my phone before starting up my vehicle.
I suck in a breath and instead of mindlessly scrolling on Instagram or YouTube, I do what my brain has made its autopilot function: I check Rosalie’s location.
We shared our location with one another last year.
It’s an app she must not check often, or she’d realize she’s following someone, too.
I zoom in on her moving little icon. “Wait,” I say aloud. “Bennett’s? She’s going to the bookstore. I told her about it.” I recommended it. So… surely seeing me there wouldn’t be too suspicious. Would it?
I start up my Audi and head in the opposite direction from the field. I have a book to buy. What am I going to do at practice anyway? Watch Lucca show off. I do that every day.
Ten minutes later, I pull up in front of the little book bar. Rosalie’s car is parked out front—I haven’t missed her. I step inside, my head reeling. I need an excuse to be here. One that isn’t the girl I’m attempting to get to know all over again—which is the actual reason I’m here.
I walk into the narrow shop, ceiling to floor lined with books. Wooden shelves stacked with new and old pages fill my lungs, settling my nerves. I run a hand through my hair, peering around in a not-so-subtle way.
Rosalie isn’t at the front of the store; she must be past the counter and in the back. I think the romance section is back there—that’s what I’ve seen her reading the past few months.
I can go back there… I don’t mind a decent friends-to-lovers romance. I one hundred percent relate to all that pining. Rosalie made me read more than a couple. However, she doesn’t remember that. So, let’s go with buying a gift for my mom.
On a mission, I strut to the back, ignoring the pink-haired clerk with her eyes on me.
That’s when I spot my girl. I can see from the look on her face that she’s torn.
She’s gazing at an Addison Adams novel and a memoir sitting on a decorative shelf just to her left.
The shelf has multiple genres atop it, and Rose always loved a good memoir.
She gives her head a small shake and turns back to the romance book. “Happy endings,” I hear her mutter to herself.
“Can I help you?”
I jump in place. The clerk is by my side. I take my eyes from Rosalie and look at the girl. She’s grinning—widely—like she’s hungry and I’m lunch. “Excuse me?”
She sets her hand on my upper arm and smiles at me. “I’d love to help you out.”
Rosalie glances back, spotting us. I can see the recognition on her face, but she jerks herself back to the books on the shelves.
“I don’t need help. I know what I’m looking for.”
“You like romance?” the clerk says.
“Uh. My mom does.”
And then the woman laughs, like I’ve said something funny, like I’m the one flirting with her. Which, for the record, I’m not. She asked a question. I answered that question.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asks.
The book bar serves a few edible items. And it might be exactly what I need to ditch my tag-along. “Sure. Water.” I nod and give the woman a non-encouraging, closed-lipped grin.
She’s off, and with her disappearance, I feel an urgency to make my move.
I clear my throat, trying to draw attention to myself. “Rosalie?”
She turns on her heels, her eyes semi wide, a very fake smile on her face. “It is you. Um. Hi.”
“Yeah, I thought that was you, too.” Every word I utter to her feels like a lie. I’ve been waiting months to speak to the girl again, and now it’s all coming out wrong. “You decided to visit the shop.”
The stress lines around her eyes and on her forehead ease. “Yeah,” she says with an exhale. “I can’t resist a good bookshop. And like I said, I’m new to town.”
It almost feels like an invitation. “That’s right.” My heart thumps with my next words—that are not a lie. “I’d be happy to show you around.”
“Your girlfriend wouldn’t mind?” She nods toward the entrance of the small galley kitchen where the overly friendly clerk is surely drugging my water.
“Her? I don’t even know her name. I don’t have a girlfriend.” My heart aches a little with the words. I don’t though. Not anymore. And I certainly don’t have a fiancée.
She nods, nibbling on her cheek. “I’m single, too. Newly.” She swallows. “Sort of.”
She’s talking about Robert. Which I suppose is better than her talking about me. Hopefully in the future, when she refers to me, she’ll never use the words newly single. And yet, it still hurts. Rosalie referring to him as something lost, as something she’s thinking about, hurts my heart.
The clerk comes out of the kitchen, holding an entire tray. Four glasses on top. “Here we are,” she says. “I never asked, sparkling or flat? Lemon or not? So, I brought it all.”
“Oh. Um, wow. I’ll take flat. No lemon.” I happen to know that Rosalie loves sparkling with lemon.
So, I leave that option wide open, and then— “Would you like something?” I ask, looking at Rosalie.
And because I want to draw a thick line between me and cheating Robert Pattinson, I make it clear that this woman and I are not together.
“Ah, this nice woman, whom I don’t really know, has extra. ”
“You don’t mind?” Rosalie says to the girl.
She blows out a raspberry, her pink bangs fluttering up with the breeze. “Go ahead.”
Rosalie picks up the clear glass with bubbles and a lemon wedged on the side. “What was your name?” she asks the clerk.
“Sienna.”
My sweet Rosalie smiles at the girl. “Have you read this one?” She points to an Addison Adams’ novel that came out last year.
Sienna shakes her head.
“Uh—I have,” I say, quickly throwing out the “buying my mom a gift” cover. It was a good idea. One that may have made me sound a little more masculine. But then, Rosalie loved it when I’d read a book with her, and that I’d read any genre.
“You?” Rosalie’s tone rises an octave, and she turns her full attention to me.
When it’s clear that I’m only looking at Rose, Sienna sighs. “Of course. Because all the cute ones are gay.” Then she promptly exits, taking the other two drinks with her.
I choke on the one sip of water sliding down my throat. My eyes bug and I keep them on Rose. “Not gay,” I cough out, holding up one finger.
She glances down at the romance novel I just owned up to having read. Give me a break. How many battles does one guy have to fight?
“I’m not,” I say. “A friend of mine talked me into reading that book.”
Her eyes crinkle at the sides as she holds back a smile. “Your friends do that a lot.”
“Actually, more like she bullied and blackmailed me into it.”
This time, she does laugh. “Did you like it?”
I flick my eyes up to the ceiling. I hadn’t planned to mention my weakness for friends-to-more romances… but then how can I lie to her? “I did,” I say truthfully. “It was funny. The guy in that book is the kind I’d like to see my little sister with one day.”
She presses her lips together. I think it’s to hold back another laugh. I’ve missed that laugh more than I can explain.
I swallow and dip my head. “Still not gay, by the way.”
And then she does laugh.
It’s glorious.
“You’re a reader,” she says.
I take her in—her lips, her eyes, her voice, the wide jeans and pink top she’s in. I am so blessed to be here. “I am,” I tell her. “Always have been.” I swallow, then ask a question I already know the answer to. “You, too?”
“Yes. It’s my favorite.” She licks her pink lips.
“Mine, too.” I stare at her, begging for more.
Her eyes crease with a grin. “I should go.” She picks up the Addison Adams novel and goes to move around me.
“Wait,” I say, moving with her. “Already?”
“Yep. I’ve got what I need.” She holds the book up.
“Your glowing endorsement sealed the deal.” Rosalie peers down, her gaze falling over the book.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and when a stray lingers at her cheek, I am so tempted to tuck it away for her.
“And you still need to find something for your… mom.” She smirks, almost laughing a second time.
“I could give you my number,” I say, knowing I sound eager. I am eager. In fact, I am much more eager than I sound. “You know, for that city tour?”
Her brows cinch and she stares up at me. “I understand that you are single and one hundred percent not gay. However, I am… newly single and not looking.”
Ouch.
In my weakness, I plead for some higher power to turn back time. To make things as they were. But that isn’t going to happen. I need to be patient. Rosalie is worth my patience and all of my time.
“Sure,” I say, stepping back, giving her space. I can’t scare her away. It would rip me to shreds. “That’s understandable. But I’m a great friend. So, if you need a friend, I’m often here. Or at the café.”
She nods, her lips twitching. “Thanks, Zev. A friend would be perfect.”
I smile, all while dying a little on the inside.