Chapter 20 #2
How I’d treat her if I got the chance. If the world worked differently.
“So I hear you’re playing in the pickleball tournament,” Drake says, taking another bite of his pizza. An olive falls off and lands on his plate. “That should be fun to watch.”
I laugh. “From a professional athlete’s perspective, Markie’s impressive. She’s exceptionally athletic, which surprised the hell out of me. I play with guys who get paid a lot of money to play rugby, and they don’t take it nearly as seriously as Markie takes pickleball.”
Drake laughs. “I believe that. I’ve heard about this tournament for months. Gianna’s made shirts for it. There are pompoms. It’s an event, I’m telling you. I hope you’re ready.”
I pluck a pepperoni off a slice and pop it into my mouth. Thank God Markie has friends who love her so much.
“Oh, I was going to ask you about something,” Drake says. “I saw a report last week that the Royals might be signing Graber Boyer from Lansing. Is there any truth to that?”
I nod. “Yeah. I think so. Brewer called me into his office just before I left Nashville and asked me if I’d be willing to mentor Boyer if they got him. They think he’ll be a good fit and hope he can step into my role after I’ve retired.”
My breath holds as I await the burst of anxiety that usually comes with talking about my retirement. Hearing the mechanics of my departure—what roster changes are coming, who they’re eyeing to replace me—makes it feel real. It’s not simply talking about my retirement. That feels so nonspecific.
But discussing the new winger from Michigan coming in to be the new me? That’s incredibly specific.
I blow out the breath when the surge of nervous energy doesn’t come. I’m not sure why, but it’s a relief.
“He has a great pedigree,” Drake says. “His stats all the way back to high school are impressive. And his dad was a pro in Australia years back.”
“I heard that. I watched bits and pieces of video Brewer had of Boyer, and he has a lot of potential, for sure.”
Drake takes another bite. “How does it feel to be walking away from the game? Are you excited?”
“Yeah,” I say. Mostly. “It’s time. That’s for sure. But there’s a lot of moving parts that I haven’t quite figured out.”
“Are you sticking around Nashville?”
And here comes the nerves. I set my pizza down and grab a napkin.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what Markie said about Gus only being a kid for six or seven more years. Of course, I knew that, but I’d never thought of it in that context.
“I don’t know,” I say. But what Markie said has resonated with me.
Gus already lost one dad, his “first dad.” How could I not want to move closer to him?
How could I not be there for him every day?
I love that kid unconditionally, and I have to do whatever it takes to make sure that he knows that.
“I’m leaning toward moving to Nevada to be close to Gus. ”
“Makes sense. You’ll get to be there for those teen years.” Drake laughs. “I’ll pray he’s more like his mama and less like you.”
I laugh, too. “No shit. I’ll be walking into one of the most important parts of his life. Hope I don’t fuck him up.”
Drake studies me for a minute before sitting back in his seat.
“My dad had this saying while we were growing up. It came out a lot when I was frustrated about football practice or when my sisters didn’t want to go to church.
” He grins softly. “Presence over perfection. I heard it a million times over the years. He’d rather us show up and do our best than wait until we could do it perfectly. ”
Presence over perfection. The phrase rolls around my brain.
“Gus doesn’t need a perfect dad, Jory. He just needs his dad.”
Lisa comes back to the table, engaging Drake in conversation about a customer from a day or two ago. While they chat, I use the time to carefully consider what Drake said.
When I was growing up, my dad worked his tail off. He often worked two jobs to keep the household running. He was a great father, and I looked forward to spending the random Saturday with him, even if that meant sitting in the garage while he worked on our car. That thing always needed a repair.
He wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t matter to me. I just wanted him. My dad.
Lisa places our checks on the table. Before I can ask Drake if he’s ready to go, my phone buzzes.
It’s Markie’s name on the screen, so a smile slips across my face.
“Hang on, Drake,” I say, unlocking my device.
Markie: If your goal was to make me so sore that I couldn’t stop thinking about your cock today, I’d like to let you know that you succeeded.
Now there’s a text that every man wants to receive in their lifetime.
Me: That wasn’t my goal, but I’m happy to hear you’re thinking about me. And/or my cock.
Markie: Do you know how weird it is to be at work, having a conversation about honeybees with a guy who could be my grandpa, and all I can think about is how it felt to be stretched open by you four times yesterday?
Me: Keep it up and I’ll kidnap you from work, and you’ll get it again.
Markie: Don’t threaten me with a good time.
Me: What time are we meeting at the courts?
Markie: Six. We close at four during the week, but we have a finance meeting right after to go over utility bills and stuff.
Me: Gus might need a math lesson after.
Markie: Are you using your son to get me to your house?
Me: It’s worked so far.
Markie: Yeah, but that was before I knew that you were built to be ridden. You can just invite me over now.
Me: Consider this a standing invitation.
Markie:
I lock the screen and look up to see Drake smiling.
“I don’t need to ask who that was,” he says, chuckling.
“Is it that obvious?”
“There’s only one person who puts that look on my face. So yeah, pretty obvious.” He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to decide whether to share what’s on his mind or not. “Can I give you some advice?”
“Sure.”
Drake takes both checks and pulls out his wallet.
“If you don’t watch yourself, you’re gonna be fucked in more ways than one.
” He slides his credit card out and holds it with the checks.
When he looks up at me, he’s smirking. “Trust me. When it comes to women like Gianna and Markie, they get under your skin before you even realize what’s happening.
You just sort of look up one day and realize you’re in way over your head …
and there’s nowhere else you want to be. ”
He gets to his feet, heading toward the cash register to pay. I stay back, letting his words filter through my head.
This isn’t new information. It’s incredibly easy to see how Markie St. James could really fuck with your head.
“It’s complicated. I live here. You and your dad don’t. And since you’re both going back to your homes in a couple of months, it doesn’t really make any sense to be too serious. Do you know what I mean?”
I take a deep breath.
But she’s my fake girlfriend, and it’d behoove me to remember that.