Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Jory
“How much longer?” Gus asks, his voice raspy from crying. He’s been pretty calm for the last few hours, and I actually thought he was asleep.
“We’re about halfway there.” I glance over at him. “Are you doing okay? Hungry? Gotta pee?”
He shakes his head.
He’s been quiet and I’ve left him alone.
I have no idea if that’s the right thing to do or if this is one of those situations where I should prompt him to talk about it.
Share his feelings. Get it all out. All I know is that when I feel like shit and have a lot on my mind, the last thing I want to do is talk about it.
Leaving him alone wins by default.
I glance at the clock, wondering what Markie’s doing. Is she in bed? Is she wearing my Royals shirt like she has the last few nights? Is she reading or going over the bracket for the thousandth time?
My heart splinters as I remember that she doesn’t need to look at the bracket. We won’t be playing.
Internally, I scream. My knuckles turn white around the steering wheel as I grip it like I can strangle it. Fuck this. Fuck all of this.
I run a hand down my face, moving to the left so a car can merge easily onto the highway. I hate this. I hate what’s happened to Ernie and to Deidre and her family. I hate that Gus is in so much pain and dealing with another loss in his life. But I hate that it means I’m letting Markie down, too.
Will she now lump me in the pen with every other man who’s failed her over the years? Am I just another disappointment now?
My teeth grind together as I try to stay calm.
Things between us have been weird since the Sunday dinner with her family, and I only figured out why yesterday.
It all started when I said that I was moving to Nevada.
I remembered the moment from the dinner table at about six o’clock yesterday morning.
Markie had a visceral reaction to my statement, something I said off-the-cuff.
Something that she told me was the right choice.
I wasn’t prepared for the question. And what was I supposed to do? Hartley had no way of knowing how complicated that answer would be.
It was either say that I’m moving to Nevada, which is what I will do—I’m a father and I want to be there for my son.
He deserves to have me in his life in a way I haven’t been before.
Or say that I should move to Nevada, but my heart is all fucked up because the woman I love has her whole life in Tennessee.
Each answer hurts one of them. And because Markie was so adamant about Nevada, I went with that. It never occurred to me how she may have internalized my response until yesterday.
And I didn’t get time to talk to her about it tonight. I lay on her sofa, figuring out how to approach the topic and how to be fair about it. The last thing I want to do is to make her feel pressured to disrupt her whole life for mine. I just can’t quite come up with a solution in which we all win.
I’m not even sure if it’s fair to tell her that I love her and then follow it up with but remember that I’m leaving Sugar Creek in a month and Tennessee in ten or eleven months.
What the fuck?
Gus sighs sadly. “I wish Markie could’ve come with us.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I like her a lot.”
“Me, too, kiddo.”
He turns to me. “Are you going to marry her?”
My eyes widen in surprise. Talk about being unprepared for a question.
“It’s not that crazy of an idea, Dad.”
Oh, to be eleven and na?ve.
“Marriage is a big deal, Gus. You don’t just marry someone because you like to hang out with them or they’re hot.” I smile at him before looking back at the dark road ahead of us. “You marry someone because you love them. You make all of these promises before God and you have to take it seriously.”
“What kind of promises?”
I sigh. “Well, you have to promise that you’ll take care of them and you’ll treat them well.
That they’ll be your best friend, and you’ll prioritize what they need and what makes them happy.
And when they mess up, that you’ll try your very best to forgive them.
And they make the same promises to you.”
“I promised to go to war with you. And I keep my promises.”
Disappointment that I failed her, that I might have made her feel like her life and what’s important to her isn’t important to me, presses on my heart. I would never hurt her. Not intentionally.
I know this isn’t my fault and that she doesn’t blame me for it. But the fact is that I did break my promise. I’m not there for her when I said I would be. Worst of all, I left her with a bunch of questions … and without knowing the truth. That I love her so fucking much.
I glance over at my son again.
“Do you know why I like Markie so much?” he asks.
“Why all the talk about Markie? Want to listen to the radio or something?”
He lifts a brow. “No, I want to talk about Markie.”
I shrug, feeling helpless. Whatever you want, kid.
“She reminds me of my first dad,” Gus says.
This isn’t what I expected. “Oh, really? How?”
I’m curious now. I don’t know much about his first dad, as he calls him, a title that doesn’t bother me in the least. He was, in fact, Gus’s first dad, and he loved my son.
I have nothing but respect and gratitude for him.
But I don’t bring him up because I feel like if Gus wants to talk about him, he will. And if he does, I’ll listen.
“I have some memories of my first dad,” he says quietly. “I remember the sound of his voice and how he loved baseball and how our house felt so happy. And then he died and it wasn’t happy like that anymore.”
Fuck. “Gus, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says, nodding. “It was a sad time. And things got better and Mom got happier, but it was never the same, you know?” He takes a breath. “But at your house, when Markie is there, it reminds me of that time before he died. It’s happy. It feels … I don’t know. Full.”
My elbow rests against the window as I lay the side of my head against my palm.
Gus snuggles against the seat. “I’m going to try to sleep now. My head hurts.”
Mine, too, buddy. Mine fucking, too.
***
Markie
I wander aimlessly through my house, wearing a path in the carpet. I made Mira go home to Hartley about an hour ago, and the depths of the loneliness I’ve experienced since have been indescribable.
I can’t sit, can’t read, can’t focus long enough to clean out a cabinet. Lying down isn’t an option because my bed reminds me of Jory. Even the bathtub reminds me of him, which is unfortunate.
I might just have to buy a new house and start over.
Or become a nun.
“Yup, that’d probably be easier,” I say, sighing.
My head throbs from crying off and on for the last however many hours.
I hate crying for any reason, but I really hate it when I’m feeling sorry for myself.
Sure, I’m crying for Gus and Jory and Deidre.
But, if I’m being honest, I’m crying for myself, too.
And I really, really feel like a shitty person for that.
The phone rings and I jump, racing to the table to pick it up. My heart in my throat, I hold my breath until I see that it’s not Jory.
“What do you want, Miles?” I ask, taking the blanket off the baby. My annoyance with him is thick in my tone, and I don’t care.
“Hello to you, too.”
“It’s your lucky day. If you called to fight, I’m ready. Let’s go. Throw the first punch so I can rip your head off.”
“Woah,” he says like he just cornered a badger. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Bad night. What do you want? We both know you only call when you want something, so get it out of the way so I can tell you no and to eat shit and die.”
He pauses and I can almost feel the energy shift through the phone. “Seriously, Markie. What’s wrong?”
“Like you care.”
“Okay, I’ll admit that I don’t truly desire to listen to you bitch about your life for the next ten minutes, but I am intrigued.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it, least of all with you.”
“Where’s Jory?”
“Ohio.”
“Why?”
“Call him and ask him.”
“I’d rather not.” He chuckles softly. “As a matter of fact, the next time you talk to him, be sure to tell him that I’m not the one who pissed you off, okay?”
I pace the room again, going back and forth from one wall of the living room to the other. There’s an edge to Miles’s tone that I can’t quite place. It’s so … awkward.
“You’re probably not going to believe this, and there’s not a damn thing that I can do about that,” he says. “But I’m calling to say I was out of line the last time we spoke.”
I flinch. My pace slows until I’m standing in the middle of the room with my brows pulled together. What’s happening here?
“I’m not going to make excuses,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I was an asshole on the phone—more than usual. And I’m not saying that I won’t be again because it’s probably a personality defect.”
My lips twitch.
“But I do apologize for that phone call. I took that too far,” he says, contrite.
“What’s happening here?” I ask, holding the side of my head. “Are you dying or something?”
“No. Not dying. I just had someone put me in my place and I haven’t been able to shake it. Turns out that I might have a soul after all.”
I hum. “Well, thanks for apologizing. I’ll believe it when you call without wanting something and learn how to say thank you.”
“That’s fair. I deserve that.”
I’m living in a twilight zone. It’s the only answer.
“The next time you talk to Jory, tell him something for me, okay?”
“Sure,” I say, deadpan.
“Tell him that he’s a better man than me.”
What?
“I’ll let you go. Thanks for answering, Markie.”
The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
It must be the end of the world. Hell is clearly freezing over.
I glance at the time and wonder how far Jory and Gus have gotten. They should be halfway there by now. Has Gus fallen asleep? Has Jory given himself an ulcer from worrying about his son?
Has he thought about me?
I blow out a breath and collapse onto the couch. Suddenly, I don’t have the strength to stand anymore, and I don’t want to sit here alone with my thoughts. And I really don’t want to have to worry about telling my friends not to show up for me tomorrow.
Might as well get it over with. It’s not like I have anything better to do.
Me: I won’t be playing in the tournament this year. I know you were all going to come watch and cheer us on, but we won’t be there.
Before I have a chance to set my phone down, it dings. I blow out a breath, readying myself for the questions when notifications flow through in quick succession.
My stomach tightens as the messages keep coming.
Fuck. I don’t want to do this tonight.
Astrid: Why?
Gianna: What’s going on?
Nettie: Huh? What did I miss?
Gianna: You miss stuff when you’re in a hotel with two fighters for days.
Gianna: Ignore me. I’m just jealous.
Gianna: No. Past Gianna is jealous. I AM A HAPPY (non-engaged) woman.
Gianna:
Gianna: Anyway, back to Markie …
I rest my head on a pillow Jory used just a few hours ago. It still smells like his cologne.
Me: Gus’s mom’s family had an emergency, and Jory had to take Gus to Ohio tonight.
Astrid: Oh, no. Is everything okay?
Nettie:
Me: I mean, yeah.
As soon as I send the message, I know it’s a lie.
My eyes fill with tears.
Me: You know what? I don’t know if it’s okay.
Nettie: What’s the emergency?
Me: Gus’s grandpa is dying. He has a day or two left and Gus wanted to say goodbye.
Mira: I love you, sister. So much.
My phone rings. Gianna. I smile, tears sliding across my lips as I start to speak.
“Hi,” I say.
“Girl. Are you okay? Be honest with me. I can be there in ten minutes. Fifteen if Drake drives.”
I laugh through my tears. “I’m fine.”
“Doesn’t sound like it. And, not that you’re not sympathetic and I’m not calling you not an empath, but I don’t think this has anything to do with the dead grandpa.”
“You’re so callous.”
“I get to the point. So, what’s going on? What’s really going on? And don’t lie to me.”
My eyes close as my head begins to throb, and the idea of regurgitating everything makes me nauseous. Yet, what would I say?
I know it’s possible for more than one thing to exist at a time.
I can be heartbroken for Gus, sad for his mother, and terrified that Jory doesn’t see me in his future.
But they all seem on such opposite ends of the spectrum and, when they’re lumped together, it’s too much on my heart for one night.
Besides, this is becoming the story of my life. It’ll wind up on my tombstone.
Here lies Markie St. James, the woman who died single anyway.
“I appreciate you,” I say. And I do. Talking things out with Mira wiped me out, though, and I don’t think I have any more words left in my brain. “But I really don’t want to talk about it tonight.”
“I do.”
Grinning, I sigh. “I know, Gianna, but I need to sort through things in my head before I start talking shit. Otherwise, I’ll convince myself of God knows what and nothing will be better for that.”
“You know what? I do that. I never made the connection.”
“Well, you just learned something.” I laugh. “I’m going to try to go to bed. My head hurts. My heart hurts. I just need to sleep and hope that, in the morning, I’ll be calmer and smarter.”
“I think you’re pretty calm and pretty smart. But call me any time. I’ll have my phone on.”
“Thanks, Gianna.”
“Of course. Since I know Nettie’s around, I’m going to call her for an update on Brooks's friends. It’ll give me something to think about aside from worrying about you.”
“You’re just nosey.”
“So?”
I smile. “Well, I hope she gives you all the details.”
“She will.” She laughs. “Call me.”
“I will. Bye.”
“Goodbye.”
I hold my phone to my chest and consider calling Jory. But he hasn’t called me, and he’s probably busy with Gus. Besides, didn’t he just tell me goodbye?
Me: I’m saying a prayer for Gus and his family. You are all in my thoughts.
I hit send and wait a few minutes, but there’s no reply. So, I roll over onto my side, tugging his practice shirt over my bent knees, and try to sleep.
Wisdom is in the space between emotion and acting on it.
Let’s hope it hits me before I wake up.