27. Chapter 27 #2
“Broken?” It’s a whispered question, and Amber’s response shows in the firm set of her mouth.
Sighing, I rush to add, “I know I’m not supposed to say that.
But it’s hard to not feel that way sometimes.
That I bring absolutely nothing to the relationship compared to Adrian.
No—it’s not even that. It feels like I bring a thousand pounds of negative baggage to the relationship when he’s bringing everything good. ”
There’s a contemplative beat of silence on Amber’s end, then she asks, “Does Adrian do or say things to make you feel that way?”
“No,” I say, fighting back tears. “The opposite. He’s constantly telling me what he likes about me. How much I mean to him. He literally calls me a Spanish nickname that means ‘heaven.’”
Amber’s lips break into a wide smile. “He sounds very different from your past boyfriends.”
“He is,” I affirm, pulling my knees to my chest so I can rest my chin on them. “He’s completely different in every wonderful way.”
Amber asks, “Do you still have your friends checking in with you about your relationship? Alice and Danae?” I nod, and she says, “Then at this point, I think you should place a little bit more trust in yourself. Continue relying on your friends for help, continue checking in with yourself about how well you’re balancing life.
But it sounds like you’re starting off with a much healthier foundation this time.
That’s not to say you won’t face some bumps in the road—possibly large ones—especially as you share more with Adrian about your history. ”
My lips sag with a deep frown, and Amber stifles a laugh. “Why the long face?” she asks.
“I hate the idea of sharing my past with Adrian,” I lament. “I hate the idea of unpacking that thousand pounds of baggage about how screwed up I’ve been.”
Amber’s responding sigh is heavy. “I’m going to remind you again that you are not broken, and you are not screwed up. Do you have trauma baggage? Yes. But you know that sharing a future with Adrian means sharing your past with him.”
Covering my face with my hands, I groan. Peeking through my fingers, I say, “I wish it didn’t. I wish there was nothing to share. Maybe I’ve finally healed enough that it won’t be an issue.”
Amber gives me a skeptical look before she says, “You can grieve what should have been, but you will have to deal with what is, Samantha. Together with Adrian. Think about what that conversation is going to look like, when it might need to happen. Prepare yourself.”
After some final thoughts and signing off, I close my laptop and stare at the ceiling. I focus on the wins—Amber’s encouragement that I can trust myself more in this relationship. The ways I’m setting better boundaries. The ways Adrian is so much different from any guy in my past.
Maybe I have healed enough. Maybe I can tell Adrian the bare bones without uncovering every skeleton. Maybe everything really is going to be okay this time.
The next morning, I arrive at Adrian’s house, eager to tell him about my breakthrough with Veronica. He has an evening game followed by a late-night flight with the team for their next away series, so we’re squeezing in an early lunch date before he has to go to batting practice.
I know he hates that I’m always the one driving to his house instead of him picking me up from my apartment. But the second I mentioned photographers lurking around my building a few times, Adrian threatened to come sleep at my apartment every night just to scare them all away.
After explaining the flaw in his logic—that his presence would attract more photographers—he reluctantly agreed to let me drive to him.
But he always watches out the window for me to arrive, bounding out the door the second I pull into the driveway.
My heart flutters every time. Either Adrian has enough trust with his neighbors to not worry that they’ll spy and take photos of us, or he’s stopped caring altogether.
He practically pulls me out of my car in a squeezing hug, then sets me on the ground only to press his lips to mine.
I smile against his lips, and he releases me. “Hey,” he says, grinning.
“Hey,” I repeat, also grinning. Reaching into the car, I grab a bag. “I brought you more butterscotch cookies.”
Adrian groans. “Tell Marcia I love her, but you gotta stop fattening me up with these. The trainers won’t like it,” he jokes. He still takes the bag of cookies.
Then, he takes my hand and tugs me toward the house. “I need to finish up packing for the flight tonight. Come inside for a minute, and then we can go grab lunch.”
I follow him into the house, where Afro-Latin music beats through the speaker system. Adrian pauses to turn down the volume and sets the bag of cookies on the counter, then leads us to his bedroom. A suitcase lies open on the bed. “When do Griffin and Danae get back from their honeymoon?” he asks.
“Tomorrow. But then they’ll drive down to Tulsa to pick up Jason from my parents’ house, stay there for one night, and come back home on Tuesday,” I answer as I take a seat on the edge of the bed, leaning back against my hands. I watch as he organizes the clothes and shoes in the small suitcase.
It’s amusing how meticulous he is about organizing his stuff despite having such a spontaneous, fun-loving approach to life. There’s more below the entertaining surface with Adrian Ortiz. And I love that I’m one of the people who gets to see it.
As Adrian continues to pack, he tells me, “So, I got a call from Marcel yesterday with some interesting news. There’s a bunch of technical legal nonsense telling me what I can and can’t say—mostly what I can’t say.
But I’m going to plead ignorance and tell only you that an unnamed streaming service is filming a series about four of the players from the Venezuelan world team who are in the running for the MLB playoffs.
And you happen to be dating one of the players being featured. ”
Jerking up straight, I exclaim, “Are you serious? That’s amazing! What does that mean? Are they going to be filming you at games?”