Chapter 34 #2
Scrambling off the couch, my brows pulled together as my heart misfires, I stand behind her. “I . . . But. . . . Dani?”
“Don’t go, Landry.”
The way she says my name, like a plea that she has no faith behind, hits me like the third strike. It wallops me. Breaks me. Leaves me looking and wishing I could do something different, but I can’t because that pitch has been thrown.
“I told you,” I say carefully. “I have to. San Diego is where it’s at right now.
” When she doesn’t respond, I feel panic setting in.
“I have to go where the work is. I’m not a carpenter or something with ten jobs to choose from and another forty years to work.
I have maybe five years, Dani. Five years to do what I do.
Baseball is what I do. You have to understand that. ”
My trembling hand cups her shoulder, and with the care I’d give a wild grounder, I turn her to face me.
To my surprise, there are no tears in her eyes. Just a steely resolution that feels like a bucket of ice water.
“I do understand,” she says evenly. “I understand better than you’ll ever know.”
“Good,” I sigh, relieved. “Then come with me. Let’s do this together. Let’s pick out a house, on the beach if you want. Let’s—”
“Landry . . .”
“What?” Irritation nudges ahead in the battle of my emotions.
Why is she making this so hard? It’s not like I want this, so why is she acting like I have a choice?
Taking a deep breath, I try again. “Let’s start over.
New city. New relationship. Think about it.
” I reach for her, but she takes a step back. My hand hangs in the air.
The tears I expected earlier fill her eyes as she takes another step back. “I have thought about it. I’ve thought about it before I even met you,” she sniffles.
“What are you talking about?”
“This,” she laughs through the tears trickling down her face. “Your passion for the game is what makes you so incredible, both on the field and off. You’re right, Landry. You have a handful of years left and you should play. Absolutely. And if that’s in San Diego, then it is.”
“You know I’d rather be here, right? I love Memphis. And it would be so much easier on you to just stay here. I hate even fucking asking you to leave, baby, but there’s no other way. I have to play. It’s who I am.”
She nods, wiping the tears off her face. “You’re right,” she chokes out. “It’s time for new beginnings. Go to San Diego, Landry.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
She turns her back and covers the distance to the front door faster than I can process it. The cool, wintery air is gushing in the house when I reach it and Dani is almost to her car.
My heart in my throat, my blood soaring through my body, I race through the open garage door and make it to the side of her car as she slides in the driver’s seat.
“Dani!” I call, wedging myself between the door and the frame. “What are you doing?”
Her face is soaked, her lips trembling. “I’m going home.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
“Let me ask you one question.” She looks at me, taking a deep breath, steadying herself. “Are you going to San Diego no matter what?”
“I have to,” I whisper.
She nods and seems more confident in her decision, which terrifies the fuck out of me.
“My father is the General Manager of the San Diego Sails.”
My world is twisted on its head and spun a hundred miles an hour.
Nearly dizzy, I grab the doorframe. “What?”
“Yeah,” she smiles through the tears. “My dad, the one and only Bryan Kipling, is your new boss.”
As I try to process that, she continues talking.
“It’s why I knew this was coming. I’ve seen baseball take over his life. Take over my mother’s. It’s their love for the game that trumps any love for me, Landry. If it can be that way for a parent, there’s no way it won’t be that for a boyfriend. I knew this before I met you, so I can’t blame you.”
She tries to shut the door, but I don’t budge.
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” I ask, still in disbelief. “That motherfucker is the GM? Of San Diego?”
“What do you want me to say? Everyone loves him. He’s on television, smiling and playing Mr. America. Of course it’ll look to you like I’m some kind of weirdo . . . unable to even win my parents’ love.”
My heart cracks, breaking in two jagged pieces. I reach for her. She swats my hands, but eventually relents and lets me pull her into me as I kneel by the side of the car.
Her body racks with tears as her life comes full circle again. Tears lick at my lashes too because, without a doubt, this is nonnegotiable for her. She won’t go with me. This will be the end of us.
As if she reads my mind, she pulls away and gives me a soft smile. “Go, Landry. Go play ball.”
I plead with her without words. I can’t ask her to go near her parents, not to the people that hurt her so badly. I can’t even figure out how I’m going to do that, but I also can’t think about going without her.
“Lincoln,” she says, the ring of my first name, the one she never uses, pierces the air. “This was always going to be the way this ended. I knew it before it started.” She wipes away a tear. “I’ll always be thankful for the time we did have together, and I’ll always root for you.”
“This doesn’t have to be the end.”
“No, it does. You live a life I can’t,” she says, a hint of a laugh in her voice. “If you’re ever in town . . .”
“Dani, don’t leave,” I say as she shuts the door.
The car lurches backwards as she puts it in reverse.
I pound frantically on the window because when she’s gone, she’s gone.
My throat tightens and I fight myself from screaming in the middle of the fucking driveway.
“Roll down your window. Please, give me that.”
She looks away, like it pains her to look at me before she concedes.
Her eyes flicker to mine, and we both smile at the same time.
“I need to say something,” I say, a break in my voice. “I don’t know what it is, but I need to figure out how to rewind the last few hours and stop this from happening.”
Her hand falls over mine on the ledge of the window, her thumb stroking the side of my hand. “If you think of it,” she says, “mail me the pink mug you bought me. I’d like to keep it as a reminder of you.”
“I can bring it to you. I won’t leave for a week or so.”
Her head swishes side to side. “I can’t see you again. It’ll make it worse.”
She’s right. This isn’t a girl I can be friends with. It’s a girl I want to fucking crawl inside and never leave. It’s all or nothing with this one, a grand slam or a strike out, and right now, I’m watching the ball hit the catcher’s mitt.
“Goodbye,” she whispers, her eyes filling again as the car rolls backwards.
Panicked, I jog alongside it. “I love you, Dani. Okay?”
“Okay, Landry,” she chokes out. Her chin bowed, she hits the road and drives right out of my life.