Chapter 19
Callie
A little heads-up next time!!! I thought you were dead when you didn’t answer my call. Do you know when the last time the coffee shop was closed during the week was? TWO YEARS AGO!
I nearly called the cops.
Stopped by and Ruthie told me the suspected diagnosis. Real talk now that I know you’re alive. How are you?
Eli
Usually I’d say enjoy the day off, but I don’t think you’re getting one. I’ll enjoy mine enough for the both of us.
There’s a GIF of a cartoon frog throwing its ass back attached to the message. It’s disturbingly realistic despite it being a goddamn frog.
I ignore his message and call my sister instead of sending a bunch of texts back. She answers after the second ring, sounding out of breath.
“Finally! I was considering calling the cops for a second time.”
“What a waste of our tax dollars that would have been.”
“Yeah, well. What’s going on?”
“Did Ruthie say if she stayed long?” I ask instead of answering.
The coffee shop is deserted, a sight that hasn’t stopped bothering me since I got here half an hour ago.
It felt all kinds of wrong to tell the few regulars who were lingering by the door that I wasn’t opening, and even worse when I locked it behind me.
There’s no way the place can run today, though.
Not with the water remaining turned off throughout the entire building.
I glare at the clock above the door for the fifth time in the last ten minutes.
“No. She found the note you left in the kitchen once she got to the place and you chatted on the phone.”
“Did she seem mad?”
“Not like it matters, but no. You sound exhausted, Quinn.”
“I am exhausted. The water started gushing in the middle of the night, and I got here at nine thirty. I’ve spent every minute since on the phone, trying to get someone in here ASAP.”
“How’s that going?”
I scrub a hand down my face. “Terribly. The insurance company is backed up, and it’s going to take at least a few hours to get an adjuster out, and then who knows how long before they can get their own contractors over to do a quote.
I don’t know how bad everything is, but with my luck, it’s going to take months. ”
“It won’t take months. A week, maybe. Two tops.”
“Ruthie went looking upstairs, didn’t she?”
Callie laughs, confirming my assumption. “Of course she did. She’s a snoop. But she’s a thousand years old and doesn’t think it’s that bad. If the water in the business wasn’t connected to the stuff upstairs, you wouldn’t have had to shut down at all.”
“I can’t afford to be shut down at all.”
“Yes, you can. I know you like to live your life as if you don’t have two nickels to rub together, but I’ve been keeping an eye on the books, and business is good. You could even afford to open a second location if you wanted to.”
“And have double the stress? Not a chance.”
That doesn’t mean she’s wrong, though. I blame my issues with money on our upbringing. It’s the only logical explanation for why I can see the comfortable sum in my account and still think that I’m one stint with the cold or a tumble down the stairs away from losing everything I’ve worked hard for.
In my pessimistic brain, it’s only a matter of time.
“Fine. But I’m serious. Don’t worry about a few days. Plus, insurance should cover some loss of income, right?”
“They should. I haven’t gotten there yet. I still have to fill out the stack of paperwork they sent through earlier and sort through the photos we took.”
“We?”
I pause, giving myself a mental spank for the slip-up. “I meant me.”
“Oh, really? ‘The photos me took’? Be so for real, Quinn.”
“I panicked.”
“And?”
My glare grows ruthless as I watch the arms on the clock continue ticking. “I panicked and called Beck. He helped.”
“Pardon me? Say again?”
“You’re such a brat, Callie. You heard me the first time. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Her laugh washes over me, relaxing my shot nervous system. It’s always had that effect on me, especially when we were kids, and it was the only thing that kept me stitched together most of the time. Well, that and the terrible jokes from her ratty old comedy book.
“Okay, so you called the super sexy baseball player who’s been simping after you for months to come help because you panicked. I got it. Because surely, he was your only option. I expect that must be the explanation for why you’re pretending to date him, too, huh?”
I knew she wouldn’t believe it. “Who else should I have called? You?”
“Obviously not. But a plumber wouldn’t have been a bad choice.”
“And had to pay for an emergency visit? Beck took care of it for free.”
Callie cackles into the phone. “Yeah, I bet he did.”
“I’m going to hang up on you.”
“No, you’re not. But fine, I’ll stop. Even though I’m so curious I could actually die.”
Finally accepting that the insurance company wasn’t exaggerating when they told me there was no chance of anyone showing up this morning, I turn away from the clock. Sprawling out on the loveseat, I drop my head back against it.
“Spit it out,” I mutter.
“Where did you stay last night?”
The memory of falling asleep in the warm cocoon of expensive silk sheets and a heavy duvet has my stomach swooping almost as much as the one that I haven’t seemed to be able to shake from the moment I slipped into bed.
I could still feel Beck’s calloused fingers on my cheek and curling a rogue piece of hair behind my ear long after I decided to try and sleep.
And even now, I swear I can smell his cologne when the air blows a certain way, ruffling my messy waves.
I don’t know the last time a touch so simple affected me so deeply.
“It was friendly. Either I stayed with him or I found a hotel,” I tell her defensively.
Her smugness is obvious in her reply. “I didn’t say it wasn’t. Your brain went there all on its own.”
“It probably won’t happen again. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“I highly doubt that’s how he sees you.”
“Yeah, well. I doubt he wants some random girl hogging his guest room.”
I assume that would make dating hard. Or hooking up. Whatever it is that Beck does. Most likely the latter, if the few articles I’ve read in the last few days mean anything. Though . . . he did make a point of explaining that he isn’t doing that anymore.
It doesn’t matter, I remind myself.
“Random girl? Maybe you’re more tired than you’re willing to admit because that’s insane.”
“We’re done talking about this, okay? I’m good, and I’m getting all this shit sorted as soon as I can. For now, just focus on school. I have to update Eli.”
“Don’t worry about him. I already told him.”
My brows jump. “You talk that often?”
“It was a simple update, Quinn. Don’t be dramatic,” she drawls, throwing my words back at me.
A couple of minutes later, we hang up, and I go back to my texts. There are a few new ones, all from the same number.
Beck
Going out on the field in 5. Got the front desk at home to add you to the list of visitors so you can go up without issues whenever you’re ready. Door code is 6719.
If you’re not done at the shop till later, I can swing by and pick you up. Need anything?
The texts are all very domestic. Like this is our usual routine, and that’s tripping my mind up a bit.
Nothing about this is normal. We don’t shoot messages to each other during the day, and I don’t help myself to his multi-million-dollar condo whenever I please.
Having my name on a list reserved for those close to him unsettles me. What have I done to deserve that?
Hesitating to reply, I distract myself by flicking on the TV and finding the game.
It hasn’t started yet, so I’m forced to watch two guys in suits sit at a desk and gossip about the team.
At first, they recap the earlier games in the season, going on and on about their win-to-loss ratio.
Apparently, the Havoc have a very good one. Better than it was the prior two years.
It all sounds incredibly boring until I catch a familiar name.
Finn Avery is one of the pitchers—I think everyone in Vancouver knows that—and also the guy Callie went out with on a date a few months ago.
It wasn’t a real one, as far as I’m aware, but some sort of test for his best friend, Aubrey.
Hers is another name that I’m familiar with after hearing it a few times around Blank Page and from Beck’s mouth last night.
There seem to be quite a few people in Beck’s life, both personally and professionally. It’s intimidating, if I’m being honest.
The guy on the left, who opted out of a tie and instead has his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, nods along with his partner before steering the conversation.
“I think Shore is hoping for at least six innings from Avery this afternoon. Anything less and the bullpen’s going to feel it.
If we’re being brutally honest here, this team would already be number one in the division if the reliever’s arms were stronger.
They’ve got the hitting power to win the majority of the next two series, even with Asher Vaughn still out of the lineup. ”
“You don’t think they’re feeling that loss, though? Sure, they’ve managed to carry the weight behind him, but Vaughn is a massive asset to the team this season. Roman Shore was asked about when we should expect him back, and this is what he had to say.”
The second guy nods, and the screen swaps to a camera capturing an interview.
The lighting is much dimmer wherever they are.
A hallway, maybe. There’s a green and grey wall behind the black-haired man with black hoops in the top curve of his ear.
He’s older than I am, in his forties, if I had to guess.
There’s an authority to him that makes me think he’s the guy in charge of the team.
“Yeah, we’re playing it by ear. No confirmed date at the moment. Once I know more, you’ll be the first to know,” he says, voice calm, in control.
Someone close by asks, “Is it an injury? Should we expect Velasco to stay on the lineup for a while longer, or are there more moves coming?”
“We haven’t gotten there yet.”
“Do you think Asher will be back by the end of the home stand?”
Even I’m getting annoyed with these questions. It isn’t surprising in the slightest to see the strain in the black-haired man’s expression. Luckily for me, the interview cuts off, and we pan back to the desk.
“They’re playing it close to the chest, so for now, we’ll have to wait and see. But we do know that Velasco has been holding his own so far. I personally hope to see Asher back on the Havoc bench as soon as possible.”
“That makes two of us.”
The screen changes again, this time to a sweeping view of the field.
I spy a few faces I can place. First, Wes as he makes a throw to Finn on the turf, and then Kellan, the huge guy who Beck said owns the mint Jeep.
It isn’t until the camera travels past them and to a slightly raised platform on the far end of the field that I really start paying attention, leaning closer to the TV.
The players standing around in there are all new to me.
I manage to ignore most of them, but I can’t deny that I’m searching for Beck.
He wasn’t with his friends, and I’m not sure of the rules here. He’s a pitcher, but so is Finn, and he’s out there. I feel like such an idiot for knowing so little about this sport.
My skin prickles when I find him. It’s a fleeting look, not lasting longer than a heartbeat.
He was there, standing at the half wall with a Havoc sweatshirt on and a matching cap, grinning at something or someone despite the obvious bags beneath his eyes.
Then just as quickly, I’m staring at both of the guys at that desk again.
I frown, more than a little annoyed as I flick the TV off.
Without giving myself time to backtrack, I send a text that I know he won’t see until after the game ends.
Good luck. See you after.