The Catching Kind (27 page)

I sat down, waiting to feel grief or whatever it was you felt when your pretend romance ended and you realized you were actually in love with the idiot.

Instead I just felt sad. A tiny, overused word for a huge, gaping emotion.

~*~

The phone rang a few hours later and I figured it was Jenna checking in. Maybe making sure I hadn’t joined a convent or any other ridiculous thing. But, when I glanced at the screen, Connor’s name lit it up.

My hand almost immediately went to accept the call, but luckily my brain hadn’t become completely dysfunctional. I wanted the time to figure out how to deal with him and be fair to both of us. To be fair to the man who had warned me in more ways than words that he wasn’t a long-term relationship guy.

After a moment, the voicemail indicator dinged and I stared at the hunk of electronics in my hand silently mocking me.

Since I had already proven I was a glutton for punishment, I pulled up my voicemail.

“Hey, Hails.” Connor sounded normal. As if we’d just had dinner and he was on a trip with his brother…and we’d see each other again soon. “Just wanted to let you know we got here. I’m taking Gavin to that restaurant you talked about. He’s being what I think you’d call mopey guy because of his most recent dating disaster, but I’m glad he came.” There was a long pause as if he was confused or looking for words. “Just wanted to call you before you left tomorrow.” 

There was some mumbled shouting in the background that sounded an awful lot like Gavin giving him a rough time. Then the phone got quiet and scratchy as I pictured Connor holding it against his jacket. 

“Seriously, jackass.” Connor shouted. “Shut up.” 

I laughed, listening to the two of them bicker before the phone cleared and Connor came back. 

“Sorry about that. Anyway. Hope you’re all set for your trip. I’ll talk to you after mine.”

The phone went dead and I hit nine to save it because—as we’ve established—I’m a glutton for punishment. 

THIRTY

Apparently I was even more of a glutton for punishment than I thought, because there I was sitting in my illegally gained leather chair, wrapped in a blanket with a Whiskey Neat watching SportsCenter.

Alone.

Because Connor was going to be on. He was still on the road doing all the good PR Dex had wrung from our
relationship.
And tonight was his guest run as a host. The World Series was over and apparently getting the gig of post mortem on the season was a big deal. The first step into post-ball retirement as a commentator. 

And here I was watching it.

Because I was an idiot.

I didn’t understand a quarter of what they talked about, but it was clear that Connor was engaging, knowledgeable, and fair-minded. Even when he was critiquing one of the teams, he did it in a way that felt more like sharing a secret with them than blasting their errors. There was that legendary charm.

“So, Connor,” a huge gentleman in a very nice suit grinned in a way I completely didn’t trust. “It’s been great having you here, but we didn’t discuss the
highlights
from your season. And we have just enough time to do that.”

Connor gave him a pained grin and I knew what was coming.

My phone dinged. I ignored it, wanting to see what was about to happen.

It dinged again, which was never good.

Turn it off. 

I know you’re watching it.

Jenna. Figured.

I texted back, wanting to be left alone.
I’m working. Too much to do.

DING.
Fine. Call me tomorrow.

“Well,” Connor deflected. “I had some great highlights between my move to the Nighthawks or maybe that ninth inning homer against the Sox.” 

He winked at them as if they were in on a joke that was funny and not a near career-ending incident. 

“We might just have a highlight reel.” The man smiled again and I wondered if all reporters were just evil at the core and should be avoided at all costs.

A clip of Connor during his first game with the Nighthawks came up. To be fair, they showed a bunch great highlights of him making some gravity defying moves. Then a few more game shots. Then, because apparently grown men could be as mean as thirteen-year-old girls, the shot of Ackerman coming off the bench at Connor in what would become the season defining moment after the alleged elevator incident.

Then, as if that had never happened, a quick collage of photos that had to be from social media of the two of us out, then Connor—his face tightened in anger I hadn’t noticed that night—rushing me into my building after the paparazzi had jumped out of the bushes. More of us, us, us everywhere. And all the shots of us looking happy and relaxed. A completely different Connor than the intent focused one from the game shots.

“Word on the street is you and Hailey Tate are taking a break. Any truth to that, Connor? And, if so, how is that going to impact your time with the team? I know they’re focusing more on the whole
family values
thing. The thing is, without Ms. Tate, you’re basically just another playboy ballplayer.” The guy grinned at Connor as if he hadn’t just said words that ripped my heart out. As if the end of a relationship was just another piece of news, something to cover while we waited for the next sports event on the calendar. As if lives weren’t changed or hurt or healed by being separated from someone you had cared about.

I took another sip of Connor’s Scotch, curled up in the chair watching for him to tell the world he’d moved on.

“Well,” Connor’s open, easy persona dropped for the first time all night. “It wouldn’t surprise anyone would it?”

I was pretty sure that someone snuck in and stabbed me with an invisible knife at that point. I hadn’t expected Connor to revert so quickly. To use me as his media shield. 

The man across the shiny counter from him laughed. Of course he did.

“Hailey Tate is so far out of my league that I’m surprised she’s put up with me for as long as she has.” Connor shifted, making sure his gaze came right through the camera, that charm-boy smile fleshing out his face. “I’m not exactly the guy who knows how to make relationships work and with two schedules as crazy as ours, it’s not going to be easy. But, I am a man who knows when something is worth the effort. Obviously.”

He gave another one of his smiles, the one that clearly said
this conversation is over
, and transitioned them smoothly back to post-season discussion.

And I died a little more. 

DING.

Call me!

I stared at my phone afraid of the
I told you so’s
that were going to be coming my way. I tossed the phone across the room, not wanting to see whatever Jenna texted next.

DING.

See? And I totally wasn’t getting up to go get it. No matter if I—

DING.

Oh, for the love of stars. Seriously. I wasn’t getting up.

The phone, sticking out from under the entertainment center, started to ring, vibrating itself across the floor. I had a feeling it had come to either answer the phone or answer the door. And, since it was raining out I went and grabbed the phone figuring Jenna didn’t need to be wandering the streets at night in the rain.

“Is this Jovi’s? Is my pizza here?” I asked, trying to throw her off the fact that I’d basically collapsed in a hot mess of tears a few minutes ago.

“Really? You were so busy ordering pizza you couldn’t text me back?” And the little dictator was in full swing.

“Jenna? Well, this is a disappointment. Unless you‘re outside holding a meat lovers with ricotta cheese.”

“Please.” Even her snorts were delicate. “Some of us would rather not have to spend hours a week on torture devises to keep a relatively reasonable figure.” 

Right. Because the tiny girl needed to think about her figure.

“I know why you’re calling.” I figured I might as well just head it all off. “Yes, I watched it. Yes, I heard what he said about me. No, I’m not stupid enough to assume he means it. Especially since it was in response to a question about his career falling apart if he went back to his non-picket fence ways.”

“His what?” Jenna asked, obviously thrown off like I’d hoped for.

“Picket fence. He says he’s not a picket fence guy.” I listened to the silence on the other end of the phone. “You know. Not a guy who is ever going to settle down. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.” 

“Right. Because you’ve always been aiming at the whole picket fence thing. You’re a city girl. We’ve never even talked about if you want kids to go inside a picket fence that you don’t want.”

“Jenna, you know it’s a metaphor. Stop being difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult.” 

Yeah, right.

“So, anyway.” I anti-segued. “Good talk. Gotta go.”

“Oh, no. No you don’t.” In the background, something made a heavy dull thud of a sound, and Jenna made the appropriate painful reply before refocusing back on me. “Hailey, are you sure?”

“Sure about what?” Because this time she’d actually lost me.

“Are you sure about Connor?” She asked before rushing on. “Because, what if, and I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but what if he meant it? What if he wants to make this work?”

The problem was, it
wasn’t
the last thing I wanted to hear. It was the thing I wanted most in my world right now. Maybe the thing I’d ever wanted most, making my first book deal fall to a very close second place. 

“Don’t do this.” I meant to sound strong, to demand it. But instead it came out as a whispered plea. “Please, Jenna. Don’t do this. If you do this then I have no defenses at all if you tear them down. You know that’s not him. You know it. And it was one thing for it to end when I knew it was nothing, but if you start making me think there’s hope, then I’m basically done for. There’s no real quick recovery from that, you know?”

“Oh, Hailey. I know. I really,
really
know.” She sniffed on the other end of the phone. “I just—I want you to be happy. And, that overly charming jock made you happy. And I’d bet the farm you made him happy too. But, I know that fear. I’m living it and I’m a huge hypocrite to tell you to take the chance on hope. To not give up and fear what may be inevitable, but…”

I waited, wondering what the
but
was. 

She sucked in a deep breath and I could almost feel her bracing herself across the line. “But, I believed him.”

“Of course you believed him.” I was almost shouting. Was she trying to kill me? “He’s Connor Ryan. His entire life is selling himself to coaches and fans and the media. He’s born for this.”

“Hailey.” Her voice was even, calm. A juxtaposition of my near manic panic. “You don’t have to believe him. Just don’t count him out yet either.”

“We’d already decided. He’d start his press junket. Then I’d go on a short book tour. When I got back he’d be down doing the guest host thing. All this traveling for both of us. We’d just let things fizzle in the media through that and let it die a peaceful death. No one gets blamed. No one gets hurt.” 

In theory. 

“Right. So, that’s not working.” Jenna laughed, as if this were funny. “All I’m saying is, when he comes back around, don’t shut him out.”

“Okay,” I said because all I really wanted was to end this conversation and go back to eating enough chocolate ice cream to drown a small nation.

Part of me wanted to snap at her, to strike out. I wasn’t the one with the perfect guy begging me weekly to move across the ocean to be with him. I wasn’t the one staying away for no reason.

I had reasons. I had Good Reasons.

To remind myself what they were, I Googled “Connor Ryan Girls” and waited for the barrage of models, actresses, senator’s daughters, etc. Only, what seemed to have taken over every search of Ryan Connor were pictures of us. My faux romance laid out in color from events to just walking down the street, his arm resting across my shoulder. It took seven pages to find him with anything resembling a supermodel. 

No matter what Jenna said, I knew I had to do what I had to do. And that meant that a relationship for career reasons couldn’t go any further. I needed to get some distance, some perspective about my time with Connor. But I knew one thing.

No matter how good it had been for either of our careers, I was now only looking out for my heart.

And that meant putting up a big fence when he came back to propose we continue our charade.

I turned my phone off and started packing for my tour. I was looking at five days out on the road wearing Becca approved outfits and avoiding all the conversations about my personal life, which had never been an issue before, so hopefully it wouldn’t be an issue now.

But, with a five am cab call, I had to focus.

And, focusing on anything but the idea Jenna was trying to plant in my head was the only thing I could do. I grabbed my laptop and started typing away, forcing a painful, heartbreaking opening scene to my next series on to the page. I typed till I was too tired to worry about anything else. 'Til I was worried I’d miss my flight if I didn’t fall into bed right then. 'Til the only thing running through my head was my new world and the characters I was ripping apart in it. 

Better than wine, chocolate, and therapy.

THIRTY-ONE

A week later, I wandered home from my book tour. My apartment was cold. Apparently I hadn’t left the heat up enough to come home to cozy. But, exhausted, I dragged my butt around trying to unpack and sort my laundry and send thank you notes to all the bookstores who had hosted me.

Basically anything to make me even more exhausted.

Because, the moment I’d stepped back into my apartment everything had just swept right over me again, washing the modicum of peace I’d gained being so busy on my trip right out. From the fact that Connor’s games and coffee machine were sitting out and ready to go, to the fact that half of my hamper was filled with oversized t-shirts, everything caused my apartment to feel tainted with Connor. As if he’d just stepped out and would be back any moment.