The Shortstop (27 page)

Annie

He stands in his doorway in a state of shock. I truly can’t blame him. I’m even surprised I’m here. A lot of soul-searching had me finally growing a set of balls to come talk to him. I struggled with keeping a distance between us for weeks. Updates from Billy and his parents were the only things that kept me going. They also made me realize he needed to fix himself before we could fix us. If he went back to New York and back to his destructive behavior, I wouldn’t be here right now. But he’s trying…he’s mending. I’m not sure I could recover from what he went through. I’m not sure many could.

I love this man more than anything in the world. My love isn’t the problem. The hurt he caused me won’t go away, and that’s my roadblock back to Quint. I’m hoping I can move past that hurt because I want him in my life. I need him in my life. Being apart these past months has been a hell that I don’t ever want to live through again. He’s been through his own form of hell. We both want what we had, and I love him enough to work on getting it back.

After a few seconds I ask, “Can I come in?”

“I’m sorry. Of course.”

Moving aside for me, I walk past him into the condo. It hasn’t changed. Memories immediately flood my mind, places where he kissed me or made love to me. Our pictures, now in new frames, still decorate the shelves. The walls that fell victim to his anger have been repaired. Except for a new paint job, it looks just as I left it. His laptop is opened to a picture of us. He sees me staring at it and smiles.

“Annie, I’m so happy to see you.”

His eyes appreciate me from head to toe. Optimism spills over every part of him. He’s beaming as he offers me a place to sit. I choose a chair, and he then sits tentatively on the couch, on the spot we last tried to make love but where he pushed me away instead. That was the beginning of the end. Emotion clogs my throat as I remember the rejection I felt that night. My gaze flicks back to the laptop and the picture displayed. We had just arrived at FSU, and Daphne took the picture at homecoming. Memories, both good and bad, rush to the surface, competing for space in my mind.

I need to take this slow.

“How are you feeling?” I’m the first to speak.

“Good. Really good.” He points to the arm braces he now uses. “I’m making progress. Lance is keeping me real busy.”

“He told me.” Hurt flashes through his eyes at my slip. “We’re friends,” I explain with a shrug.

“I didn’t know you still spoke.”

“He checks on me every now and then. He’s a good guy.”

Quint offers a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. The tension between us is obvious. Deciding to change the subject, I offer, “Billy is really proud of you.”

Quint raises his brows in surprise. “I didn’t know that either.”

“I’m glad you two are speaking again.”

“Me too. I missed him. Things aren’t perfect, but we’re getting there.”

“He’s missed you, too. He’s been filling me in on your progress. Told me about AA
and that you’re negotiating with the Yankees
.
”

“Yeah, we’ll see. Fingers crossed something will come through when I’m ready to work.”

Silence falls as we continue to tread carefully. I need to get to the point of why I showed up unannounced.

“Um…I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“I’m hoping you’ll finally come back to me,” he responds honestly. “I’m hoping you’ll try to love me again.”

I can’t have him assuming I’m here to pick up right where we left off. “Quint, I’m really proud of you, but…”

“You don’t love me anymore, do you?” He gauges my facial expression, frowning when he is met with seriousness.

“Quint, I never stopped loving you.” My response is immediate, and defensive. Relief flashes on his face until I add, “But you can’t expect me to pick up where we left off before your injury.”

“I know.” He stares down at his hands, waiting for me to continue. “I was hoping though. I know I have a lot of work to do to get you back.”

“You need to focus on healing and not worry about us.”

“I can’t heal if there isn’t an us.” He looks up, lost.

“Yes, you can. You need to. I felt I owed you a conversation that wasn’t driven by anger and hurtfulness. It’s taken this long for me to feel I could handle being near you.”

He meets my eyes with a pained expression. “Annie, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’ll tell you that I’m sorry every day of your life. If you’re here to tell me that you are happy, and that you finally have moved on without me, I won’t lie or say that I regret what I did. Because that’s all I wanted, for you to be happy. Even if hurting you was the only way to get you there.”

Tears fill my eyes and I desperately try to blink them away. He watches me carefully, waiting for me to respond. “That’s the part I’m struggling with. I’m not sure I can ever forget how much you hurt me.”

“I’d like the chance to help you forget.” He leans forward, as if he wants to reach out and touch me.

“I need to know what you did with Daphne.”

My words halt his movements. The pain he’s feeling is clearly written all over his face.

“Nothing besides kissing.”

“Kissing is not nothing.”

“To me it was. It meant nothing. I planned the whole thing. She was very drunk, and I was very high. She passed out shortly after we started. The next morning, I led her to believe we had sex.”

His confession makes me sick to my stomach. The thought of his lips on hers flashes in my mind over and over.

“It was all part of my master plan. Annie, I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting that night. I’ll also spend it reminding you how much I love you.” His pleading stare starts to break down my resolve until it forces me to look away. “Annie, please give me that chance.”

He quietly stands and comes to where I’m sitting. In the same manner as he did at my apartment, he gently grips my chin and raises my head until I’m looking up at him. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” He releases my chin to take my hand. Tugging, he forces me to stand before him. My heart slams in my chest as I stare into his eyes. I desperately want to hold him, and I clench my fists behind my back to stop myself.

With a fingertip, he slowly strokes my cheek as I unconsciously lean into his touch. The man I see now is my Quint. The love in his eyes is obvious. The way he’s looking at me leaves no doubt that he’s back. I haven’t seen him in too long. But ghosts of a different Quint continue to haunt my mind.

“I need to take it slow,” I voice my thoughts.

“We will. We’ll start from the beginning. I’ll do whatever I need to.”

His eyes skim over my face, landing on my lips. He rubs his thumb across them and bends to gently kiss me. The kiss starts slow, soft. Before it progresses, I’m the first to pull away. My lips instantly tingle from the loss of contact. Heat smolders in my gut from one simple kiss. If he were to undress me and take me right now, I wouldn’t be able to stop him.

“I have to go.”

“I understand,” he says brightly. His eyes betray his cheerful façade. “Where are you staying?”

“With Ava and Jeff.”

“Do you have plans tomorrow? Can you come back and have dinner with me?” His big brown eyes widen expectantly.  

“Dinner would be nice.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He starts to walk me out and I shake my head. “Stay. I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Just as I open his door to leave, he says, “Annie, I love you.”

I love you too
, I respond in my mind.

The fact that I’m nervous about having dinner with the man I’ve known practically my whole life is ridiculous. This man has been through everything with me, and I with him. Six hellish months eclipsing almost two decades of happiness is our cruel reality. For the first time in those months, I allow a seed of optimism to bloom inside me.

My hand shakes as I raise it to knock on his door. He answers so quickly that he must have been hovering, waiting for me to arrive.

“Hi,” he says with a warm smile.

“Hi.”

“Come in.”

“What smells so good?” I follow him into the kitchen.

“Baked ziti.”

The table is set elegantly for two. Candles flicker romantically in the center. There’s no evidence of takeout on the counters. He opens the oven door and pulls out a steaming baking dish. “You cooked it?”

“Yeah. Don’t look so surprised.” He throws me a sideways glance before placing the dish on the table. “Besides, I missed your birthday. I wanted to cook you dinner.” I stand awkwardly in his kitchen, not knowing what to say. He senses my discomfort and asks, “Wine?”

“Yes, thank you.” I watch as he expertly opens a chilled bottle of white, pouring out a glassful. He offers it with a smile. “Aren’t you having some?”

“No,” he says with a shake of his head. I feel like a shit, forgetting his sobriety.

“I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“It’s fine. Hungry?”

“Yes. I’m really impressed,” I admit, admiring all he’s done.

“Good. I’m trying to impress.”

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he turns and taps my glass. “Cheers. To better times and happiness ahead.” My heart clenches from his toast. He’s still struggling with his reality.

I school my features and smile warmly. “Cheers.”

“Let’s eat, before it gets cold.”

We take our places at the table and he serves up the ziti. Quietly, we begin eating, occasionally sneaking glances at each other. I can tell he’s nervous as well. When I look up, his eyes linger on my face.

“Delicious. The fanciest thing you ever made in the kitchen was boxed macaroni and cheese.”

“Hey, mac and cheese is hard to master.” He looks so adorable. I could easily rush back into his arms, denying all that has happened between us. Honestly, I could have done so weeks ago when he arrived at my apartment. But that would have set us up for failure.

He needed to heal.

I needed to as well.

The sexual tension between us practically crackles in the air. His hair is styled the way I always liked it, messy yet not. He’s wearing a simple gray T-shirt with his signature track pants. The fabric is stretched over his defined muscles. Lance must be working him really hard. He looks more muscular than he did when he played ball. I can stare at him all day, every day. Staring into his deep brown eyes makes me breathless. My eyes devour the lines of his straight, angled jaw, his full, masculine lips, and his sexy scruff. He’s absolutely beautiful.

I feel a bump against my leg and he quickly apologizes.

“Sorry, this brace makes it hard to sit like a human,” he says with a heart-melting smile. My insides ache for him. I quickly look down at my plate to break the spell he has over me.

I distractedly push my food around while my brain quips, “
Wait, why the hell are you apart
?” Every reason I’ve held on to seems meaningless as I sit and wonder why I’m not in his arms as we speak. Why am I not beneath him as he slides inside me? Why is he all the way over there?

“You okay?” he asks, interrupting my inner turmoil.

“Yeah.”

He reaches for my hand, holding it gently across the table. “I know when something is bothering you, baby.” He lets go when he realizes his former term of endearment slipped out of his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I mimic his gesture, reaching for his hand. “I hate this tension between us.”

“Me too.” We both stare at our entwined fingers, contemplating where we stand in our relationship. “There doesn’t have to be,” he says quietly. He waits until I meet his gaze before he continues. “We’re still here. The Annie and Q who lived a fairy tale, who were really happy together, who were planning their wedding are still here deep inside us. We just need to let them out.” He lifts our hands and kisses my ring finger. While still staring at the spot where my engagement ring once sat, he says, “I love you, Annie.”

“I love you, too.”

“Be with me?” When my breathing alters, he adds, “I don’t mean sex. I mean, be with me. Be my Annie. Let me be your Q. Please. My life is finally settled, but it’s missing you. I need you.” His eyes moisten when he sees my tears falling freely. “Baby, life is too short. I wasted too much time being a prick. I don’t want to spend another moment apart.”