Go Away, Darling - Alexis Anne Page 0,42

newfound creativity. I wasn’t the person I was when all this started. The house felt different.

It was quiet.

I had nowhere to be. No exciting new day to capture with my lens.

I tried to equate it to returning home after a vacation. When you realize your home has a scent you never otherwise notice. You see the clutter on your bedroom shelf or the disorganization of the bathroom in new ways.

In a few days everything would fade back into normality.

And for some reason that made my skin itch.

So I set about giving the house a good once over and then settled into my office to edit. I lost hours fine tuning the shades of gray, cropping images to draw the eye to a particular point. By the time dinner rolled around I threw together a salad and mac and cheese and looked at my phone, realizing I hadn’t heard from Chris all day.

This was perfectly normal. He had non-stop interviews scheduled. I shot him a text letting him know I missed him. I got Linc, grabbed a seltzer, and sat on the back porch to listen to the crickets as I checked the news. Chris’s interviews were already everywhere and I enjoyed watching them.

But I was also sad that after so much time together, we were apart.

I got an apology message at two in the morning. The next day was more of the same. As I shot off proofs to each of Chris’s teammates and coaches, getting almost instant replies and thanks, I began to feel the weight of Chris’s fame. He wasn’t just any ballplayer. He was the ballplayer of the moment.

So I was irritated—rationally or not—when he did finally call.

“Liv. I’m so sorry. It’s been nuts!”

I found it hard to hold a grudge considering the circumstances. “I’ve seen some of the interviews. They’re keeping you on your toes.”

“It’s no excuse. I should have found time to call. How are you?”

I closed the project I was working on so I could focus on the conversation. “We’re good. Back to normal for us. Linc has an art project due tomorrow and I’m trying very hard to let him do it himself.”

Chris laughed, and it soothed some of my wounded emotions. “I can only imagine. What else? Tell me everything.”

His enthusiasm made me smile and I tried to forget that we had barely spoken since our night together. “I’ve been editing and sending off proofs. The orders are coming in hard and fast and I’ll have to stop editing so I can send out invoices.”

“It’s incredible. The guys can’t stop gushing. The only thing better than winning a World Series is having a work of art commemorating all the hard work. I’m so happy for you.”

“I guess I should thank you for the inspiration. It wasn’t planned.”

“My parents always say that’s the best work they ever do—unplanned creative inspiration popping up out of nowhere and consuming everything. I can see a lot of you in them these last couple of weeks.”

Since Paint the Wallflower Gold were amazing musicians, I took that as an enormous compliment. “Thank you, Chris.”

“I miss you. I hate that we’re apart after what happened,” he said in a rush.

My chest ached. “I hate it too.”

We were both silent for a while, but then I heard him clear his throat. “Do you regret it? Because I don’t.”

Did I regret crossing that line? I sat up every night thinking and thinking, trying to understand how I felt. The answer I always came back to was complicated. “I don’t regret being with you because it was what I wanted and I honestly think I might have combusted if we didn’t do something. But I have doubts, if I’m being honest.”

It was too familiar. All those nights alone while Beau traveled or simply didn’t want to come home. I knew they were different men in different circumstances, but the icky feelings inside my heart couldn’t distinguish between the two at the moment.

“Doubts?” His voice was rougher now, tinged with emotions. “Because I’ve been gone?”

“Yes and no. This has just been a reminder of all the things that scare me. It doesn’t mean I believe we’re doomed.”

He chuckled without humor. “Ah, doomed. So great. The bar is set really high.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

He was silent for several beats. “I know. And if I’m being honest, I have doubts as well.”

That confession was like a stab to the heart, which, of course, made me a hypocrite. It wasn’t fair of me to