“WHY THE HELL don’t you have your cell phone turned on?”
Outside Wrigley Field, J.D. stormed over to the will-call booth where Tyler waited, too angry to bother with a greeting.
Tyler didn’t appear to notice the frustration in J.D.’s voice. He pulled out his phone and looked at it matter-of-factly.
“Would you look at that—the battery’s dead. I must’ve forgot to charge it. Oh, well.”
J.D. could’ve strangled him. Three weeks ago, Tyler had suggested they catch a game the night before the partnership decision, as a distraction. At the time it had seemed like a great idea. But now, after everything that had just happened with Payton, baseball was the last thing on his mind.
“ ‘Oh, well?’ ” he said. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour.”
“Sorry.” Tyler cocked his head. “What’d you want?”
“To tell you that I wasn’t going to make it tonight.”
“You came here to tell me you’re not coming?” Tyler asked.
“Yes,” J.D. said, exasperated.
“But if you’re not coming . . . then how are you here? Wait—is this a time-travel kind of thing? If so, you’ve got to tell me how that works, because I would really love to go back to Saturday night and tell myself not to bring home Ms. Looney Tunes, because that girl has—”
“Screw this.” J.D. whirled around, cutting Tyler off. “I should’ve let you sit out here all night waiting.” He began walking back to his car. Normally, he could take all the shit Tyler wanted to dish out. But not tonight.
“Hey, J.D.—come on,” Tyler said, following him. “I’m just messing with you. Hold up a second.”
J.D. slowed down, then finally turned around.
Tyler saw the look on his face. “What happened?”
J.D. looked up at the sky, shaking his head. He still couldn’t believe it himself.
Seeing his reaction, Tyler took a guess. “The firm. They told you their decision,” he said in a somber tone.
J.D. laughed bitterly. “I wish that was it.” He was struck by his choice of words. That was quite a statement to make.
Tyler seemed less surprised. He stepped over and put his hand on J.D.’s shoulder. “So, then. Do you want to tell me what happened with Payton?”
J.D. didn’t know where to start. He ran his hand through his hair. “I . . . wow, I totally fucked it up.”
Tyler nodded. “I’ll tell you what—we’re both here, and I’ve already got the tickets. Let’s go inside, have a beer, and you can tell me everything.”
J.D. knew that Tyler had sprung for club box seats, just five rows back from the dugout, and felt bad letting his friend’s money go to waste. Plus, the part about the beer didn’t sound like a bad idea. He was going to need something alcoholic—probably several somethings alcoholic, in fact—just to get through this conversation.
“Okay,” he agreed. He followed Tyler inside the stadium.
STAYING TURNED OUT to be a surprisingly good idea.
It was easier for J.D. to talk while pretending to keep an eye on the game. Discussing his emotions wasn’t exactly something that came naturally for him, and the game gave him the opportunity to look away from Tyler during certain key parts of the conversation.
He told his friend about the weekend in Palm Beach, about Paytons’s hesitations concerning the partnership decision, and what she had said to him in the parking garage just a couple of hours ago.
Which then brought him to the conversation Payton had overheard between him and Ben, and more important, to the lie he had told Ben several years ago.
It was here that J.D. stopped. As much as he might’ve wanted to gloss over that particular part of the story, he knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Tyler, who had been relatively quiet up until this point, ran his hand over his mouth, and then exhaled loudly. “J.D. . . . that’s pretty bad.”
“I know.”
“How did Payton react when you admitted what you’d told Ben?”
“Not well.” J.D. peered over at Tyler. “She wanted to know why. So I told her that I’m an asshole.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t go over any better.”
“No, it did not.”
Tyler looked at J.D. expectantly. “So? Are you at least going to tell me the truth?”
J.D. took a moment, then looked back toward the game. “It was a few years ago, at the firm holiday party. Payton had brought a date, some writer she’d met at the gym or something, and they were standing at the bar getting a drink. And I remember, as I watched her . . . I guess it