Winning With Him (Men of Summer #2) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,17
he grew up with in San Diego, and Mom suggests we go for a walk. We chat briefly about the city as we stroll past The Plaza toward the park, but she doesn’t seem interested in small talk.
“You seem distracted, sweetheart,” she says quickly, her eyes sharp, her tone concerned.
“Do I?”
She rubs my shoulder. “I can read you. You’re my kid—my one and only, so I’m not distracted trying to read other ones,” she says with a laugh that fades back into concern. “Is it about your dad?”
I straighten, coming alert. “What makes you ask that?” Does she know he showed up in Florida? Does she know I cracked open my wallet again?
With a weary sigh, she says, “I heard through the grapevine that he’s been having some trouble with his business.” My worry inches higher, but then she goes on. “It seems, though, that he just got a loan. I didn’t know if that had been weighing on you.”
Ah. Nothing to worry about it. He framed my money as a loan.
Perfect.
“No, that’s not it. I just . . .” I think about what I really want to ask her. How much I want to tell her what’s weighing on me. And I find the simplest way in. “Did you ever regret something, Mom?”
A soft smile is her answer. “Of course. But I try to live without regrets. To take care of things that need attending in this moment. What happened that you regret?”
Everything.
And one thing.
The thing I’m beyond sorry about.
“I handled something badly,” I admit as we walk along the park, an early spring breeze blowing past us, a bus trundling by.
“With someone?”
A pang lodges in my ribs—or maybe the constant pang I feel deepens, tunnels further into my soul. “Yeah. This guy I like,” I say, grateful it’s so easy to talk to her. It’s always been this way—she’s the polar opposite of my dad. Not least in how she handled it when I came out to her.
Thank you for telling me. I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll listen. What do you need from me?
That was all I needed. She’s always been the one I could talk to about relationships, but I haven’t done it often. Hardly any man has warranted a mom talk.
“I met someone, but it didn’t work out for . . . many reasons. And I think I could have handled the breakup better.”
She rubs my shoulder harder. “Maybe you should tell him that?”
It sounds easy, but I know it won’t be.
It is necessary, though.
So damn necessary.
That night when I’m alone in my rented apartment, I pick up my phone and I dial Grant’s number.
9
Grant
With wide-eyed wonder, my friend Reese stares at the ginormous tub in my hotel, half a mile from the ballpark. She lets her tongue loll out of her mouth then draws it back in. “I want to spend the night in that,” she says longingly.
Laughing, I gesture to the porcelain vat. “Let me get you some candles, sweetheart. How about a bath bomb? Maybe a little meditation music?” I tease, then add, “Go right ahead. Get in there.”
Her big blue eyes twinkle with delight, lighting up her familiar face. “Seriously? I don’t have a tub in college, and this here is a dream bath.”
“Then live the dream.”
She sinks onto the edge, stroking the porcelain, cooing at it, even.
“Weirdo,” I say, laughing. We’ve laughed a lot tonight, possibly because Reese declared it a no-Declan-talk zone, and I was more than happy to observe the moratorium.
Reese doesn’t have classes tomorrow, so she drove down from college for Opening Day. Everyone else is coming too. My grandma and grandpa. My sister. My dad and his girlfriend. My mom and Frank.
But tonight, it’s just Reese and me until I hit the sack at ten. Gotta be rested and ready for my Major League debut.
“I’m going to bed in thirty minutes, so get your butt in the tub, woman.”
“Fine. You twisted my arm,” she says, clapping her hands. “I’ll do it. I’m going to send you a million gift cards for those spy books you love.”
“You don’t have to send me anything. I’m just glad you’re here,” I say with a smile, letting go of the teasing.
The truth is, I’m kind of nervous about tomorrow.
She turns on the faucet and meets my gaze. “Are you worried about tomorrow? First game and all?”
“Would you just like to see inside my soul a little more?”
“Ah, it’s pretty much cellophane to me right now.”