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So, I do what I do best.
I destroy.
“Look, Carlee. I know you’re Little Miss Optimistic, but the world isn’t sunshine and rainbows.”
She flinches. Her sympathetic expression fades, replaced by mortification and hurt.
I go for a low blow, “I’m not a good guy, and you thinking I am makes you naïve. And, honestly, a little dumb.” Every inch of me revolts against the cruel words, but they do the trick.
Finally, anger overshadows her other emotions. “You know what, Corey? Screw you. I’ll fake it while we’re with my family, but from this point on, I’m done being nice. We’ll work together when required, but other than that, stay the hell away from me.”
The scent of her floral shampoo fills my nostrils as she stomps past me with an angry huff. She climbs the stairs to the second floor, leaving me alone in the living room.
A stone feels like it’s settled on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Carlee needs to hate me to protect herself. I’m doing this for her own good, just like after prom. It’s better this way.
I keep telling myself that all day and well into the night, wondering how many more times it will take before I start to believe it.
7
CARLEE
“That’s perfect,Kendrick. Now, wrap your arm around Anna. Look over here, Kayla.” I hold a stuffed elephant over my head and press on its tummy to make it squeak. “Over here, pretty girl. Smile for the camera!” I press my thumb on the phone’s center button to catch a burst of pictures of the beautiful family of three, hoping at least one will have the infant looking at the camera. Two evergreens wrapped in garland stand on either side of where they’re seated on the tailgate of a rustic old Ford that’s been painted red for the holiday season, creating the perfect backdrop for a holiday photo.
It's Christmastime in Texas, my favorite time of year second only to my birthday which is exactly one month after Carter’s. My twenty-eighth birthday fell on Thanksgiving this year, so my family delayed celebrating until Friday after Carter’s game. Morgan took me out Saturday for dinner, drinks, and dancing. I appreciated everyone’s attempts to make my birthday a memorable one, but the emotions from my recent confrontation with Corey dampened my mood that week.
I still can’t believe how rude he was…
Growing up, Carter treated me like a nuisance. My brother only included me in whatever game he and Corey played becauseour parents made him. But no matter how annoyed Carter was with me, his best friend never made me feel unwanted. Corey was kind to me, often running interference when Carter was being a jerk. He never seemed bothered by my presence.
Corey’s kindness was just one of the reasons I developed feelings for him. Add to that his protective streak, devastating good looks, and local fame as our school’s baseball star, and I and every other red-blooded girl in our town was madly in love with him by the time we were teenagers. But those girls didn’t know him like I did. I wore that truth like a badge of honor, believing the delusion that he and I might one day end up together.
But the harsh reality was Corey Johnson didn’t see me as anything more than his best friend’s little sister. It was hard to accept at the time, especially after what happened at prom, but years apart have made me a stronger woman. I’m still hurt by what happened, but I no longer pine after the man who made it clear he wants nothing to do with me.
Then why is he staring at you?
I ignore the instigating thought, as well as the set of steel-blue eyes that have been trained on me most of the morning, and tuck my infinity scarf into my jacket. December brought cool air into the warm state, giving the Christmas Tree Farm an even more festive feel despite the fact the sun is bright in the sky and there’s little chance of snow this time of year.
I had no idea that when I messaged the players’ group chat about coming to the Christmas Tree Farm that Kendrick would add Corey to the chat, let alone that the surly pitcher would come along with Kendrick, Joshua, and Greg.
“Thank you so much, Carlee.” Anna, Kendrick’s wife, walks over and takes the phone from me. “Oh, my goodness. These are so great. Look! You even got Kayla to grin. Kendrick, come look at this. Kayla is smiling!” The new mom rushes over to herhusband who holds their little girl in his arms. He stands next to a wood-carved family of snowmen with their faces cut out, talking to Corey.
It’s been three weeks since my family’s Thanksgiving dinner, and I’ve managed to only speak with Corey twice. Once was when Patti dragged me to the weight room to discuss the first phase of my social media plan before he left after his workout with the team’s trainers.
I’d presented the idea that instead of focusing on the team aspect of Corey’s move to Dallas, we should focus on his interaction with the city, itself. Community outreach, volunteering, taking part in holiday events… stuff like that.
The second time we spoke was when his PR agent, Avery Moreno, flew into town to discuss my plan in person. She reserved the right to veto any personal posts she felt went against the work she and her team already had underway to repair Corey’s image, but she didn’t protest a single item on my list. In fact, she told me the plan was brilliant and she believed it would effectively endear Corey to his pseudo-hometown.
Aside from those instances, Corey and I haven’t spoken. I haven’t even seen him in our apartment lobby. My avoidance strategy is working out nicely, and Corey hasn’t tried to speak with me, either.
Except for today. His lingering looks are impossible to ignore, and I don’t know what to make of them.
Sensing my attention, Corey looks away from Kendrick while he and his wife continue to admire the pictures I took. We lock eyes, and just like each time we’ve seen each other since Thanksgiving, regret floods his expression.
He feels bad for how we left things but not enough to apologize.
That should make me angry, but the truth is I know Corey too well. He’s self-destructive. Always has been with anythingthat isn’t related to baseball, and even that’s debatable given the recent mess he’s found himself in.
