He looked back out the window. Except, Mary Lou knew the two of them better than anyone. Maybe… Maybe he didn’t fully know what she was getting at, but he got the general gist.
And he wasn’t leaving again.
With that certainty ringing in his head, he reached forward and slid open the door, stepping out into the cold whipping air of falling twilight. He didn’t know how she managed to do anything as amazing as what she’d put on that canvas under these conditions, but she did.
“I don’t know why you don’t take these up to one of the galleries and sell it.”
She frowned at the painting, shaking her head. “It’s not that good.”
“It’s amazing.”
“No offense, Ty, but you don’t know art.” She started putting her supplies together, carefully wiping down brushes and what not.
“I know if something’s beautiful,” he replied. And he meant her.
He always meant her.
In a day of terrible realizations, it wasn’t terrible. Just…hard. Hard to unwrap years of denial. Of drawing lines and reminding himself he wasn’t a permanent fixture in her life.
But now he could be. And hewasafraid of that. It had been a hell of a lot easier coming and going knowing he didn’t have to deal with failing anything when it came to friendship. Because they both knew and understood baseball came first.
But it didn’t anymore. Nothing came first anymore.
Could he trust himself to put her first? Them? To change something that had been the foundation of his life?
Something had to change though.Theyhad to change. And maybe she was in a different place in her life—more settled, more sure of her next steps, but she’d said it herself the other night down at the beach.
She wasn’t happy.
And she should be. If she couldn’t do it for herself, he’d find a way to do it for her. She deserved that.
And you really thinkyou’rethe one to do it?
He didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t have to be more than friends helping each other, pushing each other. But maybe there was…more underneath that. Or could be.
But first things first.
“Monday is our day off. So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to take, let’s say…five paintings down to the gallery and see if they want to display any of them for sale. And I’ll…” He thought about what Mary Lou had said about good coaches, thought about everything he knew about the game of baseball. At the very least he couldseeif this was what he wanted. “I’ll meet with Mr. Stolt and see what he has to say about the coaching job.”
It still left a sickly kind of feeling in his gut, but talking to the principal didn’t mean he’d get an offer, didn’t mean he’d have to accept one if he did. It just meant he was keeping an open mind.
Lara’s excitement was palpable. “Really?”
“Really. And then…then we’ll go out to dinner to celebrate.”
Some of her excitement dimmed. “I won’t sell any paintings, Ty. I’m really not that good. It’s not a lack of confidence. It’s an understanding of art.”
He doubted it, but he didn’t need to argue with her. “We’re not celebrating success. Just because I meet with the principal doesn’t mean I’m qualified for the job, or they’ll want me for it. We’re celebrating just going out and trying something.”
“But I don’t want to try this. If I do it, I’m only doing it so you’ll take the meeting with Mr. Stolt.”
“And I’m only taking the meeting so you’ll try selling your paintings.” He had to shove his hands into his pockets not to rub at the anxiety squeezing his chest.
“So, we’re both miserable?” she replied, fixing him with a disapproving look.
He shrugged. “Maybe.” Misery didn’t seem like the right word though. Uncomfortable maybe. Still, one thing he had learned from a lifetime in sports was you had to be uncomfortable to grow and change. And if that made them both miserable for a while, did it really change what they were feeling right now?
Besides. “At least we’ll be miserable together.”
