Page 16 of View With Your Heart

“Do you live in his place?” Britton doesn’t answer, chewing at her lip, and I have my answer. “Of course, you do. You loved that place.”

I laugh, almost giddy at the prospect of her living in that old house. Reaching for Britton’s handlebars, I take the bike from her and begin pushing it down the road like we’re teenagers on a date, and I’m walking her home. The thought reminds me of so many evenings, also from a long time ago.

“What happened?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” she questions, walking quietly beside me.

“With everything? What happened to Leo, and Gertie, and your husband, and the house? Tell me everything.”

“Why?” Her question surprises me.

“I want to know.”

“Why?” she asks again, eyes shifting to me before focusing forward as we walk.

Because it’s been too long.

Because I never stopped thinking about you.

Because I always cared about you, cared maybe more than I could admit.

That morning, when Britton was gone, it hurt to find the room empty. I told myself it was for the best. I was at the height of my career, and I couldn’t do commitments, but I’d always been a little sorry she went missing from my life.

“I just want to know,” I say, noting how standoffish she is. “What am I missing here? Do you have a boyfriend? A man in your life?” Still holding her bike, I stop walking and peer over at her. Am I treading where I shouldn’t?

“What are you missing?” Britton scoffs, crossing her arms to glare back at me. “I’d say thirteen years.”

It’s getting darker, and she’s surrounded by the shadowy light of an ending day. She’s wearing short shorts again and a fitted tee. Her hair is in a ponytail, making her look as young as she once was, and I want to tug that rope of hair and suck at her neck. The bike separates us, and I don’t like the distance. We’re alone on a secluded road, and my mouth waters to kiss hers, reminding me of what she tastes like and reminding her of how we once were.

“You walked out on me,” I remind her, hoping to tease, but finding the second I open the wound, I’m raw myself.

“Me?” she huffs, pointing at herself. “You left me, Gavin. Not a word. Not a phone number. Nothing.”

“What?” I glare at her. “That’s not what happened.” My thoughts jump to that weekend and how we were naked as much as we could be.

“I woke up alone in that bed. Alone,” she says, a cutting edge to her tone.

“I went to get us coffee, and when I came back, you were gone.”

“That was a long coffee,” she says sarcastically.

We glare at one another.

“Jesus, Brit. I thought you ditched me.”

“Well, you ditched me,” she snarks. “You didn’t even leave a note.”

“It wasn’t like that.” I was impulsive, like propositioning her to spend the weekend with me and suggesting all the things we did. It was like destiny put her walking down that street or something freaky like that. I almost passed her but did a double take. When she agreed to have a drink with me, telling me she had just come from a visit with Leo, I couldn’t let her go. I asked her to spend the weekend with me. I wanted to get lost in her for a few days. Her smile. Her laughter. Her body.

“I needed coffee, and the hotel was out. I went to the café next door, thinking it’d be quick enough, and I’d surprise you with something sweet.” I’d also bought a package of red licorice at the candy counter of the hotel, hoping to remind her of when we were young.

“Why didn’t you leave a note?” I accuse.

“I didn’t know that was the protocol.”

Ouch. She’d teased me I was a player and not just on the ballfield. Crossing states off my list, I’d been the one loving and leaving women as I traveled with the team, but Britton was different. I wanted to assure her she was all I had on my mind. Her words are a reminder she hadn’t ever done all that we did that weekend, or even that summer back when we were teens. She wasn’t like the baseball bunnies. She was special to me, more important than she might ever have realized, perhaps because so many of her firsts were with me.

“Look, it doesn’t matter now. That was a long time ago.” She shrugs and reaches for her bike, placing her hands on the handlebars while snapping at me. “I got it.”