Page 85 of Elevator Pitch

With a soft laugh, I shake my head. “Well, I think Darth Vader can wait until we finish breakfast. I’m NIAH.”

“NIAH?”

“Not in any hurry.” I lift my tea mug for a slow sip and glance at Harley across the table, who has lowered his gaze but timidly smiles while his face lights up, seemingly pleased that I’m not in a rush to finish this meal with him.

Chapter 28

[Ross]

Not friends-friends, not the type with benefits.

Is that what she said? Why did she say that? I’d like to think we’re something more. Special friends? That sounds lame. I don’t know how to define our status. Strange? Weird? Strangely, weirdly serendipitous?

I mean, what are the odds that this woman keeps coming into my life and then the Anchors win. Although, being with her doesn’t account for every win. And certainly, the way the team plays has more impact on the outcome of the game, but still, I’m more energized, clearly focused, and at ease knowing Vee is there for me.

She’s my win.

And continual questions bombard me as I pace my hotel room in the few minutes I have between finishing my breakfast and heading to the field.

It sounded like Harley was enjoying himself whereas I can hardly get him to give me the time of day. I’m jealous my kid is having pancakes with my . . . friend who is a friend without benefits. But I’m also envious of Vee. She’s spending time with my boy and making him happy. It should be me.

Am I being selfish with Vee? Do we need to clarify who we are to one another, or does friend encompass our situation? After the other night, plus our time back in Arizona, I’d like to think we are more than such a simple term.

I miss spending time with Vee. When we first reconnected, we talked and shared meals and wine, and spent a day together. I want more of that with her.

Dammit, why hasn’t she called me?

My concern is doubled because I don’t know what Harley is saying to Vee. He’s a great kid. Smart, big-hearted, and talented, but he hasn’t always been my easiest child. He wears his heart on his sleeve which means I am aware of how much he resents baseball and all he believes the sport has taken from him.

Most of all I hate when I tell him I love him, and he replies, yeah, you, too. Like he can’t say the actual phrase back to me. It’s a testament to how much I’ve failed as a father, especially since Patty passed away.

A knuckle rap on my door warns me Kip is ready. I hastily grab my bag off the bed and open the door with a little more gusto than necessary.

“Hey. Ready?” he asks, despite seeing my bag in my hand.

“Yep.” I snap.

Kip staggers backward and blinks once. “Whoa. Easy, Coach.” He raises his hand as if to hold me back.

As the hotel door closes behind me, I start down the hall.

Kip rushes to keep up with me. “Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”

“Do people even eat Wheaties anymore?” I ask, like it’s actually an important question.

“Ross?” Kip questions, as if sensing my mood.

“It’s nothing,” I brush him off, pushing the down button between the bank of elevators. “I spoke to Harley this morning.” And I haven’t spoken to Vee yet.

“Kid still giving you trouble?” Kip chuckles, knowing Harley is a good kid, and by trouble standards, I could have it a million times worse than I do. Still, my son and I are disconnected in a way I can’t seem to bridge. When Patty died, Rena filled the gap, but she wasn’t his mother. She’s his aunt. He missed his mom and maybe he even missed me as I was too wrapped up in my own grief and tossing balls to be present like my son needed.

However, Landon doesn’t seem to hold the same resentments toward me as Harley.

Two kids. One household. Yet totally individual experiences and unique personalities.

When Harley decided he wanted to go to DePaul, I took it as a sign for myself. While I’m a native of Philadelphia, Chicago had been our home for eight great years. I wanted to come back to a city with fond memories, even if a few of them were also heartbreaking.

“He’s . . . just Harley.” I sigh.