Dad’s voice went low, stern, but loving. A depth of understanding was there. “I do wonder, D,” he’d said. “I wonder a lot of things, and I will keep wondering until you are ready to fill in the blanks.”
In the end, Drake agreed Charlie could join us, but he’d slipped into a stoic wall of non-verbal gestures ever since.
I adjust the cute, oversized belt on the grey pencil skirt, and inspect the back hem of my blouse in the floor-length mirror. Odd outfit to wear to a ballpark, I suppose, but since it’s technically an interview, and Dallas Anderson is the most eligible billionaire in Vegas, I felt as though a T-shirt and jeans wouldn’t cut it.
The prickly cluster of nerves thickens in the back of my throat. I’m not sure if I’m more nervous about spilling on my shirt or facing Ryder again.
I’ve spent the last six nights on YouTube watching clips from hundreds of fan videos of the best of Ryder Huntington.
He’s lithe and sexy, and when he lunges for a ball at short—even if he’s belly flopping—it’s as if he can snap back up and have the ball back into play in a millisecond. It turns my stomach in both agony and a trickle of pleasure.
Giggles come from upstairs. A smile plays with the corner of my mouth; Charlie is so excited.
With a sigh, I knock on the frame of the office door. Drake sits at the long, mahogany desk, using our parents’ computer to study for an EMT course.
“You’re already here, I think you should come,” I say.
Drake lifts his gaze. “I need to get this done.”
“Charlie sounds excited.”
“Yeah.”
My throat goes dry. “D, if you can’t do this, truly, if me taking this job is bothering you this much, tell me now.”
My brother leans back in the tall, leather chair and sways the swivel seat side to side a few times. “Sorry, Avie. I’m happy for you, really. This is your first independent design job, and I don’t want you to think of anything else but killing it. I’m good.”
“But you won’t come to a baseball game with your son.”
“Ava,” he warns. “Don’t push this.”
“Why?” I lean over my fingertips on the desk. “Why can’t I push it? This started because of me, or have you forgotten? Have you forgotten that this all was only aboutmeandhim. Until somehow it became about you and him.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. I force them down. I refuse,refuse, to cry before my interview. Puffy, swollen eyes are not a good look. Especially when I turn into a dying cat when the tears come.
“We’re not doing this,” he says as he stands. “Do your interview, show them what you can do, and be careful. Don’t fall for—”
“Stop.” I hold up a hand. “First, you don’t get a say on who I do or do not fall for. Second, I’m sorry you felt betrayed or let down or whatever by what happened, but Drake . . . it’s been ten years. Maybe it’s time to move forward.”
Maybe I’m saying this for me more than him, but I’m right. It’s time to let go of broken hearts and face a new partnership with the man who did the damage.
Professional. Amicable. Yes. My heart lightens a bit. This could be where true healing begins. Where old hurts are finally gone, and we simply move forward.
I look back at my brother. “It isn’t fair that you hate him for what happened, but you don’t hate me.”
Drake’s eyes darken. “Why don’t you just trust me that there are things you don’t know? I’m staying here tonight. You all go have fun. Full stop, Avie.”
He full stopped me. It’s what we used to say as kids. Our group home counselor was from the UK and always said full stop when she was trying to make a point. Whenever we didn’t want to talk about something, we’d sayfull stopto each other. Our own little code to shut up.
I close the office door and leave him to his own thoughts.
There are times when I can’t tell if Drake hates Ryder or hates himself. The thing is, he couldn’t protect me from what happened.
No one could.
“Sweetie, hi!” My mom strides into the kitchen wearing a power pantsuit and adjusting one of her silver earrings. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks. The interview is today.”
