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Tate’s the one who brings it up. “I heard about the new agent.”
“It was time.”
That’s all Luke says about it. I’m grateful he doesn’t seem eager to share details about what transpired between David and me. I get the sense if she knew the story, Tate would cheer on her brother for defending me like that, no questions asked, but still—I’d rather not get into all of it again.
“Thinking about going back for one more season? There’s been speculation.”
I can hear the annoyance in his voice when he replies, “You know I try to avoid all that. I can’t be bothered to keep up.”
“Easy enough to do out here, but in the city? I can’t walk past a newsstand without seeing your face splashed across the front of a sports magazine or newspaper. The Pinstripes want their golden boy back, and they haven’t been shy about letting the world know.”
He grunts. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I can step up more—”
“I’m not doing this. I’m not having this discussion. She’s too important. End of story.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. I know how important she is.” Tate sounds angry and defensive as she goes on. “She’s my niece, and I want to protect her more than anyone.”
I’m glad Harper’s in the bathroom, out of earshot. I checked on her a little bit ago and she was very focused on her task at hand: humming Love Story by Taylor Swift while digging her new makeup brush into a vibrant shade of blue eyeshadow. She then streaked the vivid pigment across her closed eyelid, continuing confidently out to her hairline because why not?
“I just think, maybe, you stepped away too soon. There’s a way to make it work,” Tate continues.
Luke laughs sadly. “What’d they have to pay you to come and talk to me? Did Josh put you up to this?”
“That’s not even funny, Luke. I obviously have your best interests at heart. I want what you want, and I know it just so happens to be what they want too. I’m the biggest Pinstripes fan there ever was, and I can’t help but feel like there’s unfinished business between you and the organization. You were one season shy of breaking all the records. One championship.” She tacks on a soft chuckle. “And you can’t sit there and tell me that’s not eating away at you. I know you’ve been training out here. How many hours do you spend pitching every morning?”
“Enough. You’ve made you’re point.”
Tate doesn’t heed his warning; she doesn’t back down. “Have I? Because in truth, I was pretty nervous to come out here and tell you what everybody else seems too chickenshit to say. I think you were wrong to leave the sport altogether. There’s a way to make it work with Harper. You need a better support system, I understand that. I can step up and be that for you, and there are other people who want to help too.” She turns slightly back toward the kitchen, and I immediately jump back into working. “So I’d think about it if I were you. It’d be a shame if you woke up ten, twenty years from now wondering what could have been.”
Luke doesn’t argue with that. In fact, they both go radio silent. I finally look over, something I was too scared to do before in case they caught on that I could hear them. They’re sitting side by side, facing the pool and the pond as they sip their coffee. With their backs to me and their attention focused so far in the distance, I have the chance to see all the similarities between them, which are visible even while they face away from me. Tate has Luke’s same shade of hair: a light chestnut brown that picks up color so easily in the summer sun. They lean back in their chairs at the same angle, lift their mugs to their mouths with the same hands. She’s smaller, obviously—a bull would be smaller than Luke—but I get the feeling she makes up for it with quite a feisty personality, as evidenced by the conversation I just overheard.
Tate’s the first to drain her coffee, and then she stands to come back into the kitchen. She smiles warmly when she sees me wiping down the counters.
“You make a good cup of joe, Chloe,” she compliments as she walks over to put her cup in the dishwasher even though I attempt to get it from her and do it myself. It’s interesting to have her here. This morning, I haven’t felt like the help so much as a dutiful host. Maybe it’s just the way she is; she seems as down to earth as her brother.
“Harper, hey,” Tate calls down the hall, and Harper pokes her head out of the bathroom. Tate’s eyebrows shoot up when she catches sight of her niece. “Wow…that…that is some cool makeup, girl. You look fierce. Want to come shopping with me in town? I saw a little shop that sells t-shirts and swimsuits just up the road. I can’t believe I forgot to pack mine.” Then, she turns to me. “Chloe, you want to come?”
