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Iswearsilentlytomyself as I follow Shelley down the concrete hallways leading to what they call the suites of this tiny stadium.
I’m going to murder my sister. All Frannie had to do was email this woman and tell her she’d have to reschedule.
“But it’s the third time I’ll have done that,” she whined to me this morning. I was out for a morning walk with Roscoe when she’d called, making her scheduling problem my problem.
“You’re the VP of Marketing,” I reminded her, pausing to let Roscoe sniff around and pressing my earbud further into my ear.
“And you’re my favorite brother,” she said sweetly.
“That’s a low bar, you’ve only got two, and the other one is usually too stoned or hyper-focused to be anyone’s favorite.” She laughed on the other side of the call.
“Pleeeeeease.” She drew out the word, sounding like her toddler, Greta. “We got the final sponsorship proposal weeks ago and I just haven’t had a chance to make a visit.” What was left unsaid was the reason why - my niece fell off a swing in early February, leaving her a little worse for wear and Frannie hovering like a helicopter mom. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, and sighed when I saw that I had no meetings after three.
“Fine.” The squeal on the other side had me pressing the end call button, and even Roscoe was startled in the middle of his early morning business.
“Your sister is so sweet, I’m so sorry she couldn’t join us,” Shelley says, her heels clicking on the unfinished concrete.
“She wishes she could be here.” I adjust my jacket, glad she’s also in a suit - I don’t feel so out of place amongst the crowd of t-shirts and short shorts the fans are wearing, taking advantage of the beautiful March evening.
“So this hall is where your suite would be located, the one in the proposal we sent over is actually getting the floors refinished, but I’m going to show you one that’s identical.” Her brown bob sways with her quick steps, and we round a corner. Outside of one room, a man stands, headphones in, clipboard in hand. “It’s currently occupied with some of our player family and friends, but I let the main points of contact know that we would be stopping by for a quick peek.” She smiles as we approach the door, and the attendant grins at her, just as the overhead announcer calls out the guest team. “Filipe,” she says to him, and they fist-bump. She pulls a retractable badge toward the door and swipes it, and Filipe opens it as we walk in.
“Enjoy yourselves,” he says.
“Right this way, Mr. Westfall.” I trail in behind Shelley, who, this close, I realize I dwarf. I nod my thanks to Filipe and turn to look at the suite.
Much of the buzz happening inside dies the second we walk in the room, and I look at Shelley as she calls “Hailey!”
“Oh, good,” a dark haired woman says from the far side of the room, and comes toward us, passing a group of still people standing around a table, all staring at me.
I freeze.
Alex Barton has changed, but not enough to be unrecognizable. Her blonde hair is swept into a high ponytail, and a dark jersey stretches over what’s clearly a pregnant belly. And she’s glaring daggers at me.
And then my eyes trail to the people standing next to her, holding each of her hands as she stands from her chair.
On one side is Carla Montgomery, a blue Alamos jersey on. She eyes me suspiciously. And on the other side is…oh fuck.
I haven’t had much of a chance to talk with Piper since seeing her last weekend, but that doesn’t mean my head isn’t reeling. That short conversation had left me with more questions than answers - namely, what in the actual fuck I was going to do now that those feelings were out in the open.
I mean, sure, I had a reputation for being a little closed-off.
OK, a lot.
But that didn’t mean that I didn’t have feelings in the first place - and those feelings were now muddled and confused and unclear. But I knew I had them. Maybe I’d always had them, somewhere deep down - and that was why I was so frustrated by Andy’s actions all those years ago. And cold, calculating Olivia was the antithesis to Piper, who radiated humility and light.
Was comparing Olivia and Piper fair? Probably not. One woman I’d known most of my life, and had fucked me over in the culmination of 10+ year relationship. The other, I’ve known the same amount of time, but had spoken to more in the last several weeks than in the previous twenty years combined.
But in the days we’d spent going back and forth with my bad puns and horror movie critiques, it felt like we’d built a rapport. When the words “two beautiful girls” came out of my mouth, it really was a gamble. I had nothing to lose at this point, though.
I know I don’t deserve her grace. She knows I don’t deserve her grace. And she’s giving it to me anyway.
And when I Iook at her now, her dark curls tied back from her face by her baseball cap, wearing a jersey-style dress, all I want to do is make her let me apologize to her over and over again, to let me hear her story, to let me get to know this person that was still smiling despite the things she had endured. Or, at least, she was normally smiling, but now she just looks shocked.
“Mr. Westfall, this is Hailey Gibbons, her husband Luke is on the team.” Shelley looks between the two of us as I extend my hand to the dark haired woman in front of me. “Hailey, this is-"
“Fitz.” It’s not a question as it comes out of Alex’s mouth, and she lets go of the hands holding her own, making a slow pace toward us. Hailey turns around to look at her as she steps up. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh,” Shelley says, surprised. Behind Hailey and Alex I see Carla, Piper and who I’m pretty sure is Penny, her older sister, fall into a hushed conversation. Piper throws up her hands like she’s defending herself. “You know each other?”
