Chapter Twenty

Ellie

Pain lanced through me. Rejection, stark and clear.

I hadn’t even meant to say the words out loud. They kind of just flowed from the great orgasm, the special place of love that had been created from Jake opening up to me and—again—amazing sex.

The thing is, the sex hadn’t been amazing because the orgasm had felt incredible. It had, but that wasn’t what had made the experience so special. A body pulsing with pleasure was great, but we’d had that before. What had pushed me to say those stupid three words was the way Jake had talked to me. He’d opened up about his father, and when he couldn’t talk anymore, I heard things on a deeper level. His father was out of control, and so Jake had needed to reassert his own. He’d needed to be dominant somewhere, even if it had only been over me.

I understood that. Hell, I’d loved it. There’s nothing as sexy as a guy who can take control. Especially when he made me want it as much as he did. In every nonverbal way possible, I’d said, “Take me. I’m yours.” Then we’d had that epic release…and the words just came out. They’d been a natural extension of where we’d both been. In love. Complete, all-consuming, and beautiful.

Or so I thought.

I’d been there. He, apparently, hadn’t.

Worse, as soon as the words came out, he’d jerked as if I’d slapped him. That one word, “no,” had echoed in the room as he’d pulled away in complete terror. Oh sure, he’d been smooth about it. The man’s body was poetry in motion, even when he was grabbing his pants and mumbling something about needing to check on his father.

I just lay there, dazed from the rejection. Lost.

And then the pain hit, deep and wrenching. So much for exposure therapy. No amount of rejection from strangers could come close to the agony that swept over me in wave after miserable wave. The man I loved had just run out on me—literally.

I stayed there for an hour, letting the tears flow freely and calling myself every sort of idiot. I should have known better. This was a fake relationship, after all. He wasn’t looking for a declaration of love.

And then I started to question my own feelings. Maybe I wasn’t really in love, after all. Hell, he’d saved me from an eighteen-story plummet to my death. This was hero worship, plain and simple. Mix that with great sex, and bam, those three bad words had tumbled out of my mouth.

That’s what I would tell him—that I’d been wrong. It wasn’t love. I’d just been overcome with endorphins after such a great orgasm. I imagined leaving a message on his cell phone saying exactly that, apologizing for being such a hopeless romantic, and suggesting we do something that would put us on a casual footing again.

That sounded like a great plan…except I was in a hotel room in Detroit and there were two more days to our All-Star Game trip. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to run from the pain. No trying to cover it up with lies to myself or to him.

I loved him. He didn’t love me back.

Shit, shit, shit.

I breathed into the pain, letting it wash through me, hoping it would fade. It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. And the knowledge that I had two more days with him was suddenly just too much. I couldn’t do it. The ache in my heart was so bad, I could barely breathe. How was I going to handle the press, fans, and God only knew what else I’d encounter with this event?

Short answer: I couldn’t. I’d just bared my heart to Jake, and he’d run out in terror. He’d ditched me so fast, he’d left his shoes behind. That absolved me of any guilt I might feel by leaving.

I grabbed my phone and started thumbing through the internet. My hands were shaking, but I still managed to rent a car that would be delivered in twenty minutes. I was dressed and packed in five, but good manners forced me to leave behind a note.

What could I say? “Sorry I scared you”? “Sorry I forgot that this wasn’t a real relationship”? Anger and pain filled me. I was furious at his childishness one moment, then chastising myself for being so stupid the next. Truly, I had no idea what I thought or felt. In the end, I went for simple.

Had to go home. Don’t worry. I rented a car and will be fine.

Ellie

That was the old Ellie again, the perfect people pleaser. Trying to make him feel better for being a total ass. Frustrated with myself, I wiped away my tears and headed out.

…

Jake

I was a jerk. An ass. A dick. And a thousand other names I called myself while squatting in my father’s hotel room. I knew that I had acted badly. The smart thing to do would be to run back upstairs and beg for Ellie’s forgiveness.

I knew that, and yet I couldn’t do it.

An endless loop played in my head of all the women who’d told me they’d loved me…then left. Baseball babes didn’t even register on my radar, though most of them had usually thrown those three hideous words out at random, and then disappeared the next morning. Or I disappeared. Didn’t matter. They weren’t important.

But my high school girlfriend, Sydney, had been, as well as my college girlfriend, Dianne. Dianne had been a huge baseball fan, and we’d come together for that. She’d been a great one for saying I love you. And then I found out she’d been saying it to three other guys on the team as well. I still winced when I remembered how she’d trilled the words at me. Had she been mocking me even then? I didn’t know, but my body reacted—then and now—as if she had.

Going backward in time, I thought of my first love, Sydney. She’d let me take her virginity after prom. She’d whispered those words every time I made her come, and every time we ate ice cream after one of my games. And three weeks after prom, she moved to California. She’d said it that last time we were together, too. Between choking sobs as she wiped away her tears, she’d whispered, “I love you. Goodbye.”

Those were the exact words my mom had said, too, the day she left my father.

I didn’t trust those three emotional words. Men didn’t use them. My father and brother, whom I loved despite all our difficulties, had never spoken of it. That way, they never went back on the promise of those words.

My logical mind reminded me that I had run, not Ellie. But logic didn’t stand a chance against the tide of emotion that came from hearing a woman say those words to me.

So I sat on the couch in my father’s hotel room and stared at his stinking, snoring body. How many times had I been in this place? Emotionally raw and staring at the same exact thing? A repeating loop, the only difference being our ages. But it was just as bad now at twenty-five as it had been when I was fifteen.

But I didn’t just see this loop in my life. I saw another loop, too. My father used to complain about having to take care of his father every holiday. And I’m sure Grandpa had done the same for his father.

Pops was an alcoholic. And so was I.

Pops had had skills and talent when he was a young man. He had a beautiful singing voice and was a decorated fireman. But after Mom left, there’d been nothing left of him except for a need for beer, and his penchant for telling stories around the bar. Sure, he still took shifts at the firehouse, but that was out of necessity. And I suspected that Larry covered many of his shifts.

I was a pro athlete, but who knew how long that would last? My skills were among the best in the league, but I was only twenty-five. Any number of things could destroy my career. Injury, bad hitting, bad luck. Then where would I be? A washed-out has-been, telling stories of his golden years.

Pops’s drinking had ruined his marriage and destroyed the only woman he’d ever loved. Had I just done that? At least Pops had gotten married and had kids. I suspected I wouldn’t allow myself to get even that far.

Our family was made up of an endless loop of drunken, washed-up men. And I was acting like one of them because I didn’t have the guts to get off my ass and face Ellie. To ask her about those three little words and find out if she might be the one who’d stick around. Instead, I sat on the couch, stared at my future, and wondered why I couldn’t move.

Ass. Jerk. Dickhead. Pussy.

Four hours later, my phone buzzed. I jolted awake on the couch, while Pops still snored like a freight train.

I grabbed my phone and read a series of texts from Gia. She was reminding me of an interview I’d promised to do in a few hours. Text number two mentioned that she really wanted Ellie to come. Number three gave directions and details of whom I’d be chatting with. The fourth reminded me to be sure to bring Ellie. The fifth simply stated, in all caps, “DON’T BE LATE.”

Right. Publicity was part of my job, and giving interviews before the All-Star Game was a normal thing. A year ago, I would have killed for the attention. I was still in the minors, so any press was a godsend. Today, I wanted to hide from the cameras and just lock myself in with Ellie until I figured out what to say to her. I needed to explain my panic last night. I needed to make myself take the risk.

Not all women bailed. Maybe even not most women. Just the women I’d been hanging out with. But Ellie was different. And so I pushed to my feet and headed to the bathroom. At least I could wake her without smelling like crap. I’d bring her hot coffee and order room service. We’d talk, and I’d find a way to explain.

So I showered and headed barefoot down to the Starbucks in the lobby. I wasn’t the only barely-dressed guy there, but I was determined to show up with her favorite almond-milk vanilla latte. It took a while. The line was stupidly long. But I got through and then carried it upstairs while my stomach knotted up. Hell, I’d faced clinch situations without getting this anxious.

But I wasn’t going to run, because she wasn’t going to run.

It was awkward balancing my key card and the coffee, but I managed it. And then I pushed open the door to our room as quietly as I could. It was stupid, really, since I was about to wake her up.

“Ellie? It’s time to get up. I’ve got coff…”

My voice trailed away. The sunlight streaming through the window made the room look very bright. And very empty.

Ellie was gone.