Ryan walked into Raging Cajun, the best wing joint in West Hollywood, and spotted Daniel right away. The hostess smiled at him and gave him a once-over that would have pleased him at one time in his life. He threaded his way through the tables, not making eye contact with anyone other than Daniel. He thought he’d miss LA like he missed baseball, but oddly enough, being here was making him twitchy, making him feel more isolated than the hole-in-the-wall town he now called home.
“Hey man. Thanks for coming here instead of the office. I needed to get out of there for a bit,” Daniel said, standing to give him a one-armed hug and a clap on the back. Daniel had ditched the jacket but still had on his lawyer tie and shirt. All through high school, they’d worn nothing but jerseys and T-shirts so Ryan got a kick out of seeing him always decked out.
“I missed this place. I’m starving,” Ryan said, taking a seat and pouring himself some water from the pitcher in the middle of the table. The place was loud and homey, with music coming from a retro jukebox in the corner. The smell of BBQ and beer made Ryan’s stomach growl. The waitress was at the table instantly, her hair bouncing only on one side, while the other side, which was blue, was shaved. Ryan frowned, trying to decide if he liked the look or not.
“What can I get you boys?” She asked, tucking a strand of black behind her ear.
“Two pounds of wings. One salt and pepper and one hot,” Daniel answered.
“And a pitcher,” Ryan added. Daniel shook his head.
“I have to head back to the office. You go ahead.” Daniel turned to the waitress and gave a smile and a wink. “Some of us have to work for a living, right? I’ll take a cola.”
“Fine. Just a pint, please.”
The waitress laughed, said she’d be back in a “jiff,” which Ryan didn’t know was still a usable term. Daniel pulled some papers out of the briefcase Ryan hadn’t noticed on the chair beside him.
“Okay. So, I have the paperwork for the foundation. Once I file the final papers, I can’t make any changes,” Daniel said. Ryan nodded. “You’re sure about the name?”
“Positive. File the papers.”
“Ryan. This is a serious step. It’s early. What are you trying to show her?” Daniel’s look wasn’t pitying but it wasn’t supportive either, and Ryan wasn’t in the mood to explain himself. Still, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew what he was doing. He might not be a good bet for Frankie personally, but he could still do something good for her.
“It’ll show her how much she inspired me to make a difference in someone’s life. It’ll show her that what she’s done matters. It’ll show her that I fucking care okay?”
Daniel put his hands up in a “you win” gesture. “Okay. Though, I could point out the obvious and tell you that rather than putting her name on the foundation with yours, you could just tell her you fucking care. Maybe even be a man and tell her you’re fucking over the moon in love with her.”
Ryan practically growled as he straightened in his chair.
“Okay. Jesus. What is your problem? Forget I said anything. I also have a list of people that my assistant has already contacted who are very eager to be involved. Including a number of your former teammates.” Daniel spread the papers out in front of Ryan then double-clicked the end of a pen.
“Good. I’m glad some of them are stepping up.” Ryan rolled his shoulders, trying to let go of his anger. It was misplaced, as usual.
His friend leaned back in the padded chair and pulled on his tie absently. Ryan knew Daniel’s “tells” well enough to know something was coming.
“What?”
“Smythe called me. Wanted to arrange a meeting.” Daniel had on his lawyer face. Wesley Smythe was the owner of his team. Former team. Ryan had respected the man and had been proud to play for him.
“If he wanted a meeting, he should have had my back when he had the chance,” Ryan replied, crunching some of the lemony ice in his teeth.
“True. I think he knows he can’t undo what’s been done. But he can try to make up for it. You left before the dust settled, Ry. It was a PR nightmare. Now they want to make amends. I know you miss it.”
Daniel poured some water for himself as their waitress dropped off their drinks. They thanked her and Ryan’s lips quirked in amusement. Daniel was waiting him out. His predictable routine was exactly why Ryan had taken all his money at their last poker game.
“Ryan, it won’t hurt to see what he has to say. I think it would do you some good to get some closure, regardless of anything else.”
“Do you think so, Dr. Phil?”
“Screw you.” The words held no weight against the smile on Daniel’s face.
“What are you, my agent now?”
“Nope. I’m your friend, which is the only reason you didn’t fire me when you shut the door on everything and everyone else in your life.”
Ryan sipped his water, irritation trickling under his indifference. Someone laughed loudly and Ryan looked away, feigning interest in his surroundings. “I came here to sign the papers.”
Daniel shook his head but pushed the papers forward. “You ever get tired of being so stubborn?”
Ryan took the pen from him, ignoring the sharp stitch of pain in his chest when he saw the name Walker Vaughn Foundation. He ran his hand across the lettering like a sentimental idiot.
“This looks good,” Ryan said, scrawling his signature across the bottom. It was in both of their names but it was his, so Frankie’s signature wasn’t needed.
“I thought you’d bring Frankie with you,” Daniel said, piling the papers together as Ryan signed. Ryan said nothing, kept signing and passing. When Daniel put the papers back in his briefcase, he arched an eyebrow at Ryan, waiting. Some people were good at waiting.
The waitress approached with their wings, another girl following behind with napkins and finger bowls. Ryan picked up one of the wings and tore into it.
“Shit,” Daniel said after a moment. “No wonder you’re in such a pissy mood.”
Ryan nodded in response to Daniel’s statement. He’d had a lot of friends in his life—ball friends, surface friends, money-sucking-attention-hungry friends. But only Daniel could fill in the blanks without Ryan saying a word.
“What’d you do?” Daniel picked up a wing while Ryan started on his third.
“What makes you think I did something?”
“Okay, what’d she do that you overreacted about?”
Ryan tossed the bones in a bowl and took a long swallow of his pint, the blend of beer and wings hitting the spot perfectly. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“Actually, jackass, I dumped her for all the right reasons. I found out that she might not get the boys because of my past and I wasn’t going to let that touch her. So I ended it.” The words soured his appetite. Daniel’s face tightened.
“I’m sorry, man. Truly.”
“Me too.” He rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest.
“How is everything?” The waitress appeared out of nowhere. Ryan often wondered if servers watched covertly from the corners to see when a moment looked tense or when a diner had shoveled their mouth full. Like they were trained to pick the worst moment.
“We’re good,” Daniel said. When she left, he continued. “I have to say, I’m surprised Frankie was okay with that though. She doesn’t seem like the type to be dictated to, be told she can’t have a relationship with you if she wants the kids. She just seems like too much of a fighter.”
Daniel wiped his mouth and Ryan shifted in his seat, avoiding Daniel’s wise gaze. “Ryan?”
Ryan mumbled, “What?” around a mouthful of wings.
“Please tell me that you talked to Frankie about this. Tell me she knows you broke up with her because of what you learned.”
Ryan polished off the rest of his beer but pushed the wings away, his appetite sufficiently sated. Or wrecked.
“She is a fighter. But you know what? I know what it’s like to have something you had nothing to do with fuck your life up, wreck everything that was important to you, take it away like you had no right to have it. I wasn’t doing that to her.” Diners turned when his voice raised, making Ryan shake his head. His shoulders slumped when he leaned his forearms on the table. “She deserves more.”
Daniel leaned forward, uncharacteristic anger lines changing his face. “She deserves to choose.”
The waitress collected their plates and dropped off the bill, smart enough to read the tension. Ryan stood first, pulling a few twenties out of his wallet and dropping them on the table.
“Thanks for the paperwork. I’ll talk to you when I get back to Minnesota.”
“Ryan.”
“Forget it, man. I have to go.”
Ryan walked away, stomach churning, the urge to swipe at something, someone, pushing up inside of him. Walking out into the LA sun deflated him, melted that urge, and left him feeling defeated. He was the opposite of the Midas touch. Everything he touched turned to shit. And he had no idea how to change that. When he got in his brother’s truck and pulled into traffic, he wasn’t even thinking about where he was going. He was parking in front of Baseball Central by the time the autopilot kicked off in his brain.
“Shit.” He smacked his palms against the wheel, trying to swallow down the unhappiness that rose in his chest. He wanted to call her, tell her he loved her and he was sorry. But he knew, deep down in his gut, where all truths lie, that his real fear was that she wouldn’t choose him. No one ever did. Not his dad. His wife. His best friend. Hell, even Daniel had taken Frankie’s side. Having Frankie not choose him would hurt worse than being without her. Not much, but enough that he wasn’t willing to give her the option.
He pushed the truck door open and walked toward the entrance of the batting cages. Baseball was his constant. He could hit the ball and make it fly. Every time. It was the only thing he could be counted on for. The only thing he could count on. He smiled tightly at the guy behind the counter, the sound of bats cracking on leather filling the air. He took the bat the kid handed him and let himself into the cage. But as he loosened his shoulders, stretched his neck, and got ready to hit, he knew that, for the first time in his life, baseball wasn’t going to fix him. But once again, it was all he had. His body hummed with the anticipation of the ball. His arms swung reflexively and the sound of bat and ball connecting brought a smile to his lips. Baseball might not fix everything, or anything, but it felt damn satisfying to feel the sting of the hit all the way up his arms. He readied himself to swing again.
“Take what you can get,” he mumbled. And for the next forty minutes, he took and crushed every ball that came his way. His one constant. But why the hell did he still feel empty?