And how loving an addict has made it hard, for some, to love themselves.
I bristle a bit as I read, since sometimes it feels like these stories are mirrors, and I’m not sure I want to see the reflection.
But I don’t stop. I keep reading. I keep learning.
I see my dad a few times. He asks to come to a game in San Francisco when I play the Cougars, but that feels like the worst idea in the world. I convince him to come to Los Angeles instead, buying him first-class tickets, several nights at a swank hotel, and all the Hollywood star tours he and his girlfriend could want, since he’s found a new lady now. Her name is Jackie.
At the ballpark in Los Angeles, he’s up to his usual shenanigans. Meeting the guys on the field, doling out hitting tips, talking up the game.
“You should do batting practice with us tomorrow, Jon,” Tucker suggests before our Bandits game. “It’ll be fun.”
I don’t think Tucker and I have the same definition of that word.
But my dad’s brown eyes implore me.
Coach says it’s okay and my dad throws batting practice the next day. He looks happier than he ever has before.
Trouble is, a few weeks later, he and Jackie hit a casino in Northern California. He slides right back into his old ways, his twin addictions ruling him. When he runs into financial trouble, I don’t balk. I just write the check.
It’s easier.
But it’s also all I know how to do.
When the holidays march closer, I make plans with my mom and Tyler to go to Tokyo again. It’s become a tradition, one we’ve done for the last three Christmases since Grant won Rookie of the Year. I’ve been getting to know my stepbrother, his wife, and their young daughter. Mom, Tyler, and I decide to stick around in January and travel across Japan, visiting Kyoto, Osaka, and Hiroshima.
Before I go, though, I have my agency’s holiday party to attend.
Grant and I are both repped by Premiere, and I wonder if he will be there.
I wonder, and I walk a little faster.
On a chilly December night in New York, I head into a chichi restaurant in Chelsea, where the firm has rented a private room. My heart kicks like a horse when I spot Grant chatting with Fitz at the makeshift bar.
Fitz waves me over. “Look what the cat dragged in,” my hockey bud says to me, then he claps me on the back. “Bring it in for a hug, mofo.”
I’ve seen him recently, so it’s not like we need to hug it out.
Which means I know what he’s doing. Fitz is trying to get me to hug it out with Grant. I say hi to the catcher next, with a bro hug that turns into a melt-my-fucking-body embrace even though we’re barely touching.
But we don’t have to be wrapped up in each other for my heart to pound.
Hugging the man you once loved is a unique kind of torture. One hit of that barbershop scent and I’m taking a trip way back in time.
To some of my favorite days.
All of them belong to him.
I pull apart so I’m not sporting wood or cartoon-heart eyes for the whole party.
“Good to see you,” I say, my voice a little rough.
“You too.”
A split second later, Fitz’s eyes find Haven, since she reps him too. “Need to go talk to the boss lady. See y’all later.” Then he stage-whispers to us both, “In case you were wondering, I have no boundaries with the two of you.”
He takes off with a wink.
As he weaves his way to Haven, I let my eyes linger on Grant for a little longer. He’s dressed casually in a maroon V-neck sweater that hugs his pecs and worships those powerful arms.
He wears jeans that make his thighs look delicious. Nobody has ever looked as good in jeans as Grant Blackwood. Nobody has ever looked as good out of jeans either.
“You look incredible,” I say, since I kind of can’t help myself around him. “I guess that means I have no boundaries with compliments.”
“Same to you. So maybe I don’t have them either,” he says, his blue eyes taking a quick stroll of my frame, roaming over my jeans and dark blue button-down shirt.
Unbutton it tonight, rookie.
I sweep that thought away.
“What are your holiday plans?” he asks, snapping me back to the here and now.
“Going to Tokyo again. It’s become a thing. You?”
“The usual. Hanging out with the family. Seeing my grandparents.”
“What about Reese?”
“She’s in South America right now. She had a job opportunity there.”
We talk about family and friends more, then he tells me about River, and how they went into business together.
A sliver of jealousy wedges under my skin. “River? From The Lazy Hammock? Our River?”
He snorts. “Yes, our River.”
Like it’s making an unexpected encore, the dragon of jealousy roars in my chest, clambers up to center stage. “Is he your River now?” I ask, the question tasting like spoiled milk in my mouth, curdling my stomach. The prospect of Grant having a boyfriend is horrifying.
I’d rather drink antifreeze.
And yet it’s entirely possible.
And that makes it even more horrifying.
Grant arches a brow. Smirks too. “Dude, we’re friends. Just friends. Like you and Fitz.”
That’s good.
That’s so fucking good.
Dragging a hand down my face, I let out the biggest breath in the universe. “Good,” I say, as relief floods me.
His lips twitch. “You still jealous?”
I shrug, owning it. “Yes,” I say. Emphatically.
An eyebrow lifts. That flirty look returns to his eyes. “Is that so?”
“Yes. And maybe I always will be. Boundaries, right? Or maybe not,” I say.
He nods, flashing me his winning smile, the one that snared me in his net way back when. The one that still works some kind of wicked magic.
I need to shift gears or the torch I carry for this man will be visible from space.
“I’ve been following the work you’re doing with the Alliance,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks, man. That’s good to hear.”
“Sometimes I think about getting more involved. Mostly, I think I’m just good at donating money,” I say, shrugging a little sheepishly.
“Hey, nothing wrong with that. Giving money away is always a good thing,” Grant says.
“But you? You’re the face of it all. I admire that,” I say, and pride surges in me. Pride for what he’s done. How he stuck to his plans. Grant had a vision, and he rose up, walking the walk and talking the talk.
“You got to do what you got to do, right?”
“Truer words,” I say, then scratch my jaw. “But maybe I’ll get more involved with volunteer work.”
A grin lights his handsome face. “Do it.”
The click of wingtips breaks the moment. Vaughn arrives, clasps a hand on my shoulder. “Hey Grant,” my agent asks, “can I steal this man away? I’ve got someone from Legends here.”
That’s the watchmaker who’s one of my top sponsors, so Vaughn tugs me away.
I don’t look back.
If I do, I’ll say something like come spend the night, and the next one, and the rest of the month too.