As I approach the dugout, fans cheer, wave, and take pictures. I wave back, smile, and then I feel my heart stop as I spot a familiar face.
A familiar smirk.
A familiar pair of eyes that have captured my attention from the first moment I saw them.
Myla.
She’s in the stands.
What the hell is she doing at the game?
Chapter Eleven
MYLA
Present day . . .
Myla: I wish you didn’t have to leave.
Nichole: I know, but I have that appointment I can’t miss. I’ll try to find some time after the wedding to come visit you.
Myla: I should have gone with you.
Nichole: No, I told you it wasn’t necessary. Just a routine checkup.
Myla: If it’s routine, then why did you tell me it was really important?
Nichole: Let’s not get into this right now, okay? Focus on you. Focus on getting through these next couple of weeks.
Myla: Just tell me, Nichole. Is the cancer back?
Nichole: As I said, worry about you right now. After the wedding, you and I will go somewhere fun. Maybe pick out your next project. That lake house up on Fox Lake could be perfect.
Myla: You’re not answering the question.
Nichole: Because I don’t know the answer. For now, let’s not freak out. Let’s focus on what we can control. And what we can control is the path you’re going to create for yourself after all of this. You’ve been taking those design and woodworking classes, and you have the tools and the capital to have options. Why not pick out the house you want to renovate?
Myla: It’s overwhelming, and my mind isn’t focused.
Nichole: Then focus on one thing at a time. Where do you want to go when you’re divorced? Are you moving back to Chicago? Are you going to find an old place to renovate? Are you staying in California?
Myla: I don’t know. God, Nichole, I’m so messed up in the head because the mere thought of not being in the same state as Ryot makes me physically ill.
Nichole: Myla . . . I know I’ve been trying to be supportive, but do you think this is the answer? Divorce?
Myla: I don’t know what else to do, Nichole. I really don’t. I feel so hurt, so alone. I saw him more when he was playing baseball and gone almost every other week during the season than I’ve seen him after retirement.
Nichole: Then maybe you should talk to someone, a therapist.
Myla: I have. All she says is that I need to sort out my feelings.
Nichole: Well, I could have told you that.
Myla: Hence why I don’t see her anymore. Anyway, I know you’re probably tired, and I’m hungry, so I’m going to grab something to eat.
Nichole: Okay, love you.
Myla: Love you.
I set my phone down on the table and toss my robe on over my bra and underwear because, even though I like messing with Ryot, I’m just not in the mood tonight. With my silk robe cinched tightly around my waist, I release my curled hair from the clip I had it in, fluff it a bit, and then head out toward the kitchen but stop immediately when I hear voices.
Has Ryot invited guests over?
Slowly, I approach the kitchen, and when I turn the corner to not only see Ryot but JP Cane and his brother, Huxley, I freeze.
JP is the first to spot me. “Oh hey, Myla.” He waves. “Ryot was just telling us about the éclairs he made for you.” My eyes connect with Ryot, who has a pleading look on his face. Technically, I don’t have to act like we’re a happily married couple until the wedding, but that one look from Ryot is all it takes.
I tuck my hair behind my ear and smile. “They were some of the best éclairs he’s made,” I say quietly.
Ryot’s shoulders visibly relax as he shifts in place, his hand gripping a tumbler tightly.
JP, completely oblivious to the tension, says, “Dude, then you need to make some of those for us.”
Bringing the drink to his lips, Ryot says, “Nah, I only make those for my girl.”
And that’s a true statement. He’s only ever made them for us, for me. He’s never taken them to an event. He’s never made them for company, just me and him, because that was something special between us.
“Well, I’ll let you guys have your time,” I say. “I was just going to grab something to snack on.”
“Pizza will be here any second,” Ryot says.
“Yeah, join us,” Huxley adds, pushing off the counter. “I would love to get to know you better. I feel like we’ve barely spoken.”
“Oh, I don’t want to cut into whatever business you need to discuss.”
“Nah, there’s nothing too pressing. Plus, we can talk while we have dinner,” JP says just as the doorbell rings.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll get that.” Ryot sets his drink down on the counter. “Boys, why don’t you head to the back patio and make yourselves comfortable? I put a cooler back there with drinks as well.”
“Cool,” JP says as he and his brother move to the back porch.
As Ryot approaches me, he says, “Can you have dinner with us? I didn’t know they were coming over until ten minutes ago.”
“A little warning would have been nice,” I shoot back at him.
“I thought you were sleeping in your room. Hell, you’ve been holed up in there and I didn’t even think you’d come out. I’m not entertaining in the dining room because I know that’s your space.”
“Are you trying to be sarcastic when you need me to pretend I’m in love with you?”
He pauses, his spine straightening as he turns toward me. Brows tilted down with a furious expression, he speaks through clenched teeth. “You are fucking in love with me. I don’t care how much you try to hurt me with your denial. You do love me. So no, you’re not going to have to pretend. You just have to act civilly as if you enjoy being around me.”
“Well, that’s not the case.”
“That much is obvious.”
He keeps pushing toward the door so he can grab the pizzas while I grab plates and napkins from the kitchen. Could I tell him to go fuck himself and not join his little meat parade in the backyard? Probably, but I also know we’re in a battle of wills. And even though I would love nothing more than to grab a slice of pizza and go back to my room, I know that will only add fuel to his fire, and the last thing I need is for him to be pissed at me. Who knows what he’d do?
He brings the pizza into the kitchen, and when I turn to face him, he says, “No more than twenty minutes, then you can fake a headache and leave.”
“Planned on it,” I say with a sarcastic smile.
And then together, looking like the epitome of a happy marriage, we head to the patio with bright smiles on our faces and gracious host mentalities.
“I’ve never tried this place before,” Huxley says as he grabs a slice of pepperoni pizza. “What’s it called again?”
“Big Sal’s,” Ryot answers. “Myla found it. She loves looking up the best places to eat in a city. Big Sal’s had huge reviews, and we hadn’t been able to find a decent slice of pizza since being out here.”
“This isn’t deep-dish, though,” JP points out. “Being that you came from Chicago, I would have assumed you were eating deep-dish.”