“Ms. Valentine? One-minute warning for your interview,” Denise says through the intercom. “Also, I’ve had three media inquiries this morning about Fireballs Con and the exhibition game, and a walk-in applicant for a coach position. She’s waiting in the lobby with me until you’re free.”
Tripp goes still. “Fireballs Con?” he says in a deadly still voice.
Fireballs Con.
Like that’s the biggest thing he has to worry about.
Never mind that he just found out he slept with a woman who’s so full of lies that some mornings I’m surprised I can see my own truth.
A bubble of hysterical laughter rises from my chest.
Tripp sighs and moves away, hitting the intercom button. “Tell Mr. Santiago we need to reschedule, Denise.”
“No—” I start, but he puts his fingers to my lips as I lift my head, and then he’s pulling me to him, crushing his mouth to mine, then pulling back, a smile growing and lighting his entire being.
“You’re fucking unstoppable, aren’t you?”
I don’t know if I’m supposed to laugh or cry, so I settle for nodding. “You—you don’t care? About Wellington?” I whisper.
“How many more secrets do you have?”
“That one makes the rest together look like a dot next to the sun.”
“Why the fuck haven’t you had security since college?”
“Because I’m a nobody.”
“You, Lila Valentine—wait. Is that your real name?”
I nod through another embarrassed laugh while I wipe my eyes.
“Good. Because, as I was saying, you, Lila Valentine, are definitely somebody.”
When he puts it like that, I do feel like somebody.
Somebody special.
Somebody special, who’s no longer alone.
“Are we still going to fight about the Fireballs?” I ask.
“Fireballs Con? Yes. You’re damn right we are.”
I’m laughing again as I lean in to kiss him. Kiss him? I’m definitely not stopping at kissing this man.
They say the truth sets you free.
I don’t know if that’s entirely accurate, but I know that I wouldn’t trade this moment with Tripp—or any in the past, or any to come—for any more of my lies.
This is the life I want.
And I’m going to hold on with both hands, and I’m going to deserve it.
26
Tripp
My mind is reeling all day Wednesday. I’m still processing Lila’s confession, and how much sense it makes in so many odd ways, but I can’t think about it without also thinking about the way she gripped my shirt like I was her lifeline while she let it all out.
I’d ask who lives like that, except I could’ve seen myself or Davis doing the same thing by the time we called it quits on Bro Code.
Disappear into a new life.
Pretend to be someone you’re not.
If it hadn’t been for Jessie, I’d be living in Tahiti writing poetry or something right now. Being in the spotlight is exhausting, and it’s not something you can control.
I get it.
Lila dealt with it preemptively, by herself, as a barely legal adult, while I dealt with it through a support system that was second to none.
And tonight, that support system includes two happy, exhausted, snotty-nosed kids who are fed, bathed, and ready for bed when I get home shortly after six. Waylon’s reading them The Cat in the Hat, with both kids in his lap in the rocking chair in the playroom, but as soon as I poke my head in, they launch themselves off him and tackle me.
Fuck, I love this moment. It makes leaving them worthwhile.
So did being busy all day and knowing I was doing something good for my community. Realizing that for all her secrets, for all her own special paranoia, Lila’s diving into being a part of this community and doing good.
Wanting lists of the players’ favorite charities to highlight on social media through the holiday season. Giving raises to all of the support staff who haven’t had raises in years, but stayed for love of the team. Reaching out to local restaurants about concessions booths inside the ballpark. Making sure there’s enough duck food.
Shooing me out of the office to come home to see my kids.
I flip them both upside down and take turns kissing their bellies while they shriek with laughter, remember that it’s easier to get them up here than it is to get them down, and turn James over to Waylon while I right my little princess. “Were you two good today?”
“Unka Beck!” Emma yells.
“Did Uncle Beck give you candy?”
“And cake!” James says. “And Unka Way-on taked us to the park!”
“And de-germified them when we got home,” Waylon assures me. He has the same light brown hair and mischief in his expression that Cash always wears, though he doesn’t have the distinctive nose that makes Emma cry.
And he’s not being a judgy ass about me worrying about germs when I know I need to relax. I nod to him. “Grandma says the park is good for them.”
“All that fresh air,” he agrees.
“Unka Way-on made a fwend!” James tells me.
Waylon grins. “Several. Hear I’m not the only one though.”
I ignore the pointed question about my love life. “You’re up for this again tomorrow?” I ask Waylon instead.
“Yeah, I can help you out until you find a better plan. However long it takes. Later, squirts. Uncle Waylon has a date.”
He takes off, and I get the lowdown on my kids’ day while they bounce on my bed and I change into sweats.
And when Emma starts crying because her reflection in the mirror is copying her, I take them to her room, pull them both into my lap in the rocking chair in there, and read them firetruck books and princess books until they’re nodding off.
I get them tucked in, double-check the security system upgrades, and I’m about to set a fire in the fireplace when my phone dings with a text.
Can I bring you dinner?
I smile at the picture accompanying Lila’s message, because it appears she’s already outside my house, holding a paper bag, and then text her back. My day might’ve started with her assurances that she had the Fireballs covered financially—and with getting interrupted by Denise with my hand up Lila’s skirt—but it turned into one meeting after another while I got caught up on all I missed and she dashed off for plans for Fireballs Con.
“Kids in bed?” she whispers when I let her in the door.
I inhale subtle scents of something spicy as I nod. “Uncle Waylon wore them out.”
“Is that okay for their colds?”
“Over-worried me says no. Science and doctors and my mother say it’s good for them.”
“Excellent. We’re trusting science and doctors and your mother tonight.”
I nod, take the bag from her, set it on the nearest flat surface, and pull her into my arms. Can’t help it.
I need to touch her.
Me. The responsible one. Needs to hold the woman who’s been keeping so many secrets. Without needing proof that she’s telling me the truth now.
Just because her kind of lonely speaks to my kind of lonely.
Maybe I’m insane.