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“Did she tell you that Dean basically set her up with his friend who picked her up from the airport?” Miller tries to hold back her giggle. “Bet you loved that.”
“Yes, she told me. That fucking prick. As if I didn’t already hate the guy enough.”
Miller tilts her head to the side. “I know the guys have given you shit for years over your crush on her, but I see it, Isaiah. I see the way you look at her, and I see the way Kennedy practically glows when she’s with you. Your marriage might be fake, but the rest is so obviously real. Don’t give up hope, okay? Maybe she won’t even take the job.”
“She better fucking take the job.”
Miller chuckles, smacking me on the arm. “Go help your brother get a win on his start record by hitting a couple of bombs, yeah?”
“I’ll do my best.”
I did do my best. Or at least the best I had to offer tonight. But the only time my bat ever connected with a ball was when I skimmed a few fouls or when I hit a weak grounder and was out long before I made it to first.
I was struck out twice, and I couldn’t tell you the last time I was so shit at bat. But I swear to God, every time my walk-up music played it was like the entire stadium was taunting me, singing our wedding song, while my wife is on the other side of the country landing her dream job.
That spot of rain Monty was worried about turned out to be a whole-ass summer storm.
Regardless of my shitty game, the boys pulled off a decisive win, ending it in regular innings, so I got home with plenty of time before the bad weather really started. As did my friends who came to watch the game, as well as Cody, Travis, Monty, Miller, and Kai.
I know this because I’ve checked on each and every one of them.
The only person who I haven’t heard from is the first person I called.
Seven unanswered calls now going through to voicemail, and I still have no idea if Kennedy made it home. If her flight landed. If she got in a rideshare to her apartment or to the stadium where her car is. And I have no idea if she got home before this shitty weather hit.
I try Miller instead.
“Have you heard from her?” I ask as soon as she answers.
“Not yet. I tried to call but she didn’t pick up. I know she landed because she texted to check in on how the game was going during the eighth inning.”
“And then what? Did she get a rideshare to her car at the stadium? Or did she go back to her apartment?” My tone is frantic. “Why would she not be answering?”
“Maybe she’s driving.”
“Miller.”
“Shit,” she exhales. “Wrong thing to say.”
“I’m calling her again. Let me know if you hear from her.”
I hang up before she can respond and try Kennedy for the eighth time.
Once again, she doesn’t answer.
A loud, thunderous boom shakes my apartment building, the rain hitting so hard and so fast against the windows I can hardly hear myself think.
The anxiety winds through my every nerve, making me unable to stay put in one place. I pace my living room, kitchen, in and out of my bedroom, rolling my eyes at every stupid fucking sign I pass that I don’t have the capability to laugh at right now.
Phone ringing in my hand, I quickly turn it over, hoping and praying that Kennedy’s name is on the screen.
It’s not. It’s Kai.
My thumb hovers over the green button to answer, but I can’t. All I can think about is the tone in his voice and the look on his face when I was thirteen years old, when he came in and told me our mom died in a storm that looked exactly like this one.
I can still remember the smell of the pizza we ate that night. The sound of the front door closing as police officers left. The laundry I had piled on a chair in the corner of the room that my mom told me to fold before baseball practice but I didn’t.
And I remember the exact tone in Kai’s voice when he told me what happened to her.
