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“What happened, Cord? I'm tired of asking the same question and I can't help you if you don’t tell me.”
I finally break. I tell him everything that happened and how it made me feel. Dad might be immature and overwhelming nine times out of ten, but he’s the best dad I could ask for. When push comes to shove, he sits down with me like he is now, and really listens to my problems. He’ll spend the rest of the day thinking things over and before I leave, he’ll pull me aside and give me advice.
It used to drive me crazy that he took so long to give me his viewpoint and suggestions, but then I realize he was only doing it because he wanted to make sure he really thought about it and gave me his best advice.
“She still loves you, Cord, but she’s scared. The whole reason she pushed you away is because she’s never felt loved. Your mom was similar when we met. She didn’t believe she was enough for me. She compared herself to every other woman and thought she was lacking. Macy’s had a rough life. Her mom left her and her dad was abusive. She doesn’t know true love outside of her brother and sister-in-law. She’s trying to protect herself because she doesn’t think she measures up to the great Cord Powell.”
“I’ve never made her feel like that,” I whisper.
“I never said you did. A lot of times it’s in the person’s head. She needs to accept you aren’t her parents and you don’t want anyone else. It’s hard. Really hard, and cleat chasers aren’t going to make it any easier… that’s when she broke up with you, right? When other women found out who you were and you started to become recognizable in public?”
“Yeah, she said she wasn’t going to stand by while she was disrespected. But how is it my fault? I never did anything to make those women think I wanted a thing to do with them. I was polite and excused myself from the situation as quickly as possible. What does she want me to do? I can't step out of the way and let someone fall to the ground because they try to hug me and I don’t want them to. I also can't walk away or be an ass, that would be a PR nightmare.” I shake my head, feeling completely lost.
“It’s not your fault, but clearly she has some things to work through. Maybe you just need to be there for her as much as she’ll allow. It won't be easy and it will be a lot of work, but I’ve never seen you happier than when she’s at your side.” Dad hops up to a standing position and glances at his watch. “On that note, I have a meeting to get to. I’ll be expecting a competition in this gym when I'm wearing athletic clothes and not jeans, do you hear me?” He points his finger in my face. I frown and bat it away, making him chuckle.
As soon as he’s gone, I tug my phone out of my pocket and fire off a text to Macy. I'm not sure if she’ll even answer me, but it’s worth a try. Anything to get us back on good terms.
Cord: I want to talk to you. Will you meet me for dinner tonight or come to my place?
Macy: You have the wrong number.
Cord: Cut the shit, Mace. You were crying last night and that’s not ok with me. We need to talk.
Macy: Mailbox is full. Please contact someone who cares.
Cord: Fine, I'm coming to your place. See you at 6.
Macy: No, Cord. I don’t want you to.
Cord: This isn't the Macy show. I don’t really care if you don’t want to talk. We’re fixing things tonight.
Macy: I won't date you.
Cord: I don’t remember asking you out.
Macy: I’m just putting it out there. *shrugging emoji*
Cord: See you at 6, babe.
Chapter 7
Macy
I pace around my living room for the hundredth time. It’s two minutes shy of six o’clock and I'm praying Cord doesn’t knock on my door in the next one hundred twenty seconds.
I don’t want to work things out with him. I don’t want to build a bridge and find friendship with him. If I can't have Cord Powell as my boyfriend, I don’t want him in my life. At least not in a friendly manner.
Ninety-five seconds. If he doesn’t knock on the door in the next ninety-five seconds, I won't answer and I’ll just tell him he was late and he missed the opportunity to talk.
I snort out a laugh and shake my head. If I tried to do that, Cord would probably knock on my door until he pissed off every neighbor in my building. He wouldn’t care one bit… except now he’s a big-time baseball player. People would recognize him and probably tell the gossip rags how he’s harassing their neighbor. It would serve him right though.
Sixty-one seconds and counting. It’s going to be fine. It’s just Cord, I’ve spoken to him a million times. This is no different, right?
Forty-seven seconds. That’s three quarters of a minute. Yes, let’s focus on math and not the man who will be knocking on my door soon. Math is our friend. Math doesn’t depress you unless you take your measurements to buy something online, then math is a dirty bitch. No one wants to measure their waist and hips. Those numbers just hurt feelings and make you feel guilty when you eat ice cream or cookies.
Twenty-three. Holy shit. Is it hot in here? It’s got to be over ninety degrees. Maybe I should change out of these yoga pants and into shorts. Something that will cool me off.
I rush into my room, shoving my yoga pants down my legs as I go. I trip three times trying to tug them off and shuffle through my drawer looking for comfortable shorts. I should probably find a t-shirt too. This long sleeve one is making me feel like I'm on fire. After slipping on the shorts, I begin searching for a comfortable shirt. Before I can find what I'm looking for, there’s a knock on the door.
