Page 81 of Hiding in the Outfield

“Don’t be like that. What happened? Are you…okay now? Is there anything you need, anything I can do?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. You can stop asking me personal questions that you have no right knowing the answers to so we can get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

Those brown eyes flash at me. “That’s not fair,” he whispers.

Oh, fuck me, please. Not fair, my fucking pretty ass.

I snatch up the picture frame next to me. “How’s the family?” I ask cheerily. “Kids are looking big. So cute.”

“They are. Growing so fast.” He takes the frame from me and sets it back on my desk. “I don’t understand why you give me this anger. I’ve told you time and time again we can still be together.”

I flip to the next page of the deck. “So, we’ll do a brief overview of demographics of the plan, year-over-year change⁠—”

“I never stopped caring about you, Frankie.”

I slap my hand on the desk. “Enough with the bullshit, Nick. Let’s make something very clear right now. You never cared about me. You have only ever cared about you. You lied. You cheated. You deceived. You want me to come back and be your little secret you fuck in the dark. We have been through this a thousand times. You were never the person I thought you were, and there is less than a zero percent chance we ever end up back together. Less than zero, Nick. Do you know what less than zero percent is? Impossible. Just. Like. Us.”

His face is tight, his lips flat, but he nods. “I suppose that’s that then,” he says rigidly. “Clearly, you’re set on this opinion you’ve crafted of me. I’ll stop bothering you with inquiries about your wellbeing. My concern obviously isn’t appreciated.”

Ave Maria. This man will never cease to amaze me.

I shift forward. “Do you want to know what happened to me, Nick? I was kissing a man at the back of a bar—a really fucking sexy man—and a homophobic asshole thought it’d be fun to punch me in the face.”

His eyes stretch wide and dart over my face. “Oh my God. Frankie. What happened? Were you badly injured?”

“Yes,” I say bluntly. “Fractured cheek and a concussion. But do you want to know something, Nick?” I lean on my hands, my fingertips going white. “The pain from that didn’t even come close to what you put me through.”

His stare falls, and it might be the first time I’ve seen guilt slide across those handsome features.

A fuck ton too late.

I grab my deck and neaten the pages. “Now. Let’s get through this deck.”

So I can get the hell out of here.

TWENTY-EIGHT

JACKSON

JUST THE TIP GROUP CHAT

Me

I need some advice…

Michaels

Yay! Sex tip time!

Barnes

How do you know it’s about sex?

Winters

Yeah. Maybe he needs baseball advice.

Michaels