Love's Learning Curve (29 page)

It feels a little weird to be in Ty’s home when he’s not here, but he had to leave earlier than he expected for a breakfast meeting at George’s with his advisor and the head coach.  I was only a little disappointed that I couldn’t tag along. I haven’t been to George’s in four days, but I’ll fix that today or tomorrow.  I need some home-cooked comfort food.

I reach for my cell phone where it’s charging on the nightstand to check for messages from the hotshot himself with a picture of his breakfast plate since he already told me he’s ordering biscuits and gravy, which is my favorite too.   George Taylor makes the best sausage gravy in the world, well at least that I’ve ever tasted, but I have enough confidence in his abilities to bet on the ‘world’s best’ title anyway.

My chest tightens when I see my mother’s name on the notifications above Ty’s.  I’m almost scared to see what she wants after the head to head with Ty last night at the party.  I’d hoped he couldn’t hear what she was saying, but when I felt a tremor in my hand holding his and knew it wasn’t from me, I realized he had.  I prayed to myself quietly that he’d forget it and not engage her, but in my heart, I knew that was a fleeting wish.  He’s been very vocal about the viciousness of my mother’s comments.

Against my better judgment, I open the message.  There’s a link to an article from the newspaper.  Not the local small town paper, the major citywide publication.

Headline:

Baseball’s most eligible bachelor and predicted top five MLB draft prospect confirms he's still single.

*** Link attached ***

MOTHER: I don't know if I should be shocked, disappointed, or concerned at your attempts to discredit your father by making a mockery of his character by being associated with you.  How does it feel to have the tables turned on you?  You stood beside him, proving to be as weak as I knew you were, and said nothing when he spoke to me disrespectfully.  You thought you’d hit the jackpot with him and his future but looks like it was all just a show.  You played right into his hand by giving up your virtue and spreading your legs, like the slut you are, every time he snaps his fingers.  You’re very lucky our reputation is strong enough to keep that out of the paper after he made that little admission to another reporter.  Now that he’s publicly denied your connection to him, and you’ve alienated your family with your reputation and disrespect, I hope this will be the lesson you needed to make you see the light of day.  One day, you’ll regret being the ungrateful daughter you are.  Probably sooner than you’ll expect when you realize you’re all alone now.  You're finally getting what you deserve.

The campaign managers will be working overtime to strike any associations to you from your father and me.  Your father is heartbroken and feels taken advantage of by someone he loved and trusted.  The poor man never was able to see you for who you really were.  He’s ashamed he gifted you with the legacy of your family name.  Had I known birthing a child from our own blood would betray us, I would have saved myself the sacrifice and adopted a child who would have been grateful for the rewards we've freely given you.  You are the biggest mistake of my life.  You will never hear from us again, and we’d appreciate if you’d kindly give us the same respect and not contact either of us again and allow us to grieve.  After everything, Charlotte, it’s the very least you could do.

The sobs engulf me like never before.  I don’t bother to read the entire article now and only skim briefly until my eyes see the quote.  “The only long-term commitment anyone will see in my future is with this sport.” 

Nothing is more important than getting out of this house—his house.  I wish the fact that I’ve lost my family was the driving force behind my tortured despair, but it’s not.  He betrayed me in a way I never realized anyone had enough venom and hate in them to be capable of, which says a lot considering I’ve endured the wrath of Sandra Baker my entire life.  My mother has nothing on Tyler Stone.  His deadly venom was well hidden. 

Everything I believed was a lie. 
HE WAS A LIE.

I grab as much of my stuff as possible and eventually give up on caring about anything left behind.  I can’t be here anymore.  I run from the house with my body barely decent wearing the tee shirt of his he slipped over my head after our morning lovemaking session.  He said he wanted me to go back to sleep wrapped in his scent.  Now, it burns like it could be the cloak of the devil himself, and every second I’m here feels more and more like the pits of hell.

My mother was right about one thing—this is definitely a lesson.  I thought my years under her roof was as close to dining with the devil and living in hell as possible, but I was wrong. 
HE WAS A LIE.

I don’t bother to pick up the spare key he left and pay him the respect of locking up.  He’s lucky if I actually closed the front door.  As I drive away, I expect to feel relief from each centimeter of distance I gain, but I don’t.  I feel nothing except for complete despondent misery.

I don’t even know how I arrive back at the house.  All I know is I race into the house leaving my car running.  I need to get my things and leave as quickly as possible.  I should probably talk to Morgan and let her know what’s going on, but I need some separation for anyone associated with Tyler Stone and my now ‘estranged’ family. 

I’m thankful I don’t run into anyone as I race up the stairs and into my room.  Morgan is not here either, which also works in my favor.  I’m not sure what I actually grab as I stuff bags, and I can only hope I have all my books for school and the cord for my laptop.  I only pause my packing briefly to yank the fabric consumed with his scent from my body to replace it with a sports bra, tank top, hoodie, and yoga pants with my running shoes.  I’m out of the house in record time and back in my car driving. 

I’m not sure where I’m driving because I have literally nowhere to go, but I drive and drive and drive just to drive only stopping once in the parking lot of a broken down and abandoned shopping center in the middle of nowhere. 

Taking a screenshot of the message from my mother, I then open the article and read every word over and over memorizing them all before opening the text message box titled HOTSHOT BASEBALL BOY.  I send just the photo of the screen that my phone captured.  I don’t bother to ask questions or comment doubting he’ll care enough to respond anyway.  The tears eventually subside leaving only the trace of their existence in the blood red edges of my eyes.

I don’t even realize I’ve parked in the back of George’s, at the staff entrance, until Jamie is banging on my window trying to get my attention and yanking at the door handle as he yells for me to unlock my door. 

My entire world slips away after that moment.  I cease to exist until waking on what I can only assume to be the day following the worst day of my life.  Although if I’m honest, I only wish years have passed and the memories of a time that feel so near will actually be far in my past. 

Surrounded by floral pillows on the large antique bed, I’m in a room I’ve spent a few nights in over the years.  In a house encased with so much love and people who understand the true meaning of love in a way I never will.

Practice today was better.  Maybe it helped that I had breakfast with Scott and Coach.  I felt better after facing the demons hanging over my head from yesterday.  Not that I’m admitting what I did was wrong in any way.  Bobby deserved what he got, but I didn’t handle it well.  I could have killed him, and had I actually surrendered to the urge and delivered the blow to his face, I would have fucked up my throwing hand and been done for the season.  I definitely wouldn’t be a top-five prospect with a fucked-up hand.

When I got to the field, I manned up to the asshole.  Bobby and I have always been cool, and I’m used to his sarcasm and barbs.  Hell, most of the time, I’m laughing right along with everyone.  Yesterday was just all wrong from the start, and he went too far, but he realizes that now and even apologized.  I think we’re good now after both accepting our part in the chaos, even though I reminded him my instruction stands.  Don’t fucking speak her name.

I have some time to kill before meeting Charlie for the party at Children’s Hospital, but not enough time to run home, shower, and dress, so I brought my clothes to do that here.  I told Scott and Coach what I was doing tonight, and Coach told me he’d have someone put together a box of shirts and hats signed by the team to take with me.  True to his word, the giant box is right in front of my locker. 

Charlie’s already there.  She wanted to be there extra early to set up and decorate, excited to make everything extra special for her little friend.   I didn’t realize how close she was to the Taylor family, but she might as well be the third sister. 

The whole family was there this morning, and while I sat at a table waiting for my crew, I endured an inquisition from the family.  I felt like I was standing trial, but in the end, it was peachy fucking fine as long as I didn’t hurt her.  EVER.  They reinforced that numerous times.  I got the message and agreed, but not because what they said mattered.  I’d never want to be the one to break her.  I’m trying to put her back together.

I grab my gym bag pulling my phone from the pocket to check my texts as I walk.  On the screen is a notification alert with the photo of the two of us from the fair and her title, Buttercup.  I smile, happy that in the craziness of her day, she made time to text me.

I stumble, dropping my bag to the floor and catching myself on the wall when I see the message, which is no message at all.  It’s just a screenshot of her phone, a message to her from Mommy Fucking Dearest.  I read, then reread, then reread it again.  I can’t open the link to read the article.  I have no fucking clue what’s happening, but I gotta figure shit out quick.

Running down the hall, I burst through Coach’s office door.

“I need a fucking computer, right now, Coach.”  Reaching over him to the desktop, I punch the keys with force trying to get it out of sleep mode.  When it comes to life, there’s a security box for a password.  “Fuck, Coach.  Get me in.  Get me in now,” I demand, completely freaking out.