Rundown (Curveball Book 2) (33 page)

I
didn’t think he’d really go.

Ignoring
the shifting headlights, I fall back to a sitting position on the
snow.  I gather up the snow at my feet and make a pile of
snowballs.  Once I have a decent arsenal, I stand and riffle
them into the darkness. 
If only Mark were in front of me
. 

“
Here,
take these,” Drew says.

When
I turn around, Drew’s holding a bucket of baseballs and a bat. 

“
What’s
this?”

“
You
wanted to hit something.”  He hands me the bat and walks
deeper into the field, which is completely illuminated. 

He
wasn’t leaving, he just moved the car.

“
Come
on.  I’ll go easy on you,” he says, stretching his arm. 
“This is what I do sometimes when I’m pissed.  I’ll find a
random place and toss balls to myself.  It’s a good way to get
your frustrations out.”

Willing
to give it a try, I position the bat over my shoulder and take a few
practice swings.  Drew throws the first ball and I miss by a
long shot.  Of course, this fuels my fire. 

“
Again.”

The
next ball sails toward me and I swing with everything I have.
 
Crack. 
The sensation of making contact with the
ball vibrates up my arms and slightly stings my hands. 
It
feels good.

“
What
are you thinking about?” Drew asks as he releases another ball.

“
That
I am so sick of everyone telling me what to do,” I yell, surprising
myself.  “Calm down, Breanne. Talk to me, Breanne.  Don’t
correct the media about what happened in California. Let them think
your fiancé’s two-timing you. Don’t talk to anyone about the
investigation. Don’t tell anyone I’m not dead.”   

My
head is whirling from all the demands.  I swing at the next ball
and miss.  The relief from shouting is just as good. 

“
All
the lies.  Why does the truth have to be so fucking difficult,
huh?  I’m not a child...I’m just stupid...too naive. 
Mark couldn’t trust me with the truth to the point of faking his
own death.” 

Crack
.

“
Who
knows what Vivian’s after but it’s so important that she’s
willing to kill me and the people I love.  I’m like a pawn in
some twisted game that I didn’t even know I was playing.” 

Crack
.

“
No
one else should decide what information I deserve to have or what I
can handle. 
I
make those choices.  Not Mark. 
Not Vivian.  Not the damn FBI or CIA.”

Crack. 

“
And
not you.”

“
I’m
not him,” Drew insists.

“
Mark
didn’t just lie to me.  He kept things from me too.  I
know it might not be on the same scale, but you’re keeping
something from me.  Whatever you found in the barn…I see it’s
weighing on you.  It probably impacts us both and you’ve
chosen to keep me in the dark.  Tell me how what you’ve done
is any different.” 

Drew
throws another ball and I ignore it, letting it whiz by as I watch
him intently.  Minutes pass without a response and I’ve had
it.  I’ve reached my breaking point.  If I can’t trust
Drew, who can I trust? 

“
Am
I wrong?” 

Silence.
 

He
can’t deny it because it’s true.  He’s not ready to
explain and I’m tired of waiting. 

Well,
screw this.

I
toss the bat to the ground and walk to Spencer’s car.

Leave
Your Mark

The
minute Everett brought me to the guest room—that’s right, the
fucking guest room of my own house—I went ape shit.  Spencer
ignored my tantrum as he read Everett the riot act, spewing bullshit
about alliances between the agencies, protocol and other nonsense I
blocked out.  My focus was on the fact that Breanne was
downstairs in
our
house with
her
husband.  I
grilled Everett about what he knew, which was essentially nothing. 
That should have made me feel better since he wasn’t keeping things
from me, yet all it did was fuel my fire. 

I
punched a wall.  I nearly punched him.  A shit storm was
brewing in my mind.
The last few months have been perfect. 
Maddie calls me Dad.  With Mark back will Breanne just pick up
where she left off with him?  Am I out of the picture?  I
just fucking proposed and she said yes without hesitation.  What
the fuck does this mean?
 

Had
I calmed down long enough to breathe, I could have answered my own
questions by listening to the conversation that was taking place
downstairs.  Too bad that’s not what I did.  Instead, I
paced the damn room relentlessly until I heard her footsteps racing
into the master bedroom.  Pushing past Everett, I fled the guest
room…I needed to see her, to touch her…anything.  But having
her in my arms did nothing to dispel my fears.  The look of
uncertainty on her face scared the shit out of me.

Just
like Breanne needed a reprieve, so did I.  
I
had to hit
something.  What I really wanted to do was use Mark’s face as
a punching bag.  Well, his or Spencer’s.  Doubting that’d
go over well with either the CIA or Breanne, I settled for my bat and
baseballs.  Hitting balls in the open field for an hour or so
after Breanne took off with Spencer was exactly the outlet I needed.
 While it felt good at the time, the release it gave me didn’t
last too long.  The only difference is that I no longer feel
angry.  I feel hopeless.

Sitting
in a chair in the middle of the guest room at my place, I watch
Breanne sleep and replay conversations we’ve had about Mark from
when we first met. 

“
So
you haven’t dated at all since your husband died?” I asked.

“
No,
I haven’t.”

“
Have
you wanted to?”

“
No,
I meant forever when I said ‘I do.’  Just because forever
for him was far too short it doesn’t change anything.”

It
was obvious then that she was a loyal and loving person.

“
I
can’t just push Mark’s memory out and replace it with new ones of
you.” 

After
we slept together for the first time she was overcome with guilt, so
much so that she fled.

“
I'm
not moving on from Mark.  I don't want this. I don’t love
you.”

Even
though she loved me, she didn’t want to let go of the past. 
And now it’s not the past any more. 

I
take a deep breath and slowly exhale.  Leaning forward and
resting my elbows on my knees, I bury my head in my hands and wonder
what I’m doing.  Then, and now, it keeps coming back to him. 
She might be pissed that he kept his career a secret, but she loves
him.  How could she not when they were married for almost ten
years?  Correction, they still
are
married.  The
only reason she ever gave me a chance was because she thought he was
gone.  Well, he’s not…he’s here, and I’m going to lose
her all over again.

Part
of me rationalizes that I don’t really know what she’s thinking;
the other part is convinced that I already know.  She’s not
sleeping in my bed, nor did she want to stay in our house.  Her
husband is still alive and she has a chance at getting her family
back together.  I’m the odd man out in this scenario and it’s
killing me.  We have a life together, complete with routines and
traditions, except I’m not delusional enough to believe that our
months of building these things compare in any measure to the near
decade she had with Mark.  

If
her past were the only issue here, I’d try to convince myself into
believing that I have a fighting chance.  Add that I’ve been
withholding information from her and I’m screwed.  Trust is
never easily given.  Once it’s broken it’s even harder to
get back.  

Watching
Breanne drive off with Spencer was like a kick to the gut.  I
stood in the field hitting balls for a long time, thinking about what
I should have done differently.  I fucked up.  Big
time.  I’ve spent months trying to figure out Alexis’s
note on my own and it got me nowhere.  I have no idea why I
thought it was a good idea to keep it from Breanne.  If I was
worried that sharing it would have a negative impact on our
relationship, I should have known hiding it would be worse. 
I’ve gone through all the possible scenarios of how I could explain
to her why I kept it from her.  The simple answer is I didn’t
want to lose her.   Would it change anything about our
situation if I had shared it?  The conclusion I keep coming to
is no.

Pure
reactions reveal a lot about the heart.  Based on what I saw
tonight, it’s clear Mark still has a hold on her.  She was so
genuinely excited to see him.  The moment she wrapped her arms
around him and kissed his cheek I began seeing them as a couple and
it sliced right through me. 

Breanne
is without a doubt the most important person in my life.  She’s
changed the way I look at the world and I want things now that I
never did before.  Her happiness means more to me than my own. 
Stated differently, I won’t get in the way of her happiness, no
matter what it means for me.  Convinced that I don’t have any
other options, I decide to make it easier for her.  I won’t
make her choose. 

I
stand and quietly walk over to where she sleeps, desperately wishing
the situation was different.  Cocooned like a baby in the center
of the bed and still wearing my t-shirt, she’s my ideal of
perfection.  
He had to show up the night I proposed.
 
I gently lift her left hand, kiss it once and then slip her
engagement ring from her finger, hoping this makes it easier on her.

Unsure
of where to go from here, I head to my bedroom and place Breanne’s
ring back inside the box it came in.  I then set the box in a
storage case right next to the smashed watch Alexis got me, and put
both back on the top shelf in my closet.  It’s become a
resting place for ‘what ifs’.  Checking the time, I’m
amazed that it’s already 7am.  Today’s my day off at the
gym, but since sleep isn’t in the cards for me, I change to go work
out anyway.