Dear Life

  “It’s better than bottling it up,” Daisy says.

  “She’s right. I don’t think this program is meant to cure you week by week like Marleen said. It’s supposed to present you with different challenges to break free of the monotony you’re living in. It challenges you to try new things, to actually talk when you don’t want to.”

  “Which is all the time,” Carter says under his breath.

  “Then just leave,” Hollyn counters. “If you don’t like it, leave. You’re bringing down the group, Carter.”

  An icy stare meets Hollyn, and I watch as she doesn’t back down. “You know I can’t fucking do that, Hollyn. You out of everyone should know I can’t just leave.”

  “Pay the fee, then, if you’re that miserable.”

  “Yeah? With what money?” Carter shoots back, looking more alive than ever. And it clicks. Hollyn is pushing his buttons to get him to talk more. Smart, ballsy woman. “It’s hard to pay for anything when your ex-girlfriend stole all your money.”

  The second his words leave his mouth you can tell he regrets saying anything. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he blows out a long breath. “Fuck it. Give me a piece of paper so I can write my damn letter and get the hell out of here.”

  “Is that what you meant about life emasculating you?” Daisy asks out of pure curiosity.

  “I didn’t ask you to psycho-analyze me, Snowflake, so don’t fucking try.”

  “I wasn’t . . .” She pauses, her eyes forming tears, a slight shake to her head. I’m about to speak up when Daisy flees her chair and walks briskly over to the hall where the bathrooms are.

  “Wow, great job, Carter. You made the innocent one cry.” Hollyn stands up and starts walking toward the bathroom.

  Regret fills Carter’s face and when I think he’s going to leave, he stands and chases down Hollyn, sending her back in my direction.

  Furious, she sits down and crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s such an asshole.”

  “He’s hurting too,” I say, trying to see it from both sides.

  “You’re not seriously defending him, are you?”

  “I’m looking at the situation from all angles.” I hold up my hands in defense.

  “Creative listening, I know.” She smiles, a smile that eases the tension in my shoulders.

  “Ah, so you do remember how to smile. I was thinking for a second you forgot.”

  “What does that mean?” she asks.

  “It means you’ve been weird all meeting. Are you regretting our little pussy-petting rendezvous? Because I sure as hell don’t regret it.”

  Scanning the room for listeners, Hollyn leans forward. “Say that a little louder, why don’t you?”

  A chuckle rumbles from my chest. “Hey, I have nothing to hide. It was a good time. I felt comfortable talking to you.” The admission feels a little awkward, a little clumsy, but it needed to be said. I feel a connection with Hollyn, and I want it to continue to grow. For some reason, I can see a key to happiness within her. I can see her pain helping my pain.

  Looking me up and down, a smirk caressing her beautiful lips, she says, “I had a nice time as well.”

  For a moment, we sit there, smiling at each other, soaking in the atmosphere. What is she thinking? Does she feel the same connection I feel between us? I sure as hell hope so.

  “This is my last meeting for a bit, at least in person,” I say, breaking the silence.

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “Spring training. I have to report soon to Arizona.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I guess I forget you’re a professional baseball player.” Her cheeks redden. “Uh, so what are you going to do about the meetings?”

  “FaceTime in. You guys can sit me in the chair, my face on an iPad. I’ve already talked to Marleen about it.”

  “So we’ll only have iPad Jace.” Her negative response makes me happy for some reason. I want her to be disappointed to not see me in person.

  “Not for long. And I’ve worked it out that I can come back a few times as well. Believe me, the front office is being very flexible with me right now.”

  “I can imagine they are, they want their star player healthy and happy.”

  A laugh pops out of me. “I wouldn’t say star player.”

  “Rookie of the Year with a batting average that rated second in the National League, pretty sure you’re their star player.” Her hair falls to the side, vibrant red strands caressing her cheek, emphasizing the light spattering of freckles on her cheeks.

  I wiggle my eyebrows. “Reading up on me?”

  She shrugs, a light blush still staining her cheeks. “I used to be a huge sports fan, and I can’t help but read about my teams on occasion.”

  “Used to be?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  All she has to say is one word for me to understand. “Eric.”

  “Fair enough.” I lean forward, clasp my hands together, and look at her from under my bill. “But we’re going to have to fix that.” With a wicked smile, I meet her eyes, and fuck me, they’re sparkling right back at me.

  CARTER

  You know that feeling you get when anger eclipses you and you can’t think of anything else to do besides slamming your fist through a wall? That’s where I am.

  Daisy, fucking Snowflake. She gets under my skin, buries herself deep within, and shows no plans on leaving.

  At first, when I was texting her, I was trying to be nice. It seemed like she wanted someone to talk to, and hell, I kind of wanted someone to talk to as well. She fascinates me. But then I took it a step further and baked with her.

  All innocent, right? Wrong.

  I’m not an idiot, I saw the way she was looking at me, I caught her staring every once in a while, caught the way her eyes would roam my body.

  And hell if I didn’t do the same thing. Under those khakis and turtlenecks, there is a beautifully pure woman waiting to break free. She’s hesitant, a little skittish, but from the look in her eyes when I would lean close, I could see something else: yearning.

  And that’s why this is all fucked up because a part of me wants to see where that yearning could lead, but I can’t because I’m a bitter bastard who would destroy her. She’s sunshine and rainbows; I’m rainclouds and puddles. I match well with girls like Sasha, who share the same hate I have toward life. I don’t go for girls who can easily see the good in everything.

  I knew coming to the meeting tonight was going to be hard, but I didn’t know it was going to be this hard. Even beneath the corduroy pants and crewneck sweatshirt with a watering can on the front, I felt the pull between us, like our beings were trying to attach themselves together. I wanted to talk to her, ask her how her fucking day was, if she brought me any cookies. But that almost seemed too intimate. So, I did what I do best. Acted like a dick.

  With a foot propped against the wall, my arms crossed over my chest, I wait for Daisy to come out of the bathroom. It’s only a brief five minutes before she appears and when she does, I immediately notice her red-rimmed eyes. Shit.

  “Oh,” she says, startled when she sees me. “Um, excuse me.” She tries to sidestep me but I grab her by the wrist and stop her. When I spin her back around, she’s shocked, maybe a little scared.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, just wanting to get this over with. “I didn’t mean to be rude to you or hurt your feelings.”

  “You didn’t,” she replies with a brave face and lifted chin.

  “No?” I cup her cheek and wipe under her eye with my thumb. “Then why are your eyes wet?”

  Searching my eyes, she tries to formulate a response. She tries to lower her head but I don’t let her. She lets out a frustrated breath and asks, “Why don’t you want to be my friend? I might be different, but I’m still a nice girl.”

  “Yes, you are a nice girl, Daisy. That’s the problem. You’re pure, the furthest thing from me.”

  Her nose scrunches up in a cute way that makes me want to . . . no, not going th
ere.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Retreating away from her, I run my hand through my short, dark hair and say, “I’ll tarnish you, Daisy. I’ve done things, seen things that would make you blush, quiver, think again about ever stepping outside your house. I’m not the kind of person you should be hanging out with.”

  “And who are you to decide that?” she asks, puffing her chest out, surprising me.

  “Listen, I know your kind—”

  “No, you don’t,” she shoots back, poking me in the chest. “Do you know why? Because I don’t even know my kind just yet. I’m still finding myself, so don’t prejudge me before I can find out who I am. That’s not fair to me.”

  “Daisy, I’m too much of an asshole for you to be hanging around with.”

  “That may be true,” she says honestly. “But maybe I need a little um, butthole in my life.”

  We both pause, mulling over her words, both cringing. Daisy is the first one to laugh out loud and cover her mouth while shaking her head. “Oh goodness, that sounded really bad.”

  Laughing with her, I nod. “Pretty gross, Snowflake.”

  Smiling brightly, she nudges my shoulder and says, “You know what I mean. And hey, maybe I might not need a butthole, but you sure do need some rainbow in your life.”

  “Stop saying butthole, please,” I beg jokingly.

  “Seriously, Carter. We both want to break free. Stop pushing me away and let’s help each other. I need a partner in crime, will you be that person for me?”

  A partner in crime. Hell, I could easily be that person for her but do I want to be? If I learned anything tonight, it’s that I can’t seem to leave her alone. So maybe being the one to liberate her will be the perfect distraction to get me through this godforsaken, let’s talk about our feelings and then dance around a rain stick program.

  She exchanges a hopeful glance in my direction and I concede. “All right, Snowflake, you got your partner in crime.”

  “Really? REALLY?” Jumping up and down, the watering can on her sweatshirt shifting with her movements, she cheers over her small victory. “Oh, I’m so excited. We are going to have the best time, Carter. I just know it. Oh, we can puffy paint together.”

  “Watch it,” I hold up my finger to warn her, “there will be no puffy painting.”

  We walk back to our circle and she bumps into my shoulder. “Never say never. Once you get that little bottle in your hand, you won’t be able to stop yourself from squeezing.”

  Christ.

  ***

  Dear Life,

  Learning to let go and move on, there is no learning there. You can’t teach someone how to forget about their husband, how to live without them. Learning to let go comes from within. A deep inner strength I have yet to find, that honestly, I don’t necessarily want to find. Not yet at least.

  But what I did find this past week surprised me. I found a friend. I found someone who has experienced similar pain and understands the damage losing a loved one can do to a soul.

  Jace Barnes, Rookie of the Year, starting shortstop, and broken man. My new friend. Talking to him eases the pressure within my heart. He understands me. For the first time in over a year and a half, I’ve found someone who understands me.

  For that, I guess I have to say thank you.

  Sincerely,

  Hollyn

  Dear Life,

  Wowza. Have you been paying attention these last few days? Did you see me out there in action, making friends? Did you see those text messages? Brilliant, right?

  When Amanda showed me how to make a group text, which is actually quite simple, I couldn’t believe my luck when everyone started replying, interacting. And then the last thing I expected happened: Carter sent me a personal message.

  For some reason, he makes me feel self-conscious but also invigorated. He makes me question everything, but also challenges me. Is that possible? That’s why I asked him to guide me through this convoluted world, to assist me through the ups and downs because there is no doubt in my mind that no matter what happens, he will try to protect me, and in this big scary world, I need a protector.

  What’s going to happen next? I have no clue, but whatever it is, it’s going to change that girl in the mirror. Here’s to another step to a new me.

  Kind regards,

  Daisy

  Dear Life,

  Growing up in the foster care system taught me some valuable lessons. One, guard yourself and guard your possessions, you never know what might happen to them at any given time. Two, family is everything, it’s what every lonely kid wishes, hopes, and prays for. And three, love isn’t handed out in droves. Love is resigned for those who are special enough to find someone in their life to accept them for who they are and never let go.

  I have my possessions. I’ve never been one for materialistic things, but the few items I’ve kept have meaning in my life. They will forever stay with me.

  Family, I’m still hoping and praying for one. Even at my age, I want a family. Hope, she was my family but just like every other cruel happening in my life, I lost her too.

  And love, well, maybe someday.

  What do I have? An open and understanding ear in Hollyn. A small close-knit group of people to lean on. And hope for the future, hope that I might just be able to become mentally healthy again.

  Only time will tell.

  Jace

  Dear Life,

  Puffy paint? Fuck you.

  Carter

  Step Four: Dream Big

  DAISY

  “Come on you stubborn . . . little . . . thing. Oye!” I screech once the latch hook finally pops into the designated hole I’ve been trying to squeeze it through. “Stop being so difficult,” I chastise the latch-hook rug I’ve been working on for my grams.

  When I was in Michaels the other day, picking up some more puffy paint for the dream board we’re supposed to be putting together for Dear Life, I took a gander at the latch-hook rugs and saw a design with two puppies on the front, and I thought what a wonderful “housewarming” present I could give Grams. It would be the perfect little rug for her to step on when she first gets out of bed. It’s always nice to step onto something warm when you first get out of bed rather than a cold, hard floor.

  She will love it!

  I just didn’t think it was going to be this stubborn.

  “Daisy! Are you up in your room?” Amanda’s voice travels up the staircase.

  Hopping off my bed, I straighten my green corduroy overalls, and head downstairs. “Hey, everything okay?” I ask.

  In the entryway, Amanda is standing with her purse on her shoulder and Hollyn next to her, both wearing coats.

  “Oh, hi Hollyn.”

  “Hey, Daisy.”

  She turns to Amanda and they exchange a conspiratorial look. What are they up to?

  “We’re going to go look at bridesmaid’s dresses,” Amanda says, adjusting the strap of her purse.

  Holding onto the bannister, I say, “Wow, that’s exciting. Okay, so you’re not going to be around for lunch today?”

  “No.” Amanda chuckles. “We were kind of hoping you would come with us.”

  I point to myself and adjust the belt that’s cinched around my overalls. “You want me to come with you?”

  “Well, it’s kind of mandatory for all bridesmaids to go shopping for their dresses.”

  “Mandatory?” What is she . . . “Wait? Am I bridesmaid?”

  Hollyn and Amanda both laugh. “Yes. I can’t get married without my sister standing next to me.”

  “Are you serious?” I can’t help the giddiness that exudes me. I’ve never been a bridesmaid before. I’ve never had friends to even ask me to be a bridesmaid. This is so exciting. My little heart can’t take the joy coursing through me.

  “Of course I’m serious. Come on, go get your purse, we have some shopping to do.”

  My brain can’t stop my feet from moving. Instead of going upstairs, I fling my body at Amanda
and give her a huge hug, before pulling away and looking at her through tear-filled eyes. With a clogged throat, I make her a promise. “Amanda, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I promise I will be the best bridesmaid ever.”

  Amanda endearingly cups my face like Grams would. “I know you will be. Now go get your purse.”

  Without skipping a beat, I run up the stairs, tripping on the top one so I fall to my knees. I hear Amanda ask if I’m okay, but I wave her off and scurry to my feet, quickly grabbing a jacket and a purse.

  Eeep, girls’ day out!

  Ahhh, I’m going out with the girls. I’m one of the girls. Grams will be so proud of me.

  The car ride to the department store is full of wedding talk. Amanda has almost everything planned, which apparently is a good thing since the wedding is in a few months. Being born and raised in Colorado, she wants a real Colorado wedding, so she’s having it out on a ranch just below the mountains, offering a picturesque view. At least that’s what she said.

  “Did Matt make any requests?” I ask, getting out of the car and following Amanda and Hollyn into Nordstrom.

  “Only that he wants steak and mashed potatoes. But really good steak with some kind of garlic butter sauce. Who knows, the venue has it under control. Oh, and he gets to pick out his suit and what the groomsmen are wearing.”

  “Matt is a sleek dresser, he will make the boys look good,” Hollyn offers.

  “I agree. I can’t wait to see what he picks out. He said since he won’t know what I’m wearing, I can’t see what he’s wearing.”

  “That’s cute and fair.”

  We walk through the doors of the giant department store and I immediately feel overwhelmed. I’ve never really been shopping in a fancy store like this. Grams and I would usually hit up the thrift store for some bargain finds. We never bought new unless it was underwear and bras because Grams said ladies with class buy their own garments, they don’t wear hand-me-downs. I’m grateful for that rule because the thought of wearing thrift store underwear makes me dry heave.

  “This way, ladies.” Taking charge, Amanda leads us to the wedding suite. We pass the dress section on the way and I can’t help but fawn over all the pretty garments hanging on the racks. Soft fabrics, beads, lace, brand-new tags . . . it’s a new world I’ve never experienced before. Even the smell of the clothing store fills me with euphoria.