“Unchained Melody” by The Righteous Brothers plays on repeat, Eric’s favorite song to sing to me when he was feeling playful. Kneeling on the ground, hands clasped in front of him, singing, “I need your love,” like a scene out of Top Gun but instead of singing “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feeling,” he would serenade me with his horribly off-key voice, making me giggle when he would grab me by the waist and force me to sway with him around the apartment until the song was over. It was no wonder I loved this man so deeply.
“I’ve hungered for your touch.” The lyrics echo through my head. They ring so true. How I’ve hungered, practically starved for one more touch, to feel his rough jaw against mine, his strong arms wrapped around me.
“I miss you,” I cry into his jersey, my head now resting against his suit jackets.
This. Hurts. This is going to be much harder than I thought. A sobbing mess, tears streaming down my face, shaky hands doing all the work, I open my first trash bag and start stuffing Eric’s clothes inside, a sob wracking my bones with each and every garment I sniff and say goodbye to.
Drowning in Eric, despite the pain that rips through me each moment, I attempt to move forward.
You’re moving forward, you’re working toward your new future.
I repeat those words over and over in my head, convincing myself I’m doing the right thing.
JACE
“Why didn’t you come talk to me?” I ask Ethan who’s sitting in an ice bath from the waist down reading on his phone. Despite his young age, his knees are strained every day from squatting and standing, so an ice bath is a necessity in his world.
He doesn’t look at me when he answers, “I couldn’t. I just fucking couldn’t.”
“Why not? Did you think you were just going to get away with not saying anything and go on your merry way?”
Putting his phone down to the side, he pinches his brow. “I don’t know what I was thinking, man. I fucked up. I was thinking with my dick. I’m sorry. Despite what Rebecca decided, I should have told you.”
“You’re damn right you should have told me. Shit, man. I sat there, crying to you about what she planned to do and you said nothing.”
The last thing I want to do right now after a long game is talk to Ethan about all this bullshit again but the first step to healing is forgiving. I need to find it deep within me to forgive him, because dammit, I want to move on. I have to move on.
“She asked me not to say anything.”
“You’ve known her for a few months, you’ve known me for years, so how does she trump me? You’re the only brother I’ve ever had.”
“Fuck.” He rubs both his hands over his face. “I’m sorry, Jace. I don’t know what else to say. If I had another chance, I would suck it up and tell you instead of cowering in the corner, hoping you never found out.”
His sorry doesn’t truly hit me like I wanted it to, but it’s not because it isn’t sincere, it’s because forgiving is a lot harder than I expected it to be. It’s not like he says I’m sorry and all is forgiven. I’m still bitter and upset.
“Ethan, do you still believe she should have the right to take back the baby she gave away? This is not about me, and it’s not about you. This is about a little girl who has been placed in a warm, loving home. And yes, she is little, but do you think it is right to rip her from that home, give her to her birth mother, who might change her mind in the future and give her up again? Whether it be emotionally or physically? It’s got to be about Hope. Do you think I have a shot here of changing her mind?”
Looking me dead in the eyes, Ethan nods. “Yeah, I think you have a shot, man. I haven’t liked the woman she’s become since she first came after Hope. Bro-code, and all. You just have to approach it properly.” So he’s taken off his lust-covered glasses now?
“Will you help me?” I ask, hope billowing within me. Is my friend back?
With kind eyes, he nods. “Yeah, I’ll help you.”
CARTER
“Hand me a pen. I don’t have all day.”
“Hold on.” I turn to the man assisting us. “Can you give us a minute?”
Standing from his desk, he nods. “Take your time.”
“What’s this about?” Uncle Chuck asks once Jimmy leaves. “You better not be second-guessing yourself.”
“I’m not.” Not sure how to approach the topic, I just come out with it. “You’re not going to hold this over my head, are you? Like everything else? You’re not going to try to barter with me later on?”
Sitting back in his chair, Uncle Chuck twirls the pen in his hand and looks me up and down. “Getting cold feet?”
“No.” Yes, but no way in hell I’m going to tell him that. This new dynamic still feels weird, a little uncomfortable, and mostly unreal given the drama that’s existed between us for so long.
“Don’t screw with me, boy. I know fear when I see it and that right there,” he points to my eyes with his pen, “that is fear.” Leaning forward, he asks, “What’s holding you back? Failure?” I don’t answer him, not wanting to admit that he’s got me pegged. “Failure is a part of life. Without failure you never learn, and without trying, you’re never given the chance to fail. So what? If this doesn’t work out, you move on to the next idea. Don’t shortchange yourself because you’re afraid you won’t be able to bring this idea to fruition.”
For the first time in my life, someone besides Daisy, actually believes in me. I can see it in his eyes. He’s determined to make this work for me. For so long, I’ve sat on the sidelines, waiting for my chance, begging for this opportunity, and when it’s finally here, I need reassurance from the one man who’s brought me back down to reality to tell me to dream big.
And in his own words, that’s what he’s doing right now. He’s telling me to dream big.
Fuck . . . he’s telling me, no, he’s encouraging me to prove my existence.
If that isn’t a slap to the testicles, I don’t know what is.
DAISY
“I think that’s the last of it.” Matt stands tall and wipes his brow. “Not to be a dick, Daisy, but I don’t think one single person should have that many boxes of craft supplies.”
Taking in the small living room, I smile to myself. “You never know what kind of spark of creativity you’ll have on any given day. You have to be prepared, Matt.”
“You have one entire box labeled felt fabric.”
“Yes, and when I make you a genuine, from-the-heart“Life isn’t some walk in the park where you can make wishes on dandelions. Life is work. Life is a journey of triumphs and sorrows. Of successes and failures. Of learning experiences and growing opportunities. You can’t sit back and expect different results when you’re not doing anything to change.” Broncos pennant for Christmas, you’re going to be thankful you carried that box up here.”
“I’m holding you to that.” He points at me with a smile and then wraps his arm around Amanda.
“Are you sure about this, Daisy?”
I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life. “Yes. It’s time we put our threesome to rest.”
“Words every man hates to hear,” Matt teases, garnering a playful swat from Amanda.
“Seriously, are you going to be okay?”
“There is only one way to find out.” Picking up a crocheted throw pillow, I toss it at Amanda and say, “Now, help me unpack, I can’t possibly live in this squalor.”
“Um, pretty sure we were promised pizza,” she says, a hand to her hip.
“Yeah, I remember that being part of the deal,” Matt chimes in. “And after all that heavy lifting, I’m feeling weak. I need to be fed and watered.”
Rolling my eyes, I set down the box I was going to start unpacking and get my phone. “Sausage and pepper good for everyone?”
“And mushrooms,” Matt adds.
“And some breadsticks,” Amanda says.
“Hey,” I point my phone at her, “breadsticks weren’t part of the deal.”
“Neither were three flights of stairs. Get the breadsticks.” She’s playful, but stern.
“Fine.”
“Oh.” Matt flops on my grams’s couch we brought out from storage. “Order from one of the Papa Johns Peyton Manning franchises.”
“Why?” My brow furrows in question
“Makes it more special, knowing I’m dining from a Peyton Manning approved pizzeria.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I pause. “But I respect it.”
“That’s my girl.” Matt laughs. “I taught you well.” Calling out to Amanda who started unpacking now that the pizza is being ordered, he says, “Honey, we can send her off into the real world now. She’s armed with all the tools she’ll need.”
Sarcastically, Amanda responds, “By using Peyton Manning as a scale of acceptable things? Yeah, she’s ready for the real world.”
“Damn right she is.”
Darn right, I am.
HOLLYN
Just a few more rocks, a few more moments.
I count down the minutes until the clock hits four thirty. They were supposed to be here, but they’re late. All I need is just a little bit longer to soak in every last moment with him.
Rocking back and forth, I hold my head in my hands, letting my body sink into his.
Four thirty-two. Two extra minutes with his scent, with his essence. Two more minutes than I thought I had. Two more minutes that make me second-guess my decision.
I can’t do this. I can’t give this up.
There is a brisk knock at the door. No.
Nausea rolls through my stomach, my mouth starts to water, and tears form in my eyes.
It’s time.
Lifting my chin and pushing back my shoulders, I take one last rock, one last smell, and then go to open the door with a shaky, unsure hand.
“Hollyn?” the kind gentleman asks, who’s accompanied by his husband.
Greg and Jeremy. They messaged me yesterday, wanting to come look at Eric’s chair. They were just married and are trying to fill their apartment. Eric’s recliner is exactly what they were looking for in their living room, and according to them, it will fit perfectly with the rest of their furniture.
When I put Eric’s recliner on Craigslist yesterday, I wasn’t expecting it to sell so soon. I was hoping for a few more nights in it, a few more days where I can picture him drinking a beer, watching a game, and reclining. But soon, that memory will be stripped from me like all the others.
Deep breaths. One step at a time.
“Yes. You must be Jeremy and Greg. Please come in.”
With a wave of my hand, I welcome the two men into my home.
“Jer, it’s perfect,” Greg says, eyeing the recliner. “We are going to have a hard time fighting over it.”
“Nu-uh.” Jeremy waves his finger adoringly at his husband. “This is my chair. You promised me a recliner when we got that paisley couch from the elderly woman down the street. This is my chair.”
Shaking his head, Greg turns to me with a smile. “As you can tell, the chair will be well loved.”
Lips pressed together, eyes burning, I try to hold it together but there is no use, my emotions get the best of me. “I’m sorry.” I dab at my eyes.
“Are you okay?” Jeremy asks, pressing his hand against my arm tenderly.
“Yeah, just a tough day for me. The chair belonged to my late husband.”
“Oh my gosh, I don’t think we can take it from you.” Greg saddles up to me.
“No.” I shake my head. “You have to. I’m trying to move forward. This is one of the steps. Please take the chair and love it like my husband did. Make sure to only cheer for the Broncos while sitting in it,” I joke despite the falling tears.
“I wouldn’t dare root for any other team,” Jeremy reassures me with a hug, easing my breaking heart.
CARTER
“Dude, you’re kidding me with this sandwich, right?” Fitzy talks with his mouth full, sauce dripping from the side of his lips.
“What do you mean?” I’m wiping off my hands and waiting for the verdict.
“I’m about to explode from taste testing, but I can’t stop eating this. Who knew meatloaf could be so damn good.” He takes another bite and moans as he chews. “This is my favorite.”
“More than the Black Friday meatloaf sandwich?” Personally, that one is a close favorite since it’s made with ground turkey, apples, celery, and stuffing with a cranberry sauce and fried green beans on top.
“Oh fuck, I forgot about the Black Friday.” Staring down at his Mama Will Burn Your Ass Meatloaf Sandwich, he wavers between his favorite. “I don’t know, man. This one has jalapenos in it and bacon jam. But the Black Friday, that’s just Thanksgiving between two toasted brioche buns.” Throwing his hands up in the air, he says, “I can’t decide. They’re all good.”
There’s still one I haven’t shown him yet because once I tell him what it is, he’ll call me a cheese dick, and I’m not ready for that. But it tops the Black Friday, easily. Reminiscent of the Breaking Bad drink at Prohibition, it’s a cranberry meatloaf, topped with an orange marmalade and an oatmeal base. I’ve spent countless hours perfecting the recipe until I thought it would do her justice.
“I’m in,” Fitzy says, mouth full again. “I’m so fucking in.”
“Really?” I ask. Could this really be happening?
“Yeah, dude. Even before this taste testing I would have been in. I just wanted some free food. I believe in you, I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to invest in your future.”
“So you made me make all these sandwiches for you for nothing?”
“Not for nothing. I don’t have to worry about dinner now.”
With a shake of my head, I say, “You’re a dick.”
Eyebrows raised, he pats his mouth. “And here I was just about to give you five thousand dollars.”
“You can still be a dick and give me the money.” I smirk.
“I don’t know if I like this new side of you.” Fitzy motions at my body with his finger.
“What side of me?”
“The non-depressed, there’s-hope-for-my-future side. He smiles too damn much. It can’t just be from your new adventure. Did you finally get the girl back and not tell me?”
“No.” I turn toward the sink and start washing my dishes. I’m determined, though. “Not yet, but soon.”
JACE
I rub my hands on my thighs for the hundredth time, the polyester of my baseball pants starting to chafe my skin. The locker room is cleared, the rest of the team is out at batting practice, and since I took some balls in the cages next to the dugout earlier, Coach is cutting me a break to get my shit together, as he so eloquently put it. He’s been understanding through this entire journey, but I’m sure he’s ready to have his shortstop back, and I’m sure as hell ready to get back to normal play again as well.
I want to be able to breathe easy again.
But in order to do that, I need to do a couple things, and one of them is seeing her today.
Dread eats me alive as I sit in a hunched posture in the cubby of my locker. There is an ache in the back of my throat.
Footsteps sound in the hallway; Earl, our clubhouse manager’s voice echoing off the walls as they near. This is it. I have my speech prepared, and I’ve gathered all the damn courage I can muster.
Standing as the door opens, I take my hat off when I see June walk through, Alex follwing closely behind her with a stroller.
My stomach drops to the floor, my heartbeat picks up a few notches, and my mouth immediately goes dry. Yep, all the moisture in my body has gone straight to my eyes.
“Jace, it’s so great to see you.” June doesn’t bother shaking my hand; she goes straight for a hug. Her arms wrap around me tightly, her head to my chest, and I’m transported into a realm of comfort. This is the kind of a hug a mom would give.
“Hey, June. It’s good to see you as well. You’re looking well.”
“Thank you, Hope has been
sleeping better at night. It’s been very nice for the bags under our eyes,” she jokes.
“I bet.” Looking at Alex, I reach for her and she quickly gives me a hug, not as affectionate as June, but loving nonetheless. “Alex, you’re looking good as well.”
“Thank you.” Eyeing my uniform, she asks, “Ready for the game? That batting average needs a little lift.” She winks at me, and I soak in her playful charm.
“Yeah, got some good hits in already this morning. I’m ready.” Eyeing the stroller, I ask, “How’s she doing?”
“Great. Would you like to hold her?”
This is why they’re here, so I can better adapt to this empty hole in my soul, so I can face the decision I made and accept it.
Swallowing hard, I nod, wiping my hands on my pants one more time.
Rounding the stroller, June starts unbuckling her and then reaches down. When she lifts up, a tiny little girl comes with her, wearing a bright red bow in her hair and . . .
Fuck, my heart stops beating. A tingling wave of numbness rides up my legs, and the tears I was holding back instantly fall.
In June’s arms is Hope, perfectly little, wearing a Jace Barnes T-shirt jersey.
“Christ,” I mutter, stepping forward, a wobble in my legs. “She’s so beautiful.”
“Here.” June hands her over, carefully placing her head in the crook of my arm, my unsteady hands framing her little body.
Moving to one of the couches in the clubhouse, I sit down, my eyes fixed on Hope, her eyes trained on mine, tears of mine falling on her shirt.
“Hi, pretty lady.” She smiles up at me and coos the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. “You got some amazing moms, you know that?” I glance up at June and Alex who are both crying, while June takes pictures on her phone. I move my finger into her tiny hand and she grips it tightly, the squeeze like a bolt of lightning straight to my heart. “You got quite the grip there, sweet pea.”
“Maybe she’ll be a ballplayer, too,” Alex suggests. “She has the genes.”