Dear Life(34)

“Anytime. Now, I must get to petting pussy.”

“Every time. You say it every time you go in there.”

I laugh and hop in place, trying to stay warm despite the winter chill. “It’s tradition. I’m going now though, I’m freezing. Talk to you later.”

Hanging up, I slip my phone in my pocket, and open the door. The atmosphere is very laid-back. The first portion of the shop is a mini café where you can buy drinks and look at all the profiles of the cats frequenting the café. They are all rescued and up for adoption. Every time I come, I’m tempted to adopt a kitty but I refrain, fearing being labeled a crazy cat lady. I’m trying to avoid that right now.

As always, I grab a strawberry-kiwi Snapple from the cooler, pay the cover charge, and head up to my favorite spot in the corner—my favorite spot currently occupied by a rather large man with his head down, twirling a cat toy for a little black and white kitty. Ugh, why today does someone have to take up my space?

Irritated, I watch for a second as the man’s forearms flex with each movement. Why do I know those forearms? I shouldn’t by any means recognize forearms, I haven’t fawned over forearms in quite some time, but I recognize these. Scanning the gentleman from head to toe, I take in his Nike shoes, dark grey sweatpants, pushed-up sleeves of a black Henley, and since his head his bowed, I only see the top of his black baseball cap.

Jace?

No, that can’t be Jace. Can it?

I step forward, hoping and praying it’s Jace because I don’t want to be the creeper approaching a random stranger at a cat café for no reason. As I make my way toward him, a floorboard beneath me creaks, gathering his attention. I know it’s Jace the minute he lifts his head. Those dark blue, tortured eyes penetrate me from beneath his bill, the scruff on his face letting me know he hasn’t shaved since our last meeting, and the defeated slump in his shoulders showing he still carries his dreadful pain.

“Hollyn?”

“Hey, Jace.” Feeling a little awkward, I say, “I didn’t know you frequent the Denver Cat Company.”

He chuckles, a light smile peeking up at me. “I don’t. This is my first time here. I was just . . .” He pauses and then leans back in his chair, running his hand over his face, lifting his hat ever so slightly off his forehead. “Hell, I was wandering around, looking for something to take my mind off things. I saw this place and thought I’d give it a try.” Looking up at me through his impossibly long lashes, he asks, “How weird do I look in here?”

I look around and wince. We’re surrounded by women with children who are walking around with the cats, trying to get them to play with the myriad of toys offered for visitors. He looks incredibly out of place.

“Uh, weird might not be the correct word,” I smile, “but you make it work.”

He chuckles again and then pats the seat next to him. “Take a seat, make me look a little less awkward.”

Happy to have the company, I take the seat next to him and set down my drink on the floor. I watch him dance a ribbon in front of a cat, teasing it masterfully.

In a joking, low baritone voice, he asks, “So, do you come here often?”

A little chuckle comes out of me as I shake my head. “Yeah, my friend Amanda thinks it’s one step away from becoming a crazy cat lady, but I can’t help it. I feel like I can just sit back and forget about everything around me when I’m here. Just play with cats.”

“How often do you pet pussy?” Jace asks with a wince, causing both of us to laugh.

“I say the same ridiculous joke. My friend Amanda, Daisy’s half-sister actually, chastises me every time I say it. But how can you not? It’s such an easy joke.”

“It’s pretty unavoidable. Honestly, you’re too much of a square if you’re not making that joke.”

“Agreed, and no one likes a square,” I add but then think. “Although, if you’re not a square, what are you? What’s the preferred shape for people to be? A circle? Rhomboid? Trapezoid?”

“Trapezoids are startling shapes. Never liked the little fuckers.”

“Let me guess, you’re a diamond kind of man?” I ask, laughter in my voice.

Still teasing the cat, he answers, “Grew up on the diamond, lived my whole life on one, pretty sure I will die on one too. I think that makes me a diamond man.”

He looks like he’s lived his entire life in the gym, but I don’t mention that. “Did you always want to be a baseball player?”

If I take a step back and think about it, it’s weird to know that Jace is THE Jace Barnes from the Colorado Miners, the Jace Barnes that broke all kinds of rookie records last year, the Jace Barnes who won Rookie of the Year. He seems nothing like the man I saw trending all season last year. He’s subdued, troubled, quiet. He has the exterior of a famous professional athlete with his broad build, strong and powerful muscles, and his rugged handsomeness, but his interior is shattered, barely hanging on by a thread. You can see it in his eyes; they are pleading for help, begging for the pain to stop. If only I knew how to help him, how to direct him. I know that pain, and I haven’t dealt with it well. Hell, I still don’t know how to deal with it.

“Ever since I could remember, I’ve wanted to play baseball. It was an escape for me. I didn’t have a stable household, shit, I didn’t have a household at all. Living in foster care, I clung to one thing: baseball. It was the only family I really had, so I hung on to it, lived it, breathed it. It’s what kept me out of trouble and kept my hopes alive for getting out of the hell I lived in. Luckily for me, I had a coach who saw my potential and helped me along the way, to get me to where I am today. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know where I would be right now.” Taking a deep breath, he nods at me. “What about you? What do you do?”