Swing (Landry Family #2)(49)

“Keep going,” I grin.

“You are a prize, honey. And she knows that. Think about this from her perspective: she is alone in the world. She finally breaks and lets you in and then something happens and it doesn’t work out.”

“But that’s true of any relationship. Not just with me.”

“True, but you’re an athlete. Like her dad. It’s human nature to stay away from things that remind us of other things that have hurt us.”

I hate when she makes sense. “So that leaves me shit out of luck?”

“That’s a disgusting choice of words.”

Ignoring her, I press forward. “So I’m supposed to just suck it up because her dad ruined her life? That’s not fair, Mom. I don’t accept that.”

“Then don’t,” she says softly. “You just struck out. What do you do when you strikeout in a game?”

“I hit a homerun at the next at-bat.”

“That’s right,” she sings. “Just be patient with her. Pretend like the pitcher is a little off his game and you have no idea what’s coming down the pike.”

“The pipe, Mom. What’s coming down the pipe.”

“Whatever,” she laughs. “You get the picture. Now, tell me when you’ll be home.”

“I have the assessment in the morning. I’m supposed to leave the day after.”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“Love you, Mom.”

“You too.”

Placing the cup back on the counter, I walk across the room. When I get to the doorway, I stop and look at it sitting on the counter over my shoulder.

Batter up.

Me: Hey.

It takes more than a minute for her to respond, every second feeling like a year. When I hear the ping announcing a message, I can’t swipe fast enough.

Dani :Hi.

Me: How are you?

Dani: Good. In the bathtub.

Me: Are you fucking with me?

Very slowly, a picture loads on my screen of one bent knee in a pool of bubbles. A wine glass is on the ledge, along with a row of little candles.

Me: You better be alone.

Dani: Of course.

I erase every response I type out. I’m not sure which emotion to use to inspire the follow-up. When hers pops up, I let out a sigh of relief.

Dani: I’m good. Thank you for checking.

Me: Out of all the words you’ve ever said to me, and you’ve said some things that have been borderline offensive, those are the ones I hate most.

Dani: Which?

Me: Thank you.

Dani: How is that?

Me: Because it implies I’m doing you a favor. Or going out of my way when I ask if you’re okay or checking on you.

Dani: Ok. I appreciate you doing those things.

Me: That’s better. Sort of.

Dani: How does your shoulder feel tonight?

Me : :(

Dani: Ice it.

Me: I don’t want to talk about my shoulder.

Dani: I know. I was just thinking about it. The wine is starting to make me sleepy. I need to get out of here and get to bed.

Me: I’m here if you need me. You know that.

Dani: I do. Goodnight, Landry.

Me: Night, Ryan.

Strike one.





Danielle

“YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT.”

“Gee, thanks, Gretchen,” I sigh, heading to the doorway.

She surveys me before following me down the hallway. “I take that back. You look worse than shit.”

“Do you have something productive to say to me or are you just here to insult me?” I laugh.

I’m more than aware I don’t look my best today. Hell, I don’t even look mediocre today. My eyes have dark circles, my face crinkled with lines from sadness and wine and lying on the side of my face while I cried last night.

I woke up not sure what decision was right. Letting myself get involved with Lincoln, even when I felt like I was getting in too deep? Or pulling away because I’m scared? Which is worse—being extra risky or overly cautious?

All I know is that I thought of him as I fell asleep and when I woke up. I miss his voice and his stupid texts and wonder how his shoulder feels. There’s a part of me that feels dead not knowing when I’ll see him again . . . if ever. This is impossible.

Gretchen sighs, pulling me back to the present. “The budget is ripped apart.”

“No,” I gasp, my eyes going wide.

“Unfortunately. The official papers will come through next week, so enjoy the holiday. You might want to make plans for another job though, Danielle. I can’t promise you anything right now.”

My face falls as I try to keep this in a little box in my brain. If not, I’m going to be completely overwhelmed.

“I have a meeting and then I’m heading home to nurse this migraine. Take the day off tomorrow—paid. Extend your holiday weekend before the chaos of next week hits.”

“Gretchen?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Aren’t we all?” With a sad smile, she turns down the adjacent hallway and disappears.

Maybe this isn’t the worst thing to happen. Everything seems so bleak here. I could use this as an opportunity to move. Maybe somewhere warm. Or maybe Boston. I should call Macie.