The Bromance Book Club (Bromance Book Club, #1)(71)

He pointed his car to the batting cage at the front of the diamond and left his headlights on. From his trunk, he pulled out his duffel bag with his bat and the dozen or so baseballs that were always rattling around in there.

With a strong toss, he heaved the duffel bag over the top of the fence. Then, with a running start, he made easy work of climbing the fence until he dropped to the other side. If he got caught, fuck it. What were they going to do? Write him a ticket? Arrest him? Jail would be a blessing.

Gavin dug out the first ball and his bat. He tossed the ball in the air and swung. The bat connected with a satisfying whack and sent the ball flying into the net at the other end.

Another followed. And then a third. Gavin shoved up his sleeves. You broke my heart, Gavin. A fourth ball joined its brothers at the end of the batting cage.

I don’t know if I believe you. He hit the fifth ball so hard that it bounced back immediately and nearly took out his kneecap. Just to get back at it, he hit it again and told it to fuck off.

That felt so good that he did it again with ball number six. By ball seven, he stopped cursing and started talking directly to Thea.

“You broke my heart too,” he grumbled. Then whack. The ball flew into the net. “You’re not the only one.”

Ball eight went flying. “You threw me out!”

Ball nine hit the net. “Do you know how that feels?”

Ball ten nearly broke at the seams. “What the hell was I supposed to do?”

A pompous British accent answered in the dark. You were supposed to fight for her.

Ball eleven nearly punched a hole in the cage. “She asked me to leave!”

She was testing you.

“That’s bullshit.” Ball twelve damn near broke his bat.

Why did you move into the guest room?

Gavin stomped to the net and started throwing balls back.

Avoiding the question, I see.

“I don’t answer to you, Lord Chest Hair.” He picked up his bat again.

You wanted to punish her.

“She lied to me for three years,” Gavin growled, whacking another ball.

But that’s not what you were punishing her for.

Whack. Another ball.

You blamed her for ripping the rosy veil off your marriage.

“Bullshit.”

For forcing you to deal with something you didn’t want to deal with.

“Fuck off.”

Because you were afraid of the truth.

“Fuck. YOU.”

Gavin abandoned the bat and began whipping balls to the other end of the cage until there were none left to throw, nothing left to hit. Panting, sweating, he bent and braced his hands on his knees.

Thea was right. Lord Tight Pants was right. The entire fucking book club was right.

He was faking it. He’d been faking it for months before that night. Pretending everything was okay between them when it clearly wasn’t because it was easier than facing the truth—that they were growing apart, that he was losing her. And he was still pretending, thinking he could win her back with a book and a romantic kiss and date nights, that he could fix things without actually addressing what was broken, because that was easy.

Because that required nothing of him.

No soul searching. No examinations of his own behavior. No bloody inconvenient epiphanies like the one that was making his stomach churn right now.

She’s starting school again, and she doesn’t need you. Not unless you give her a reason to trust . . .

Gavin grabbed the balls and stuffed them back in his bag. He was covered in dirt and sweat, and there was a rip in one elbow of his shirt. His tires spun in the gravel parking lot as he peeled out. The house was dark when he pulled back into the driveway. No porch light. No blue glow from the TV. No yellow warmth illuminating the bedroom curtain. Gavin leapt over the stairs onto the porch with a loud thud and threw open the door.

Gavin took the stairs two at a time. Her door was shut. If it was locked, he’d know he was truly fucked. He grasped the handle. Leaned his forehead against the wood.

Please don’t be locked.

The knob turned beneath his fingers.

Thank fucking God.

The room was pitch black, but he could make out two forms on the bed. One had a giant, fluffy tail and was way too comfortable on Gavin’s side of the bed. The other, hidden beneath the thick comforter, rolled over quickly at the intrusion.

“I—I’m home,” he said dumbly.

“Fine,” was her quiet response.

Gavin snapped his fingers at Butter, who moved to the foot of the bed with a put-upon sigh. Yeah, yeah. You at least get to sleep in the same bed with her. Thea sat up straight, a protest ready on her lips.

“I want to tell you something,” he said, cutting her off.

“Gavin, I’m tired of this. I can’t do this.”

He rounded the bed to her side and lowered to his knees. “Wh-when I was in high school, I had a crush on this girl. She w-was pretty and popular. I finally got the courage to ask her out, and she laughed at me. Made fun of my stutter right to my face.”

“Gavin, I’m sorry, but—”

“It gets worse. About a w-w-week later, a list started going around school. Top Ten Guys Most in Need of a . . .” He stopped to swallow against the bile of remembered humiliation. “A pity fuck. I was listed number one. She was the girl behind it.”