The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(90)

I head back to my team’s dugout to make sure everything’s packed up. As usual, someone left a glove, a thermos containing gin, from the smell of it, and a cleat. Honestly, how does someone not notice their shoe is missing?

“Think you’re so hot, don’t you?” comes a voice.

I turn, unsurprised. “Hey, Doral-Anne. How’s it going?”

“I hurt my arm last week,” she states, eyeing me with disgust.

“Oh.” I pause. “That’s too bad. I noticed you didn’t have your usual stuff.”

“Did you, Lucy? You noticed? How honored I am.”

That’s it. I jam my fists into my h*ps and consider her. “Doral-Anne, honestly, what is your problem? We barely spoke in school, and to the best of my knowledge, I never ran over your dog or kicked your kid in the head. So why are you so dang nasty to me all the time?”

“Oh, am I supposed to feel sorry for you like the rest of this town does, Lucy? Didn’t I worship you enough?” Her voice pitches up in a nasty impression of an adult. ‘Poor Lucy Lang’s daddy died, so everyone be nice to her. Pick her for your team, make sure you ask her to sit next to you.’” She makes a disgusted sound. “Working at your little bakery, going off to your fancy school like you were some sort of princess.”

“I never acted liked that, Dor—”

“Then you waltz back into town and scoop up Jimmy Mirabelli. And I guess one Mirabelli boy wasn’t good enough for you, ’cuz now you’re f**king the other one.”

“You kiss your children with that mouth?” I ask, but my knees seem to be shaking.

“Don’t you talk about my kids,” she snarls. “And you wanna know something else, Princess?”

“Not really,” I answer.

“No, you like sticking your head in the sand, don’t you? Well, too f**king bad.” She leans in close enough for me to smell her gum. “Your St. Jimmy was sleeping with me when you first met him. He was gonna marry me.”

A hot wave of shock smashes into me so hard I can’t even breathe. My hands flutter, then clench into fists. “That is not true,” I choke out.

“Really? Why do you think I got fired? Jimmy didn’t want his precious little princess to be upset by an old girlfriend hanging around.”

I can’t seem to get any air into my lungs—my chest is paralyzed with shock. And hate. “You got fired because you took money from the cash register,” I manage to answer, my voice like ground glass.

“Yeah, well, those arrogant ass**les had that coming. And I’ll tell you one more thing,” Doral-Anne says, wiping her hands on her pants. “You really deserved that faithless shit you married, but you don’t come close to deserving Ethan.”

I slap her so hard her head jerks back. My hand stings, my arm buzzes, then falls limply to my side. Doral-Anne’s face turns red, then white, my handprint clearly visible.

“Don’t you ever speak about my husband that way again, Doral-Anne. Do you understand me?” My heart pounds so hard and fast I can barely hear myself. I almost hope she’ll say something else so I can…I don’t know. Beat her up. Though, despite the red haze that colors my vision at this moment, I realize she’d probably cream me. Stomp on my carcass. Scalp me.

Surprisingly she backs down. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” she says quietly. And with that, she turns and walks out of the dugout, across the infield and into center field. Toward the cemetery, and God help me, if she does anything to Jimmy’s grave, I’ll…I’ll…

I’m hyperventilating. Sinking onto the bench, I can feel my heart flopping around like a convulsing tuna. My throat is tight, my vision graying…and images of the past flit before my eyes.

When Jimmy and I were first dating, I’d popped into the restaurant. Doral-Anne was there, all right, in the kitchen, talking to Jimmy. And Jimmy’s face had been…guilty. When he’d seen me, his gaze jacked back to Doral-Anne, and there was this strange, awkward moment. Then he’d just about pounced on me, hustling me out of there as fast as he could.

Another time…oh, God. I remember when he told me Doral-Anne had been fired, and to show a little solidarity, I’d told him I’d never liked her. I wondered aloud why someone would steal from a family that had been so good to her. And Jimmy had looked so miserable at that moment that I playfully accused him of being a softy. “If someone steals from you, sweetie, you have to fire them. Your dad did the right thing.”

Now I can see that Jimmy’s misery might’ve been something else. He dumped Doral-Anne for me, and she lashed out by stealing, and Jimmy…he knew exactly why she did it.

That time I met Doral-Anne at the gas station, just after Jimmy died, her stunning cruelty as she taunted me because I’d never have Jimmy’s baby…I wondered then, and many times since, what would make a person say something so hateful, so vicious, and suddenly, the answer is clear.

Revenge. Humiliation. A broken heart.

He was gonna marry me.

Oh, God. Oh, Jimmy.

My breath slams in and out of my chest, and if I don’t do something about it, I’m going to faint. Which would be totally okay right now, because fainting would be preferable to the thoughts that are ricocheting through my head like a barrage of bullets. I lean forward, dangle my head between my knees, staring at the wads of gum and sunflower seeds littering the cement floor of the dugout, my thoughts as ugly as the view.