“No. We had a deal.” I dig my heels into the grass. The afternoon sun beats down on Willow and me, making me sweat through my leggings already after just getting out of the car.
Willow links our elbows together and steers me toward the entrance of the Park Promenade, where a crowd is forming to purchase tickets to today’s softball fundraiser game. When word got around about who was playing against Lorenzo’s team, people showed up early to claim bleacher seats and the best patches of grass. Some went out of their way to bring their own chairs, beer, and food, turning the park into their own tailgate party.
Everyone knows about Julian Lopez’s dislike of Lorenzo Vittori, and although the two seemed to have put their differences aside for now, the rest of town hasn’t gotten the memo. They’re already placing bets on who will throw a punch first.
Willow pulls me toward the dugout. “Come on. I promised Lorenzo and our team that we wouldn’t let them down.”
“You told me I would be observing the game from the bleachers!” Her insisting on me wearing a Vittori team T-shirt makes so much more sense now.
Her face flushes. “One of our players got stuck in traffic on their way back from Detroit, so you’re subbing until they get here.”
“Willow.”
Her engagement ring glints as she throws her hands in the air. “It’ll be fun!”
“According to who?”
She gestures toward the kids playing in the field behind the dugouts. “Look at all those children who are excited about raising money for their new playground.”
“Do we really need to sell tickets for a game and ask for donations? Can’t Lorenzo just buy them a new one?”
“He could, but that’s not as impressive as bringing the town together for a fun game while helping raise funds to better the community, is it?”
I frown. “No, it’s not.”
She winks. “Glad we agree. Now, be a good sport and help me out please.”
“All right.” I stop dragging my feet and let her lead me toward the sign advertising today’s softball championship and how the proceeds will go to building a new park closer to the south side of town, where most people live.
I huff and puff as I follow her. “I hate organized sports.”
“Explains why you were the first person in Wisteria High history to flunk PE.”
“The teacher hated me.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
I shoot her a look, but she only laughs it off.
“Listen. All you have to do is stand in the outfield and look pretty while Burt, Lorenzo, and my brothers do all the hard work.”
“Fine,” I say with a sigh.
“Great! You’re the best.” She pulls me into a quick hug.
I return hers with one of my own. Regardless of how I feel about sports, I’m not about to let Lorenzo forfeit the game because of one missing player after Willow went through a lot of trouble planning this event.
“Ellie!” Lily Muñoz runs across the softball field, looking like a sports magazine model with her long, toned legs, pink athletic outfit, and a bright smile that reaches her honey-colored eyes. While she isn’t as tall as me, she doesn’t have to tilt her head back to look me in the eyes, which is nice.
“I knew it was you!” Her smile widens as she throws her arms around me.
Although Lily and I were a year apart in school, a lot of our electives overlapped since neither of us was interested in sports or learning another language. Both of us were part of the band, worked on the yearbook, and ran the school’s morning show. Well, I ran the show while she hosted it because Lily has always been drop-dead gorgeous.
I pull away from the embrace first. “What are you doing here?”
“Julian bribed me to play since something came up with Dahlia’s filming schedule.”
“See? We’re not the only ones doing it.” Willow beams.
“What did they offer you to participate?” Lily asks me.
“A trip to Vegas.”
She laughs. “Hope it’s worth suffering through the next few hours in Rafa’s presence.”
“Rafael is here?” My head slowly swivels toward my best friend.
Her eyes bug out of her head before she pretends someone called her name and slips away before I have a chance to choke her.
“Willow!”
“Remember to stick to the outfield!” she shouts before taking off to the dugout, where Lorenzo sits and stares in our direction.
“How have you been?” Lily pulls my attention back with her question.
I shrug. “I’ve been okay.”
She frowns. “I’m sorry I never reached out. I wanted to after I heard about Rafa firing you, but he prohibited us from asking you about it.”
Grass crunches beneath my sneakers as I rock back on my heels. “Oh.”
She makes a face. “I know he can be…”
“A grumpy, insufferable, paranoid asshole?”
Her eyes widen at something over my shoulder. My neck prickles before I turn my head and look back at the man staring me down like I’m the bane of his existence.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Rafael says. “I feel like you were just getting started.”
All the blood in my body rises to my face.
“You know what? I just realized I need to use the bathroom before the game begins. See you out on the field!” Lily gives my arm a quick squeeze before she rushes toward the other team’s dugout, where the players are all wearing identical Lopez Luxury shirts.
“Eleanor.” Rafael’s jaw ticks.
“Rafael.” I take a step in the opposite direction.
He matches my stride with one of his own. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
I bristle at his tone. “Why not?”
“You hate sports.”
“How do you know that?”
“You and Nico bonded over it once.”
My brows shoot up. “And you remembered that?”
“Hard to forget someone telling a story of how they once celebrated scoring a goal in their own team’s net.”
Okay, seriously though, does he remember every single thing I say, and if so, why?
I take another step backward. “Well, I’m here for charity.”
His gaze drops to my shirt, where the Vittori logo is plastered across the front. “You’re on Lorenzo’s team?”
“Yup.”
“I wasn’t aware that you two knew each other.” A muscle in his cheek twitches.
“Vaguely, but my best friend, Willow, is the one who planned the event.”
“And you decided to participate?”
“Coerced is a more fitting term.”
He doesn’t look the least bit amused, which only adds to the tightness building beneath my sternum.
“Well, this reunion has been fun and all, but I should head to the dugout to get ready. Build up the team morale and all that fun sports stuff.” I turn on my heels only to freeze as Rafael’s fingers wrap around my upper arm.
He spins me around to face him again. “Can we talk for a second? Please.”
I yank my arm free of his hold, hoping he didn’t notice the goose bumps spreading across my skin. “I’m a bit busy.”
I don’t mean to be a jerk, but I can’t do this with him because I don’t know how. After spending so many years putting off uncomfortable conversations, I never developed the skill to handle them.
“What about after the game?”
“Sorry. I have plans.”
The tiny tic in his jaw gives his emotions away. “Fine. What about tomorrow?”
“Fully booked as well. In fact, my calendar is slammed until the new year.”
“It’s June.”
I flash a fake smile. “I have so many things to catch up on now that I have a lot of free time. Not that I expect you to understand since you’re self-employed and all.”
“You could at least hear me out.”
“Oh, like you did the night of Nico’s accident?” I might not like confrontation, but if Rafael pushes me hard enough, he will get one.
“I told you it was all a mistake.”
I steel my spine. “Well, your mistake was my wake-up call.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I gather up some courage with my deep breath. “Things were never going to work out. You didn’t value me or my time enough, while I valued your family way too much. It would only get worse with time, so you firing me just sped up the process.”
A shrill whistle and someone shouting my name in the distance save me, and I walk away before Rafael ever has a chance to reply.
After three dreadful innings, Willow shouts, “Oh, thank God you’re here!” She waves at my replacement before pointing in my direction. “Ellie, you’re free.”
I swear I hear one of Willow’s brothers cheering, but I don’t take it personally. Outfield might as well be outer space with the distance I’m expected to cover.
“All good.” I wipe the sweat from my brow and throw her a thumbs-up before heading to sit by my mom on the bleachers. It’s unreasonably hot today, thanks to a heat wave coming in this week, and the lack of shade doesn’t help matters.
At some point in the fourth inning, Lorenzo ditches his shirt altogether and earns a standing ovation from the other women watching. Burt jokingly tries to take his off too, which gets a groan from me and a whistle from my mother.
A lot of people from town have gathered on the bleachers surrounding the softball field. I had hoped to see Nico in the crowd, but I’m filled with disappointment when I find him missing. The ache in my chest that has been present since the night of his accident worsens, always acting up whenever I think of him.
Nico has been my shadow for months, so to no longer have him around feels like I’m missing a vital organ. I long for mornings spent bargaining for him to get out of bed and afternoons hanging out in the barn with the animals almost as much as I miss our music lessons together.
I only have myself to blame for losing it all.
“You did so well out there.” My mom wraps her arm around my shoulder and tugs me against her, pulling me out of my dark mental space.
“I barely did anything.”
“I saw you run for the ball.”
My cheeks burn at the memory. “I was running away from it.”
“Hm. Hard to tell from this far away, so I doubt anyone noticed.”
I blow a loose strand of hair out of my eyes with a frustrated huff.
Some women suck in a breath as Rafael walks past our bleachers and heads toward home plate. He wipes his face with the hem of his shirt, giving them all a good look at what lies beneath. His abs, which I had never seen before, give me eight more reasons to stay far away.
What Rafael lacks in personality as of late, he makes up for in spades physically. The man could have marble statues made in his likeness because his body is that sculpted to perfection.
As if he senses my eyes on him, he looks up, and our gazes connect. Something sparks in his, and I’m quick to look away, my cheeks burning at being caught in the act.
“Think he would want to be with an older woman?” Suzette, who runs the local candle shop, whispers to her friend, Gertie, who always delivered our mail up at the house on the hill.
“You wouldn’t last a day with a personality like his.” Gertie scoffs. “He doesn’t talk. Period.”
“Who said anything about talking?”
Gertie snorts while I roll my eyes.
Mom leans in and whispers, “I now understand why you had a crush on him all those years ago.”
“Mom.” I shush her.
“What? You had good taste, even back then.”
“I didn’t have a crush.” I look around in a panic.
“Are we pretending that you didn’t use to write Ellie Lopez all over your math notebook? Or that you didn’t write ‘Prom King’ about him?”
I drag my hand across my throat in a silent request for her to shut the hell up, but it’s too late. Like sharks scenting blood in the water, Gertie and Suzette turn to glance at us.
“Ellie. It’s so nice to see you.” Gertie pats my thigh.
I always wear leggings and pants for a reason, but they don’t stop me from worrying about whether people can notice my scars through the material.
Mom has assured me they can’t, but I still panic from time to time, especially when someone touches me there.
I clear my throat. “Hi, Gertie.”
“I passed by the house yesterday to deliver a package, but Rafael said you weren’t there anymore.”
My face flushes. “Yeah.”
“Is everything okay?”
Mom leans forward. “She is no longer working for him.”
“What? Why not?” Katiya, a woman who owns the best Indian restaurant in Michigan, shoots me a pitiful look.
“Nico said she got fired, but I didn’t want to believe it,” one of the school staff members sitting on the bottom bleacher announces, making everyone gasp and mutter.
“It’s okay, Ellie. Don’t feel bad. You lasted longer than all the others combined.” Suzette gives my hand a squeeze.
“If you need a new job, my wife and I are looking to hire a nanny,” Antonio, a father of seven children, adds.
I plaster on my best apologetic smile. “Sorry. My stepdad needs help around The Broken Chord.”
My mom nods enthusiastically. “That’s our Ellie. Always stepping up to the plate when we need her to help at the music store.”
The more I consider returning to the tutoring job I once had, the less I want to. It feels like another setback in my life, all because I made the wrong choice.
What else can you do?
I never went to college, and songwriting isn’t really an option right now, so The Broken Chord is my only choice, whether I want to work there or not.
The only one stopping you from writing new songs is you.
“Did you need to announce it to everyone?” I whisper to my mom when they all focus back on the game.
She winces. “Sorry. I didn’t think it would spread so fast.”
“Are you kidding? I give it an hour before everyone in town knows I was fired.”
“An hour? More like thirty minutes.”
