"But you're the fixer, lady. People fuck things up and you fix them. They fuck up again and you fix it better. Then you fix it harder so they can't step in the same shit a third time. You've gotta be able to fix your own things," he said, exasperated.
"It's not that simple—"
"Oh, it's fuckin' simple," he roared. "You just stop jackassing, lady."
A watery laugh burst from my lips. "I did that already," I said. "I took the jackassery out back and buried it."
His eyebrow arched up. He stared me down like I was a rookie clutching the bat with sweaty palms. "And now you’re gonna fix it with your man."
I rolled the balled-up tissue between my palms. "I don't think I can. I hurt him."
He gestured to himself with a showman's smile. "I've hurt tons of people, honeycakes. I've pissed on them too. But then I go on TV and flash my puppy dog eyes and promise to be a good boy. There's always a way to make it better."
I stared at the floor for a long beat. Too long for McKendrick's liking.
"Listen, lady. You're gonna stop with this advice column shit. PutThe Secretdown. When you get back to Boston, you're gonna fix it with your man."
"I appreciate the sentiment," I said, glancing up at him. "But it's not as though I can apologize and poof, everything is better. There's more—"
"Bullshit," he interrupted. "I'm living proof that people are willing to forgive just about anything. Before you tell me that you did something unforgiveable, please think about all the times I've done unforgiveable things and all the times I've been forgiven."
"Because you bring home wins," I argued, still worrying the tissue. "League wins. World Series wins. You are the guy who shuts it down and that's why they forgive you."
He nabbed the tissue from my hands. "How are we any different, lady?" When I didn't respond, he continued, "We're not different."
"It's been almost two weeks," I protested. "I haven't even reached out to him because—because what do I say at this point? Like, 'Oh, hey. Remember when I was awful and then did nothing to resolve the situation for half a damn month? Well, my schedule opened up and I'd like to resolve it now.'"
"Do you overthink everything or do you limit it to the dudes in your life?" he asked. "The romantic dudes, not the athletic dudes."
I gathered myself together enough to look affronted. "I'm not overthinking."
He snorted out a laugh. "This is the definition of overthinking. So what if a guy got married after ending things with you? That's fuckin' life, lady. Players get traded. Things change. You move the hell on."
"It happened more than once," I said, my voice as feeble as the argument felt.
"I watch a lot of game tape. My games, everyone else's games. But I don't keep playing that shit. I don't go back to my rookie year, pick my worst night of the season, and revisit every bad pitch. I don't spook myself out of bringing the firepower today because of shit from yesterday."
"I understand what you're trying to do and I appreciate having a conversation with you that doesn't involve bar fights, testicles, or scrambled eggs," I said, "but the situations aren't perfect comparisons."
McKendrick shook his head, chuckled. "This man of yours, he'll forgive you. Apologize, promise to do better, give him some good loving. I bet he's dying to see you."
I looked up at him. He had too much energy for one human, an unnatural fascination with putting his berries on display, and couldn't stop creating drama for himself. He was also the voice of reason.
"It's the bottom of the ninth. All tied up. Time to rally." He tossed my tissue ball into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. "Okay?"
I forced a smile, nodded. "Okay."
It was hot today.Sunny, no clouds. It felt like summer. Lemonade and flipflops and fireworks an hour after sunset. I loved those things. I looked forward to them all winter long. But now that they were here, I couldn't summon any enthusiasm. I didn't want to watch fireworks alone. Didn't want to show off a new pedicure without Cal to compliment my toes. I didn't want to do anything.
But I had to—I had to fix this.
The middle of my team's late afternoon huddle wasn't the right time to formulate that solution but Tatum and Flinn had everything under control without the benefit of my full attention.
Or so I thought.
Flinn tapped Tatum on the arm and announced, "We're together."
I sat back in my desk chair, crossed my arms over my chest, and narrowed my eyes at them. "I'm sorry. What? What did you say?"
