“Listen,” I start, deciding to be honest about this. “If you were my girlfriend, I’d be proud to have you in the stands. I’d probably play better knowing you were there cheering me on.”
“Really?” Her hopeful tone shatters something fundamental inside me.
“Absolutely. And I’d make sure you were wearing my jersey with my name across your shoulders so everyone knew you belongedto me.”
Kenzie’s softOhmakes me realize I went too far.
I clear my throat of its roughness. “That’s why Mallory always wears Kai’s jersey over a tank. Lots of girlfriends and wives do that.”
“Sure. That makes sense,” Kenzie says, like she’s nodding to herself.
“Kenzie, honey. Let’s come out of the bathroom, okay? Let’s eat some delicious sushi and get some fresh air? Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“Listen to Mallory. Let her take care of you, okay?” I straighten, mentally shifting gears. “I need to get back to the team meeting.”
“You left a team meeting to call me?”
My heart does that painful squeeze that I’malmostused to by now.
“Of course I did.”
Chapter 5
Kenzie
You know who has two thumbs and doesn’t need an arrogant MLB player in her life anymore? That’s right—this girl! Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself every thirty seconds when I want to start crying again. The last six days have been rougher than I expected. I’m used to being alone in Trevor’s huge house for long stretches of time—that’s why he initially hired me after all, to take care of Banks while he’s gone—but it felt eerily quiet this time.
Listening to Mallory, I kept off of news sites and social media for the last few days. None of my fifty-three friends on my private Instagram even knew about the drama. Who could believe that quiet, rule-following Kenzie from their accounting program had been engaged to an MLB pitcher anyway?
Since I don’t usually leave the house except for my daily walks—which I skipped this week—I didn’t have to worry about running into anyone. The only person who saw me was Veronica, Trevor’s housecleaner who comes every Friday. She squeezed me tight and whispered, “Mijita,”while stroking my unruly hair. After her efficient cleaning, the state of the house became rebelliously chaotic.
Normally, I keep things tidy, a holdover from living in the small farmhouse with my parents, but this week, I let slovenliness rule. Have pieces of scrap paper from doing hand calculations—the best way to do math, in my opinion? Crumple and let them lie. Have various blankets, fuzzy socks, and sweatshirts you abandoned because you get flushed when another crying fit hijacks your day? Toss those suckers wherever. And Ireallywanted to leave the discarded chocolate chip cookie dough containers laying around after I polished them off, but I didn’t want Banks to get sick from licking my leftovers.
He’s the only one who’s eaten well the last few days. Outside of Mallory’s sushi, I’ve been subsisting on ice cream and handfuls of cereal straight out of the box. Like a gremlin. If it was the offseason, Trevor would have his personal chef preparing macro-conscious meals. But since the team nutritionist feeds them so well at the clubhouse, Rebecca is on hiatus.
Man, I could really use her garlic chicken right now.
When my shoulders shake with another sudden crying fit, Banks meows in protest.
“Sorry, Banksy,” I say, stroking his soft fur and taking deep breaths to calm myself.
I’ve also taken to carrying Trevor’s cat around the house. Having his little ribs expanding against me helps me feel more grounded. Banks must sense I need the extra cuddles, because he’s been surprisingly compliant with the gratuitous physical contact.
“What should we have for dinner tonight?”
Banks simply stares at me. He looks like a distinguished gentleman in his blue bowtie collar. Meanwhile, I’m crushing my unintentional Adam Sandler cosplay.
I open the fridge, debating if I should open another ice cream container or just polish off the Cinnamon Toast Crunch while standing over the sink, when the garage door rumbles. My hand flicks open the nearest drawer, and I grab the first thing my fingers touch. I tossed my phone aside hours ago, so I can’t call 911, but maybe I can get a jump on this intruder.
Banks’s paws cling to me, but since his previous owner ruthlessly declawed him, he doesn’t poke holes in my oversized sweatshirt. I press one protective hand over his back, holding him snugly against me as I slip behind where the door to the garage opens to a small enclave.
Extending my weapon, I wait. Banks makes a low growl in anticipation.
We make quite a team, Banks and I.
Except, it’s not a ninja cloaked in black who slips through the door. When Trevor enters the house, a duffel bag slung over his large shoulders, I sag.
“Oh, it’s just you.”
