“Yeah. Okay. Great.” He grabbed a fork out of the drawer and started to eat as well. He made appreciative sounds as he ate, which soothed my ego some, even though he kept a wary eye on me. I noticed…because I was keeping a wary eye on him, too.
Then eventually, of course, I broke. “How’d it go at the game?”
“We won. Connor and Rob played great. I don’t know why Rob waited until the ninth inning to hit a home run, but it was exciting as—”
“I know about the actual game. How’d it go with Pops?”
“Oh. That.”
Yes, that. I pinned him with a look. “Be honest here, Jake. Do you want to talk to me? Or am I just supposed to sit here and act adoring for the cameras? Just tell me what you want.”
In my family, we talked with one another. Our feelings, our anger. Hell, Rachel’s love life was an endless string of drama. But Jake was obviously different. And if I wanted to be with him, I needed to respect his boundaries.
But God, I was pissed at him. I kept trying to tell myself to forgive him. That he’d panicked because that’s what guys do. That he’d come back the next morning. And here he was now, trying to make up with me. But I wasn’t giving him an inch, and that was wrong of me.
Meanwhile, he blanched, then looked down at his food. “It went as it always does with Pops.”
“Awful?”
He sighed, then looked back at me. “We had a good time. Yeah, he got drunk. Yeah, I had to keep him from driving and other stupid stuff. But other than that…” He dropped his forked and shrugged.
I translated that as: it might have been fun if it hadn’t been for the constant worry, the never-ending pressure to keep an eye on him. It was probably like watching a toddler play near a busy street. Who knew when he would bolt and cause an accident?
I touched his hand. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you.”
He flipped his hand over and squeezed mine gently. I didn’t think he would speak, but eventually the words came out in a rush. “Please don’t disappear on me like that again, okay? I know I was a jerk, but…” He shrugged. “Abandonment issues.”
I arched my brow, putting pieces together. “Your mother?”
He nodded. “And bad girlfriends.”
Oh. Right. So my disappearing on him had probably triggered some bad memories. “Want to talk about it?”
He cringed, but in a comical way. “Are you going to make me?”
“Nope. Confession has to be voluntary. But I’m willing to listen whenever you want to share.”
He sighed. “It would be the mature thing to do, right? I mean, I’m an adult now, so I should be able to share my feelings and shit.”
“Well, you are a guy, so ‘adult’ is a relative term.”
He snorted. “I know that was an insult, but I’m going to take it as an excuse—”
“To run?”
He stopped speaking. I knew he was thinking about it, thinking how he had run first. He knew that if we were going to have a relationship, he would have to open up, at least a little. And I knew that all I could do was wait to see if he would share. If he would think of me as more than just a great lay.
In the end, he shook his head, the motion at odds with his next words. “I want to talk, Ellie. I really do. I wanted to talk at the All-Star Game. You know, before—”
“Before Pops showed up.” Yeah, I’d been thinking about that, too. About the moment he’d said he wanted to try for something real. But that statement had led to my impulsive confession, and then… And then he’d rejected me as thoroughly as a woman could be rejected. So now I was feeling hurt and he… He was still shaking his head.
“I have to go to practice.”
My heart lurched. So no more closeness. Even if we weren’t talking about the L-word.
“But,” he added, “you don’t work until tonight, right? The night shift?”
I nodded.
