Page 14 of Lessons in Heartbreak

He snorted. “Whatever you say, dude.” With a haughty sniff, he brushed his hands down the front of his shirt and angled his head toward the counter. “Nice meeting you,” he said, sarcasm a little too heavy for my taste.

I walked over to the counter, and the woman with the blue hair arched her eyebrow. “Need another muffin?” she asked.

“Do you know where Ruby lives?”

Her eyes flattened immediately. “You’re off your rocker if you think I’m gonna tell you that.”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I looked in the direction of where she ran. “Fair enough.”

“She works at the library,” Mr. Prostitute answered from behind me.

My jaw tightened as I turned. “What’s that?”

He was studying the baked goods. “The library in town. She had to supply some information to my employer.”

The blue-hair behind the counter muttered something that sounded decidedly unfriendly, but it wasn’t clear enough for me to understand. But she stopped me with a wave of her hand, putting one of the blueberry muffins into a to-go bag. “I don’t think Ruby ate breakfast,” she said. “Bring her this if you find her. Can’t have her going hungry before work.”

Ten seconds later, I was jogging across the street in the direction she’d fled. The narrow alley between the two-story brick buildings was clean, leading straight through to the next block. Through the alley, there was a long stretch of empty land on the other side—a weeping willow tree and tall grasses, bright groupings of wildflowers, and a small creek cutting through the middle of the land as it meandered toward a one-story brick building wrapped with windows.

Everything about this place was quiet and clean and peaceful, except for the way my brain reacted when I caught sight of an ivory blouse and messy golden waves on a wooden bench. She was staring at the weeping willow tree. Next to her was the big dog from outside the bakery.

Her hand rested on the back of his neck, idly scratching his short fur.

When you get older, you stop thinking about your childhood, don’t you? Unless something very specific happens. A song that pulls you back. Or you see something that triggers a memory. I’d gone years without thinking of Ruby Tate. A lot of them too.

I couldn’t even say that we’d known her well, but she was always there.

There wasn’t even a lingering sadness when I’d heard that she and her parents had moved away when we were in high school. Once or twice, I’d glanced up into that oak tree that straddled her yard and mine, at the empty spot where she used to sit.

Approaching quietly, I tried to figure out what the hell my endgame was here.

There was only one place in my entire life where I could read people well, and that was on the field. I didn’t have practice consoling a kid or a spouse or a girlfriend. There was no navigating personal relationships once I got home from work.

Wasn’t that how I’d ended up here? It was all the outside shit that got me twisted up. The constantly seeking something shiny and new and exciting so that the quiet at home didn’t make me feel like I was drowning.

I knew how to play the game. I knew how to prep for those games—in the weight room and on the field and in studying film.

I knew how to be a good teammate. All my friends did the same job as me. Most of them had families to go to when they walked out the facility doors. Some were single like me. Those were the guys I partied with, traveled with.

I knew how to do that too. The moment I was on my own, separate from that big part of my life, there was no one who relied on me. It left me reeling now, as I approached where Ruby sat.

Don’t fuck it up,I thought. That was about the best pep talk I could muster.Just ... don’t fuck it up.

When I neared the bench, Ruby’s frame went visibly stiff, her hands moving to her lap as her dog popped up on four legs to greet me.

“Careful,” she said airily, in complete contradiction with the tension visible in every inch of her body. “He’s really mean and overprotective. He might bite.”

“No kidding.”

“Yup. One word from me, and you’re toast.”

I whistled low. “Hope you aren’t thinking about saying that word right now.”

Bruiser tilted his head as he stared me down, and for a split second, I wondered if she was being serious. Nah. She wasn’t serious. Even though she didn’t turn her head, Ruby eyed me from her spot on the bench, gnawing on her bottom lip and looking ten times warier than her dog did. There was no tail for him to wag—his was docked—but his entire butt wiggled back and forth when I came a step closer.

I kept my arms loose by my sides, and Bruiser wiggled sideways against my legs, nudging my free hand with his big ol’ head. “Yeah, he looks vicious.”

Ruby didn’t say anything, simply kept her head straight forward, but her eyes kept cutting over to me and her dog.

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