Page 16 of The Change Up
Using my flashlight, I did a quick scan of her space. Creamy white walls filled the room. A light pink velvet headboard was met with more white bedding. Two white bookcases lined the wall opposite her door. The shelves were crammed with books, decorative pieces, and picture frames.
As I stepped further into her room—feeling like the biggest creep ever—there was this feeling I can’t quite describe that told me to keep looking around. Next to the bookcases was a long cream dresser with a jewelry box, a small television, and more picture frames.
Reaching for one of the frames, I took in a young Chloe with her dad. She was wearing one of his chef hats inside a kitchen. Curly-haired Chloe with a missing front tooth. I smile at the image as I put it back in its place.
Turning, I notice that there isn’t any type of desk in the room. Knowing Chloe, that completely surprises me. I never took her as a do-homework-in-the-living-room type of girl. But she never fails to surprise me.
And that’s when my eyes catch on the top shelf of her bookcase.
There’s no freaking way.
Carefully, I walk toward the bookcase. My fingers trail over the spines of books before I grab the purple rabbit. Flipping it over in my hand, the soft fur grazes my fingers as memories flood my vision.
I can’t believe she kept it.
The next morning I left as soon as I got the chance. The door of my car was frozen, but I was able to thaw it out with a pitcher of lukewarm water. While I waited for the car to defrost, I stole a croissant and a cinnamon roll that was sitting on the girls’ counter, knowing who it was that baked the delicious treats, and it wasn’t my best friend. The drive back to my house might’ve taken forty-five minutes, but I couldn’t stay at that townhouse any longer.
Once upon a time, I wanted a girl like Chloe. The sweet, caring, nurturing bookworm. The kind of girl who would prioritize your relationship and would always be faithful. But along the way, everything changed.
Now the only priority I have is baseball.
Brynn told me to think about finding a good girl to settle down with, the only problem is I found her a long time ago and fucked it all up.
Now it’s just me and the love of the game.
Vibrating pulls me from my thoughts, and I fish out my phone from my front pocket. A long sigh leaves my lips as I see ‘dad’ flash across the screen. Dread and frustration pool in my stomach as I internally prep myself for how this conversation is going to go.
“Hello?” I greet setting my knife to the side. Handling sharp objects while on the phone with my dad is never a good idea.
“Are you ready for Wednesday? I saw you’ll be the starting pitcher. Their center fielder is their home run hitter, and he loves a curveball.”
“No worries, Dad, I survived the ice storm. We only had one pipe burst in our house. Oh, and I’m doing great. How’s the family?”
“Lose the smart-ass comments. I don’t have time for it. You need to be focusing on your first game since you couldn’t play this weekend.”
I step away from the counter and rest my body against the opposite counter before running my hand down my face. Frustration seeps from my body.
“It’s not like I chose not to play this weekend. You know Texas was blanketed by a freak storm system.”
I watch as Hudson enters the kitchen and goes straight to the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of orange juice and sits across from me on a barstool. Twisting the top off, he gives me a questioning look as he takes a long pull of his drink.
My dad continues to berate me on how I need to be focusing, how weak I’ve become since moving to Texas if I can’t handle a little ice, and what I need to be doing to make sure that I’m ready to pitch in my first game this season, even though we’ve had numerous scrimmages this winter.
The oven chimes that it’s reached its temperature. Unfortunately, Dad hears that too. “Did you find a woman to prepare your meals for the week? You always were distracted by a pretty face. Or are you wasting your time in the kitchen? I knew you weren’t focused on the game. We all know how easy it is for an injury to occur and your career be over.”
I fight to keep the groan from escaping. “No, Dad. I don’t have ‘some girl’ to make my food for me. I’m perfectly capable of making myownmeals. But listen, I’ve got to go. We have practice in an hour,” I lie about that last fact. Practice isn’t until this evening, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He continues giving me his advice, which ends up being backhanded comments. Yeah, he had an injury his freshmanyear of college, but there was no way he was going to make it in the pros. He never had the talent or the discipline it takes.
Instead, he calls me daily with updates on how I should be preparing or criticizing how much I sucked at whatever he saw on one of the taped replays of my game. The conversations between the two of us have gotten so one-sided that I’m surprised he even knows what my voice sounds like. The only reason I continue to answer is so that he keeps his focus on me and not my sister, Leah.
I don’t even wait for him to be done, I find a lull in the conversation and end the call before tossing my phone on the counter.
“Your dad?” Hudson asks.
“Who else would it be? We have a game in two days.” Walking back over to where I was cutting vegetables. I grab the chopped peppers, mushrooms, and spinach and toss them into the mixing bowl of scrambled eggs. Taking a ladle, I scoop the mixture into reusable silicone liners and pop the pan in the oven.
“You could just quit answering his calls.”
