Page 45 of Shielding His Heart
Penny steps into the doorway and pauses when she finds me on the phone. I make a “one-minute” gesture, and she gives me a thumbs up. “Doesn’t that mean we should give them time to adjust? Maybe we should take this even slower for them. Give everyone time to process that this is the right thing.”
“Having our family together is the right thing.” He pauses for a long time. “Unless that’s not what you want.”
“Of course it’s what I want,” I murmur, my heart squeezing.
“Then come to the game. We can start slow, but we want you there. Please.”
I wage an internal battle for all of three seconds before I cave. Who am I kidding? I’ve missed them—missed him so damn much. “Okay, fine. What time and where?”
He tells me the location. “Five. I can pick you up.”
“No, that’s okay. I have to help Penny close up tonight. I’ll have her drive me, and we can meet you there.”
“See you then,” he says.
“Bye, Alec,” I whisper.
The conflict must be written on my face because Penny leans across the front counter. “That Alec?” she asks.
“Yeah. Do you mind driving me over to the rec field? Gemma has a game, and they want me to go.”
“Hell yeah. I love me some concession stand food.”
“Penny, you are one of a kind.”
“Damn straight.”
After spending the week working at the rescue with Penny, I officially know I won’t ever go back to the business before-me used to own. I love working with the animals too much, and I have no desire to lead the face-paced lifestyle before-me had and run all those social media accounts, let alone make the clothes that were sold. I made the announcement a few days ago with a short life update video on the business’s Instagram and YouTube. To say my followers were disappointed was an understatement, but most were pretty understanding, considering. The outpouring of kindness was unexpected and appreciated. But it was also like a weight lifted off my chest to make that distinction.
After-me likes my privacy and solitude. She likes kissing Alec and cooking with the girls. After-me likes going for long walks in the woods and binging true crime podcasts and documentaries. I plan to donate most of before-me’s clothes, at least the ones I know I’ll never wear, and keep the more casual stuff. While those clothes are nice and beautiful, I like being comfortable more.
My last checkup with Dr. Rennen cleared me of physical therapy. While he was disappointed my memories hadn’t yet returned, he was pleased I hadn’t had any further side effects so far and was confident my recall would only improve with time. As much as I wanted my memories to return, I’m not so certain now. I’ve finally come to terms with who I am now, and I’m happy with the direction my life is taking.
After my first few days at the rescue, I asked Penny if she needed any help. Though I didn’t need the money, she accepted enthusiastically. The pay isn’t anything special, but I love working with the animals, with my hands, and Penny is a riot. There hasn’t been a dull day yet.
“Penny, why are you putting traps in your truck?” I ask after we finish closing up.
Penny pauses from loading the cages we use to trap stray and feral cats and winks. “Just in case.”
“Are you expecting to run into a colony of feral cats?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Of course not.”
Penny’s rental house, where she runs her rescue, is smack dab in the middle of one of the biggest feral cat colonies in Lake County. When she moved in, she set to work trapping, treating, and fixing all the cats she could. The ones she could tame got adopted out, and she kept a watchful eye on the others. Her family and friends may think she’s flighty and eccentric, but I don’t see how. I’ve only known her for a short while, and she’s the most dedicated, passionate person I’ve ever met.
The recreation field is packed with cars when we arrive a short while later. Penny fights off a mom in a Karen haircut for a parking spot nearest the softball fields and cackles with glee as she puts her truck in park. Nerves jangle anew in my stomach at the prospect of seeing Alec again in front of all these people. It occurs to me he may have some sort of big scene planned, like something jumbotron equivalent. But he wouldn’t do that, would he? That’s something before-me may have liked, but the last thing I want now is more attention.
We get a few side-eyes every now and then, and I touch my bangs to make sure they’re covering my scar. Then I realize it’s because Penny is waving or talking to nearly every person we meet and not because of my scar. The tension in my stomach loosens a little.
The metal stands are packed with people at each field, and the colorful jerseys of parents supporting their kids dot the crowd in a kaleidoscope of color. Teens hawk treats and gear from the concession stand as Penny stops for a veritable feast of grease and sugar. With her goodies in tow, we find Gemma’s game in progress at the field next to the concession stand.
“Do you see them?” I whisper to her anxiously.
“Not yet—oh! Yes! There they are right behind home plate. Excellent. We’ll have a good view.”
Shouts and screams break out among the spectators as a bat cracks against the ball. The parents of the batter jump to their feet and wave and clap as the little girl makes it safely to first base. Parents from the other team mutter and gesture, but the umpire waves the next batter to home plate.
