Page 9 of Tormented Bastard
I started peeling the label off the beer bottle. “Let’s not and say we did.”
Now it was Chance’s turn to roll his eyes. “What’s the story with her? Someone from your past?”
“Yeah.”
“I take it she was important to you once upon a time?”
“Yeah.”
He kicked his long jean-clad legs out in front of him, looking like a man settling in for a long haul. “You can continue to give those one-word answers all you want, mate. I got all day.”
“Don’t you need to do something for Aubrey or the kids?”
A grin split his face. “Not right now.”
I sighed and dropped my head back on the cushion. This time, my eyes stayed open and focused on the ceiling twenty feet above me. I didn’t have any real friends, except Chance. Those that I had been tight with in baseball fell by the wayside when my life and career imploded and I left the game. I’d met Chance at a photo shoot years ago when he’d been an up-and-coming soccer player before an injury in his only professional game ended his career.
We’d hit it off and been friends since. I’d tried to help with the charges that sent him to jail a few years ago—I still think that was a bullshit deal for him—but he’d just said he needed to serve his time. He had no regrets.
But even though he was the one true friend I had, even he didn’t know much about Eden. The only time I had ever mentioned Eden to him was when we got drunk one night and I mentioned how the girl I was seeing at the time reminded me of Eden. When I sobered up, I started dating brunettes only.
Other than that, he had no idea about what went down between us.
“Eden and I met in college. We dated for a few years and then I went to the majors. We parted ways and that’s that.”
“That’s that? I call bullshit.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you.”
He chuckled, unperturbed by my little snit. “You’re not my type. It’s only Aubrey for me.” He paused, his eyes on mine. “Why do I feel like there’s more to this story?”
“Because you’re a nosy fucker?”
He nodded as he sipped his beer. “Yeah,” he said after he swallowed, “but I’m also right, aren’t I?”
I sighed again. “Fine. I was in love with her. But I fucked it up when I left. I got to the majors and I was a hot, young stud for them. It was good PR.” I shrugged, unable to voice the rest of it. Just the thought of how I acted brought shame. I didn’t need to voice that shit out loud. “We didn’t make it, obviously. Then I married Heather.” I sipped my beer, but let the memories of my wedding day play in my head. It had been a good day.
“I remember,” Chance said, rubbing his chin. “It was a lovely wedding.”
I nodded for a moment before I could find my voice. “It was. Heather was beautiful.” I looked down and finished peeling the label off the bottle before sticking the paper inside. “But I never should have married her. For a lot of reasons, but the biggest one being I didn’t love her.” I scrubbed my face with one hand.
“Still, that doesn’t mean she—”
“Leave it, Chance. You’re right. But I drove Heather to do what she did. It was my fault.” I looked out toward the backyard where the waves were starting to grow and the wind continued to pick up. “Look, I’d love to continue spilling my guts to you, but I have work to do before the storm comes in. Plus I gotta get some food.” I stood and Chance followed.
“I’ll help you.”
I shook my head. I needed his help, but I needed to have some alone time more. I needed to get my head on straight before Eden came over. “Nah, it won’t take me long, but I need to get started.”
“You sure, mate? We’d get it done faster. I could work on the garage while you get the guest house. Or I could go pull the boat up out of the water.”
I laughed. “The boat’s on a hydraulic lift, and the guest house has hurricane shutters. All I need to do is the garage, and I think I can handle it. Now go home to your wife.”
After he left, I got to work covering the windows of the detached garage where I housed a couple of toys I still owned from my baseball days—my Harley and a 1965 Corvette.
I drove screws into plywood, and the mindless type of work had me thinking back to what my life was like just a few short years ago. I was practicing for the big game. We’d been closing in on going to the playoffs, widening our lead in the standings. Signing autographs. Fending off the groupies.
I’d had my suspicions my late wife hadn’t been fending off the men I saw look at her. But I’d been too wrapped up in my career to pay attention. I had one love at the time, and it wasn’t Heather. Baseball had been a demanding and greedy mistress, about as greedy and demanding as Heather herself.
Not to mention I’d given my heart away a long time ago and never got it back.
Eden’s face swam into the forefront of my mind’s eye. She’d been the only woman I’d ever loved more than baseball. And yet, that wasn’t exactly true either, was it? I’d backed myself into a nice, tight corner during my career. I was the best in the league, one of the best in history some said. Baseball had been the one love that never let me down. It was always there.
Until it wasn’t.
I was left with a dead wife, a career in tatters, and a range of motion that left me able to swing a hammer, but I’d never be able to throw my trademark fastball again.
I’d come to Sandy Seas Island to get away from my life and anything that reminded me of what I’d lost. Out here, I found peace. No one bothered me for the most part. I’d lost my celebrity luster about six months after I moved here. It was a small island with some tourism but mostly, it was just quiet.
Just perfect for a bastard like me who wasn’t fit for love of any kind.
