Sometimes You Fall: Carrington Cove Book 3 (Carrington Cove Series), page 3
“Uh, no. What do you mean?”
“Fuck.” I release Penn’s hand and blow out a breath. “Dude, they were going to get a divorce when he returned from his last deployment, but then…”
“Shit,” Penn mutters, turning away from me as he takes in this information.
“Look, I thought you would have known. Don’t be mad at her.”
“I’m not mad at her. I just...” He tilts his head at me. “I just…I need to fucking talk to her.”
My heart rate is borderline alarming, but my brain continues to function normally, which leads me to a very important conclusion. “Yeah, and I know that when you do, it’s going to be my neck on the chopping block, so why don’t you let me talk to her first?”
Astrid may be younger than me, but she can scare the shit out of me too. I need to make this right. I need to let her know that it’s my fault Penn knows about Brandon now.
Penn nods. “Yeah, probably a good idea.”
“And Brandon never said anything to you either?” I ask, hoping I didn’t really just create a clusterfuck of epic proportions.
“Never, Grady. In fact, he told me the opposite.” Penn grabs his Coke and drains the rest of the glass, shaking his head as he places it back on the bar.
I scoff. “Sounds about right. He always was about keeping up appearances.”
Penn shakes his head for an unsettling amount of time before finally speaking. “I…I need to get back to work.”
Jesus, I do too, but who knows how long it’s going to take for me to talk my sister down off a ledge now. “Yeah, okay. I’ll text you when I’ve talked to her.”
My half-eaten burger now churning in my gut, I head for the door and hop in my truck to race across town to the bakery, hoping my sister doesn’t have any sharp objects around her when I tell her what I did.
At least your day isn’t boring now, is it, Grady?
Yeah, not sure this was the excitement I was looking for.
***
“Pour me another,” I say, gesturing toward the bartender at Ricky’s Bar. Located just on the edge of town, it draws some unfamiliar faces from surrounding towns. I needed a place to sulk that wasn’t Catch & Release, where I’m sure I’d suffer the inquisition from Dallas and anyone else there that knows me.
In small towns like Carrington Cove, there’s no privacy. Almost like it was being a famous baseball player. There was no privacy in my life then either, but fuck, do I still miss it. Being able to play made up for the other bullshit I had to deal with.
The whiskey goes down smooth, easing the tension in my neck and shoulders after a long fucking week. It’s just a few days before Christmas, and everyone I know is spending time doing things with their families. But I don’t have one of those and probably never will at this rate.
Astrid forgave me rather quickly for spilling her secret to Penn, and now that I see the two of them together, I’m glad he pulled his head out of his ass so he could be the type of man that my sister deserves. Now, if only I could get her to stop pushing me to date. I swear, people in love just want everyone else to have it too, but sometimes, being alone is just easier. It’s how I’ve operated for most of my adult life. I didn’t have time for relationships when I was playing, and the only women interested in me now are the ones who think I have something to offer them from my former life.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m doing very well for myself. I didn’t piss away the money I made in the major leagues—I invested and saved so I’d be set for life. The garage does well too, but that’s beside the point. Those women want Grady Reynolds, the star pitcher. Not Grady Reynolds, the grumpy, injured man who channels his inner Clint Eastwood most days.
Earlier, Astrid and Penn insisted I go with them to my niece Lilly’s dance recital, so of course I did. But after, they all wanted to go out for dinner and dessert, and the only thing I wanted was to be alone—again.
It’s been a long few days, finishing up projects around the garage and dodging phone calls from the high school coach. With the holidays approaching, I’m looking forward to a much-needed break. I’m headed down to Florida where the weather is warmer and I can go fishing, catch up with a buddy of mine from college, and escape small-town life for a while.
I need it. The boys were right, and I’m starting to feel suffocated by this life that I didn’t choose.
But part of you did, didn’t it, Grady?
The twinge of pain that shoots through my arm at any given moment decides then to remind me of my own selfish foolishness. I reach up and rub the spot, circling my arm around while trying not to hit the person sitting next to me at the bar, then take another drink of whiskey to help numb the pain.
It only does so much, but still better than being sober at the moment.
Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton plays from the jukebox in the corner as the sound of pool balls scattering across felt echoes in the bar. A group of men are gathered around the pool tables dressed in Carhartt jeans and work boots, sharing pitchers of beer and a few good laughs. Harold, Baron, and Thompson are playing darts in the corner. They usually play at Catch & Release, but Dallas has been closing the restaurant and bar early this week because of the holiday.
Several bikers are seated in another corner, black leather vests encasing their chests and red bandanas covering their heads. A group of women giggle at a table near the center of the room, one of them wearing an “I’m Divorced!” sash across her chest.
But as I survey the group of women more closely, a head of curly brown hair catches my attention. The woman those curls belong to stands from the table and heads toward the back corner where the bathrooms are located. I can’t see her face through her hair, but her curves give me more than enough to admire.
She’s wearing dark denim that is practically painted onto her wide hips and thick thighs. Her waist dips in just enough to hint at an hourglass figure under her red top, and she’s wearing wedges that make her appear taller than she is.
There’s something eerily familiar about her, and for a moment, I convince myself I’ve just had too much whiskey. I stare down into my glass, listen to the music playing throughout the bar, then swirl the amber liquid around, and toss back the rest of my drink before catching her walk back out from the hall.
And that’s when my stomach drops.
“Scottie?”
Her eyes swivel around the room before landing on mine. And then her lips spread so wide as mine mimic the same movement. “Oh. My. God.”
“Holy shit.”
Biting her lip, she strides over to me as I take in the entirety of her. Damn, Scottie Daniels is all grown up, a fucking woman now—a woman I haven’t seen in almost seventeen years.
“What are the freaking chances?” she asks as she stands right before me, the shock on her face just as pronounced as my own.
I rise from my stool to pull her into a hug, inhaling her still familiar scent while wondering if this is all just a fucking dream. “Scottie Daniels,” I murmur in her ear as I inhale a little too deeply.
She clears her throat and then breaks our embrace. “Ha. I haven’t been Scottie Daniels in a long time, Grady Reynolds. But you?” She places her hands on the sides of my face. “Holy shit, it’s really you.”
My eyes can’t stop taking her in, from those familiar green eyes to the freckles on her nose that are barely concealed by her makeup, to those full lips painted a deep rose shade that brings out the color in her cheeks. Her hair is just as wild as I remember, yet somehow also tamer, and her smile just as addicting. Standing here in front of her now is like taking a ride in the DeLorean—it feels like I’m back in high school staring at the girl who always made me wonder, what if?
“So what do I call you then?”
“That might take a while to explain,” she says, rolling her eyes and peering over at the group of women she left earlier.
I follow her line of sight. “Do you need to get back to your friends?”
“Not really. Those are my mom’s friends. She dragged me along tonight and told me I needed to have some fun, so here I am.”
“The girl I knew used to say the same thing to me.”
The corner of her mouth lifts, but it’s a sad smile. “I haven’t been that girl in a long time, Grady.”
Studying her face, I say, “What happened, Scottie? One day we were texting, and the next, your number was disconnected.”
She sighs. “It’s ancient history.”
“Well, I’ve got all night to travel back in time with you.”
She shakes her head at me, clearly debating whether she should stay or just treat this as a coincidental passing. But then a familiar spark of determination lights up her eyes, and she says, “I’m gonna need a drink to get through that story, if that’s the case.”
I signal to the bartender. “Then let’s make that happen.”
Chapter two
Grady
Scottie takes a large drink of her vodka cranberry, keeping her eyes locked on the bar in front of her.
“Easy there, tiger.”
“Trust me. This conversation will go a lot faster with a little liquid courage.”
I huff out a laugh and take a sip of my drink, still reeling from how quickly the evening turned around. Being back in Scottie’s presence is like taking a breath after being underwater for hours. I know it’s impossible to hold your breath that long, but now that she’s sitting in front of me, I feel alive again, like a weight was just lifted from my chest.
And fuck. She’s even more gorgeous than I remember.
“Start talking, Scottie,” I say, trying to remain patient, but my mind is spinning. I need something from her so the pieces of the puzzle that comprised our friendship can start to make fucking sense. Losing contact with her fucking stung, but I don’t think I realized just how much it affected me until now. I’m simultaneously elated and angry seeing her tonight, and the last thing I want is for our reunion to go sour. But damn it, I have questions and she’s the one with all the answers.
She pats my thigh. “Let’s talk about you first.”
“If you start this, we’re just going to keep going back and forth all night.”
She reaches over and covers my hand with her palm, the heat of her touch sending a bolt of electricity straight down my spine to my groin.
Jesus. She practically just electrocuted me.
“I’m sorry about your arm,” she continues with a sad tilt of her lips.
A grunt escapes me, the same reaction I give anyone who offers me their condolences about my career. “It is what it is.”
“Still. You were at the top of your game. It sucks to go out like that.”
“Believe me. I lived it. I know.” I drain the rest of my glass and motion to the bartender for another.
“Torn rotator cuff?”
Blowing out a breath, I wipe my palms on my jeans and nod. “I knew something was wrong the game before.”
“Grady…” Her brows draw together, but I continue before she can say anything else. “But I didn’t want to believe it. I kept telling myself I was just sore. We were on a three-day game series, and my age was catching up to me. Years of beating up my body was finally taking its toll, so I didn’t tell anyone and kept playing through the pain.”
“And then it was beyond repair when you tore the tendons.”
I nod, intercepting my fresh whiskey, taking down a large gulp. “Yeah.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
I cast my gaze in her direction before taking another sip. “No one to blame but myself.”
Scottie reaches for my hand again, squeezing it, but then a twinkle in her eye appears. “Can I ask you one more thing about baseball and then we can leave the topic alone for tonight?”
I arch a brow at her. “Okay…”
Leaning closer, she flashes me that smile I didn’t realize I missed so fucking much and says, “Did you throw up before your first MLB game?”
My head falls back as laughter pours out of me, a deep-rooted laugh that I feel all the way down to my toes. Fuck, I needed that. When I gain my composure, watching her sip her drink around the straw tucked between her teeth, her mouth spread with pleasure, I reply, “I did.”
She shakes her head at me. “It was only a matter of time.”
“What about you? Any more keg stands gone bad while you were in college?”
She chuckles. “A few, but like you, my focus was on the game. I didn’t party nearly as much as my teammates, but I did enough damage the few times I went out.” Her smile falls and just like that, the light in her eyes starts to fade as well.
My heart hammers as I repeat my question from earlier. “What happened, Scottie?”
“You made it to the big leagues, Reynolds,” she says quietly. “And I didn’t.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “I know. Right after I got drafted you were telling me about the national women’s team, and then you weren’t on the roster the next season at Georgia. What went wrong?” I remember trying to find as much information as I could about her, but there was nothing to find. It was as if her entire softball career vanished overnight.
She blows out a breath, tilts her head at me, and says something I wasn’t expecting. “I got pregnant, Grady.”
My eyebrows climb up my forehead. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah.” She takes another sip from her drink as she stares off to the side of the bar. “He just turned fourteen. His name is Chase and…” A soft smile spreads across her lips. “He changed my life in the best way.” Our eyes meet again. “I thought I had my future planned out, but God showed me that I was meant for more. I was meant to be Chase’s mom, and I don’t regret having him for a second.”
My heart hammers again as I think about how that must have felt for her. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you text me back?”
“It’s complicated,” she mutters, draining her glass and then motioning for another from the bartender.
“So uncomplicate it.”
She stirs the ice cubes around in her empty glass, avoiding my eyes. “Chase’s dad…” My hackles instantly rise. “I thought I knew him, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that people can surprise you. He was controlling and I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”
“Did he hurt you?” Murder wasn’t something I thought I was ever capable of until this moment, but if I find out her ex put his hands on her, I might just accept my fate to make sure he never does it again.
“No, he didn’t hurt me, not physically,” she interjects quickly. She blows out a breath and forces a smile. “But thankfully, that’s not something I have to deal with anymore. I’m proudly divorced and have no regrets about leaving him.”
“I’m sorry.” Reaching between us, I grab her hand, our fingers threading together. It feels so natural touching her like this, hearing her voice again, waiting anxiously for what’s going to come out of her mouth next. I swear, I’m seventeen all over again, sitting in math class, wishing our time together wouldn’t end.
“No need to apologize. Things worked out the way they should have.” Her words sound rehearsed, like she’s said them so many times now they come out with ease.
Guess I’m not the only one who’s gotten good at giving people the response they want rather than the freaking truth.
“So please tell me your girlfriend knows you’re out drinking alone tonight,” she says next, her assumption catching me off guard.
“Is that your way of asking if I’m single?”
She smirks around the rim of her glass. “Maybe.”
“No girlfriend, Scottie. No wife either.”
“You never married?”
“Didn’t really have time to focus on that aspect of my life.”
“I always wondered. There wasn’t much about your personal life in the news articles and stuff.”
“You were keeping tabs on me?” I pinch her knee, making her squeal.
“Hey! I told you I would be rooting for you. I just did it…quietly.”
“What are you up to now?” Our hands remain linked between us as I wait for her reply.
“I work in education now. My degree was in early childhood development, so I decided to become a teacher. Now I’m in administration.”
“Good for you. I bet the kids love you.”
“Not as much as I love them.” She clears her throat and directs the conversation back to me. “I heard you turned into a grease monkey.”
I lift my glass to my lips. “You heard right. I bought the Carrington Cove Garage from Mr. Rogers shortly after I moved home.”
She studies me for a moment. “I don’t see it.”
“See what?”
“You. Working on cars.” She pauses, a pinch in her brow. “Wait. No shirt on.” She draws a check mark in the air. “Overalls with one strap undone.” She shakes her head. “No. Just a pair of jeans with grease stains and a rag sticking out of your back pocket.” She nods, drawing another check mark in the air. “Sweat trailing down your temple.” Another check mark. “Grease covering your forearms, and the band of your briefs sticking out of the top of your jeans.” She licks her lips. “Yeah, okay. I can definitely see it now.”
The temperature in this bar just rose twenty degrees—because while Scottie was describing her little fantasy right there, I was imagining spreading her out over the hood of my Nova and eating her pussy until she screamed.
Yeah, I can definitely see it too.
Clearing my throat, I swirl my glass in my hand. “I can’t believe you’re here, Scottie.” And then I ask the question that instantly pops into my mind. “Are you staying?”
She shakes her head twice. “Just here for the holidays.”
“When will you be back?”
She shrugs. “I have no idea. I don’t come home very often. In fact, it’s been years, but something told me it was time to face the past.”
