Broken Love Page 5

  But I didn't promise the brother of any other client what I promised hers.

  I put the two-point-six carat, brilliant cut solitaire ring that is encircled by another carat of quadrillion diamonds carefully on my nightstand. Tomorrow, I'll put the ring back on her finger, even if it means going against her brother's wishes. It sounds horrible of me to say about my best friend, but I'd rather have him mad at me than her unhappy.

  My phone rings.

  I immediately answer, thinking it's her.

  "Hey, meet us at Lure," my friend Todd says.

  I am really not in the mood to hang out, but I need a drink. Badly.

  I lock up my condo and head down the street. I'll have one drink, give her time to calm down, then call her. I can't wait until morning. I can't go to sleep knowing she's mad at me. I need to fix this tonight.

  It's a short walk from my condo on Laguna Beach to our favorite watering hole, but as the salt air clears my head, and the ocean breeze fills me with memories of long days spent on the beach with her, I change my mind again.

  I'm not waiting. I'm going now.

  "Cade, my man," Todd says, giving me a slap on the back. I hadn't even realized I was standing outside the bar already. "The gang's all gonna be here tonight. Pike's in town, and he's stopping by."

  I glance at my phone, noticing that he texted me earlier saying the same.

  What I don't have is a text from Palmer.

  "Uh, hang on, Todd. I need to make a quick call."

  "Hopefully whoever you're calling is blonde, stacked, and has a lot of hot friends. The boys are back in town!" he yells as he herds me inside and orders us beers.

  I step away from the bar and hit Palmer's number. It rings and rings, then goes to voicemail. I hang up and try again.

  Still no answer.

  This time, I leave a message. "Palmer, please call me so we can talk about this."

  I hang up, knowing that was the wrong thing to say. I should have said I love you and nothing else matters. I set my phone down on the bar and chug my beer. I'll finish this, then go tell her in person.

  Todd slaps me on the back and starts recalling nights out of town traveling to tournaments for our select baseball team.

  "Remember those chicks in the hot tub at the hotel in San Antonio?" he says, then goes off on a three-minute discussion of it.

  A bunch of the other guys from the team join us. We're exchanging greetings and reminiscing when Pike storms into the bar.

  "You son of bitch!" Pike yells as he charges toward me then throws a punch at my face. "How could you do that?"

  The blow knocks me back against the bar, and I fumble trying to steady myself. But I don't get time to recover. Pike slams his fist into my stomach. "I trusted you like a brother!"

  "What the hell?" our friend Todd says, stepping between us and holding out his arms to keep the peace. "You're best friends. What's this all about?"

  A livid Pike shoves Todd out of the way, knocking him to the ground. "What this is about is my best friend sleeping with my sister behind my back."

  "I can explain," I say as his fist connects with my face again, this time cutting open my lip.

  "There's nothing to explain, you cocksucker! You fucked with my sister!"

  "I wanted to tell you, Pike." I hold up my hands in an attempt to protect myself. "But she wouldn't let me!"

  "That's a bullshit answer. We're best friends. Brothers. You betrayed me!"

  He's right. I did.

  "And then you broke her heart!" he yells furiously, slamming me with a fast barrage of punches that connect with my temple, ribs, stomach, jaw, and then nose.

  I don't even try to stop him. I deserve this.

  With the last punch, I spin in a circle and fall to the ground.

  Pike glares down at me and spits on my shirt. "If you ever come near my sister again, I'll fucking kill you."

  Then he turns and storms out of the bar.

  The disgusted looks on our friends' faces rain down on me.

  I lay on the bar floor and close my eyes, both my body and heart feeling completely broken.

  "I'm sorry, Cade," she says, gently grazing her fingers across the scar and bringing me back to the present. She gives me a little frown then turns on her heel and goes into the hotel.

  As I walk down the beach alone, I realize that even after all these years I'm still broken. Because she's not in my life.

  October 26th Palmer

  After doing the pre-dawn photo shoot for the designer who does most of my red carpet gowns, I fly home, unpack, and decide to make brownies for Tory.

  I'm taking them out of the oven when she comes through the courtyard from the office. "I smell chocolate."

  I cut her a slice of warm gooeyness.

  "Ohmigawd. These are the best brownies I've ever had in my entire life."

  "I know, right? Wait." I open a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and pour us each a glass. "Red wine and chocolate are my favorite together."

  She digs another brownie out of the pan and plops it on a plate. She puts a forkful in her mouth and takes a drink of wine, her eyes rolling back in culinary ecstasy. "Why have you never made these before? Have you been holding out on me?"

  "It's a new recipe," I say, smiling.

  "What's with the dreamy look?"

  "It's the Crawford family's secret brownie recipe."

  "And how did you get that?"

  "I was lying in a hammock, scrolling through social media, and I saw a photo of Ashlyn Roberts--I mean, Crawford--saying she was in Cabo. I texted her and asked if she wanted to do lunch the next day. We agreed on a location. But when I got there the whole family was there."

  "Was it awkward?"

  "A little at first. Cade didn't look happy to see me. But then he never does."

  "Then what happened?" she asks, putting her elbows on the island and making herself comfortable on a bar stool.

  "No one else looked surprised to see me and insisted I join them. After quite a few margaritas, his mom invited me back to their house to make brownies. She was teaching Ashlyn the secret family recipe and said she'd teach me, too."

  "So you made brownies."

  "Well, the walk back was hot, so we went swimming first."

  "And was Cade shirtless for that?" she asks with a smirk.

  "Of course, he was."

  "Which bikini were you wearing?"

  "The peach crocheted one."

  "Did he like it? Stop making me ask questions. Did anything happen? Did you kiss? Make wonderful love on the beach under the stars? Are you back together? Getting married? Having babies?"

  "Um, no. We kinda flirted in the pool. He licked brownie batter off my finger. Walked me home." I stop and take a deep breath. "I apologized, Tory."

  Her eyes get big. "You did? I'm so proud of you. Then did you kiss?"

  "No. We were outside my hotel. I touched his scar, told him I was sorry, then pretty much ran into the lobby."

  Tory narrows her eyes at me. "Why didn't you invite him up? Have years-in-the-making-make-up sex?"

  "Because."

  "Because is not an answer."

  A text pops up on my phone, which is sitting on the counter.

  "His ears must be burning," she says, grabbing it. "Cade wants to know if he can ask you a question. I'm going to reply yes, because I think his question is going to be something like, Will you come over and let me put my P in your V?"

  "Tory! Give me my phone!" I rip it out of her hand and look at his message.

  Cade: Can I ask you a question?

  I reply.

  Me: Yes.

  While we wait for him to text back, she says, "You should invite him over for brownies and then, like, cover yourself in batter."

  "Do you think that would work?"

  "Hell, I'd lick this batter off you myself. I need the recipe. I'm seeing this new guy again tonight. We met while you were out of town."

  "How old is he?"

  "Twenty-four, not that it m
atters. What matters is he has abs so perfect they look photo shopped, and he fucks like a champ."

  I can't help but laugh at Tory. "I wish I could be more laid back about sex."

  "That's the problem with you. You can't separate casual sex from relationship sex. They are two different animals completely--and this new guy is an animal." She curls her fingers and makes a scratching motion. "I mean, rawr!"

  I take another sip of my wine, staring at my phone and willing him to reply. When my phone vibrates, I hold it to my chest to read it. I don't want Tory to see it before I do.

  Cade: When you said I'm sorry, what did you mean?

  I grab my wine, take a gulp, and let out gush of air, trying to calm myself.

  "What did he say?" she asks.

  "Um," I reply, tears filling my eyes.

  "Did he say something bad?" She snatches my phone, reads the text, then hands it back to me. "So you apologized, but he doesn't know what you apologized for?"

  I cover my face with my hands and take another calming breath. My heart is racing, like it does every time I talk to him. "You can take the rest of the afternoon off," I tell her.

  "Are you really going all boss on me?"

  "You can take the brownies with you," I offer, trying to appease her, but needing her to leave. I need to be alone for this.

  She pretends to be put off, but grabs the pan and her purse. "I'm out. See you tomorrow, boss."

  I clutch my phone to my chest and wait for her to leave, before going to sit outside. I take in my view of the Hollywood Hills and contemplate what I meant.

  Me: I was apologizing for giving you the scar. For throwing a curling iron at you. What if I would have hit your eye or something?

  Cade: Oh, okay.

  I can feel the disappointment in his reply.

  Me: Honestly, Cade, I've owed you an apology for a long time. Not just for the curling iron, but for everything.

  Cade: It's nice to feel like you don't hate me anymore.

  Me: I never hated you.

  Cade: Sorry to cut our conversation short, but I have to step into a meeting. I was just thinking about you. About us. About what you said. It got me wondering. Take care, Palmer.

  I cover my mouth with my hand, fighting back the tears. All my emotions from this week mix with the ones from the past. The regret, the sadness, and the pain still feeling way too fresh.

  But mostly it's the way he ended the conversation. Take care, Palmer sounds like goodbye forever. And even though I've managed fine without him, I think I always held a flicker of hope.

  I break down and cry, knowing that hope was just extinguished.

  October 28th

  Cade

  I'm at an industry event talking business with one of my biggest clients, actress Keatyn Douglas, who is just back from her honeymoon.

  "So, are you and Aiden really going to live full-time in Sonoma, making wine and babies?"

  "Yes, we are. What about you? Isn't it time you settle down? I always thought you'd marry Palmer."

  "I did, too," I mutter.

  "Cade, don't let life get in the way of your happiness. Do you know what I'm saying?"

  "Our love is all that matters?" I tease, reciting a line from the movie trilogy based on her life.

  "Exactly. Speaking of love," she says, glancing down at her phone. "Aiden says he managed to snag a table at the bar. What do you say we go watch the game?"

  "That sounds good. So, how's married life?" I ask as we exit the hotel ballroom.

  "Amazing." My phone buzzes, prompting her to say, "I think you're ringing."

  I pull my phone out.

  "It's Carter. Hang on." I answer the phone. "Hey, what's up?" I say to my brother.

  "Are you watching the game?" he asks.

  "Keatyn and I were just heading down to the bar to catch some of it. Are you there? Who's winning?"

  "Yeah, I'm at the game. Cade, Pike just got hurt. It's bad."

  I rush to the bar.

  People are gathered around the television screens, and I hear an announcer say, Due to the graphic nature of the injury, we aren't able to replay it.

  "What happened?" I ask Aiden, whose table I sit down at, and Carter who is still on the phone.

  Aiden shoves his phone in front of me and plays me a video of the accident.

  It is graphic.

  Pike was pitching. A ground ball is hit to the first baseman. Pike leaves the pitcher's mound to make the play at first. The batter steps on his outstretched leg as they are both racing for the bag.

  I wince upon seeing the ankle bend in a way that it's not supposed to and then break.

  "Oh, shit. That's not good," I say aloud. "Has to be heartbreaking for him. It's his first World Series."

  "I'm more concerned about his life," Carter says in my ear. "They are still out on the field trying to get him stabilized."

  "Stabilized? Why?"

  "It's an open compound fracture, and the bone is protruding through the skin. There's blood loss, and he's gone into shock, but that's not why I called. Palmer was in the same box with me. She's freaking out. Said she couldn't watch. She's out in the hallway. The medics surrounded him, but we're on the first baseline and could see very clearly what happened."

  "Will you drive her to the hospital, Carter? Please. I don't want her driving herself."

  "Of course, I will."

  I hear him say, "This is for you."

  Then Palmer says, "Hello?" into his phone.

  "It's gonna be okay, Palmer," I tell her, trying to convey a soothing quality to my voice and not the hyped up way I feel.

  "Cade?" She starts sobbing, like she's been holding it all in. "He's done playing, isn't he?"

  "I don't know, Rookie," I say, calling her the nickname I used when she was little. I haven't called her that in years and have no idea why it slipped out.

  "It all happened so quickly. He made a beautiful play, and the next thing you know he's on the ground writhing in pain. You could see his bone sticking out of his leg and there was blood. How does that happen?"

  "The batter's foot landed on Pike's leg down by his ankle as they were both going for the base. They'll probably have to do surgery, but he'll be fine. I want you to let Carter drive you to the hospital. Promise me."

  "I promise, Cade," she says before ending the call.

  I text my brother immediately.

  Me: I'm coming to the hospital. Her mom lives in Palm Springs, so she'll be alone. Tell me where they take him. And don't leave her until I get there.

  "It sounds pretty bad," Aiden says. "I was listening to a live feed. It's hard to hear what they're saying in the noisy bar, but they speculate a broken ankle. Which isn't really speculation since you can see the bone protruding in the video."

  "I don't know how you can keep watching that," Keatyn says. "And I'm tired. Aiden, would you mind heading home now?"

  Aiden grins at his new wife, his love apparent. "Not in the least, Mrs. Arrington."

  We say our goodbyes.

  I call my driver and have him pick me up.

  "I don't know where we're going, so just park for now," I tell him. Then I search the Internet for any news I can find. I watch the play repeatedly, but my mind is seeing a different accident.

  Pike is on fire. He throws two beautiful fastballs straight down the middle to me.

  Strike one.

  Strike two.

  I give him the signal for the third pitch. It's the bottom of the ninth. Bases loaded. One out. We are up by two in the final game of the College World Series. The guy hasn't swung at a pitch yet, so I call for another fastball. All we need is one strike, and then we're only one more out from a national championship.

  Pike winds up, throws another screaming fast pitch.

  The batter swings.

  Connects.

  Pop fly to centerfield.

  The ball is caught.

  We now have two outs.

  One more and the game is over.

  I tak
e position over home plate, watching the runner advance toward me as the throw from center comes in. It's low, so I crouch down to catch it, then turn to tag the runner, who immediately barrels into me, knocking me back into a somersault. I hear a pop, feel pain instantly radiating up my leg.

  I cover my head with my hands and roll on the ground.

  Pike is next to me, holding my shoulder, while the trainers determine that I wasn't hit in the head but injured my leg. I get helped off the field and into the dugout.

  Pike follows. "They called him safe. The winning run's on second. You're my catcher. What should I do?"

  "Just throw three more strikes, dude. Three more fastballs, that's all we need. It's our year."

  "It's our year," he says, walking back to the mound.

  "Let's get you to the clubhouse," the trainer says to me.

  "No, I need to stay here. Pike's going to throw three more strikes. We're going to win."

  "He's their best batter, Cade. It doesn't look good."

  "I've worked for this all year, and I'm going to be here when we win. Can't you just throw a boot on it or something?"

  "I thought you said it was broken?"

  "It is. I heard it pop. Doesn't matter right now, though. You're about to witness history in the making."

  He sits me down and carefully takes off my shoe. The team physician joins us in the dugout, feels my leg, says, "This might hurt a little," and then sets the break, gently puts it in a boot, and then clamps it shut. "Don't put any weight on it until we can get it X-rayed," he says as Pike winds up and throws.

  Strike one. The guy doesn't even take a swing.

  My replacement throws the ball back to him.

  He winds up again.

  The guy swings hard. Completely misses.

  Strike two.

  The girls in the stands are yelling and holding out their I Got Piked shirts--many of whom I've 'piked' myself. One of the benefits of being part of an unstoppable duo on the field.