It Was Me Page 15

  Tana had always been a tell-it-like-it-is kind of chick. She could be annoying as all hell sometimes, especially when I wanted alone time with my girlfriend and she was around, but her directness was actually one of the things I liked about her. I always knew where I stood with Tana. Always.

  I parked myself on the bar stool next to her. “Better?”

  She nodded. “Much.”

  “Okay. So talk.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Well, for starters, you could tell me what's going on with your best friend.”

  She nodded, her blond hair bouncing on her shoulders. “I could.”

  I waited expectantly.

  “But I won't.” She smiled in sympathy. “Not my place to tell you.”

  “What?”

  She chewed her lower lip. “It's not my place to say.”

  I sighed in frustration. “She won't talk to me. She won't tell me anything.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?” I grew a little more agitated. “Don't you think it's pretty fucking weird that she just broke up with me? That we'd been together for almost a year, that we'd just gone on vacation together and then she comes home and tells me we're done?”

  “Yeah. Very weird.”

  “I mean, she was ready to move to Tucson with me next month. Did she tell you that?”

  Tana nodded. “Yep.”

  “So, given all that, don't you think someone should tell me what's going on? What made her change her mind?”

  “Absolutely.” A buzzer sounded and she stood up. She crossed the kitchen and opened the oven door. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  She peered into the oven. “The brownies didn't bake.”

  I didn't smell a thing. “You were baking brownies?”

  “I thought I was.” She slammed the door shut and sighed. “Except I sorta forgot to turn the oven on.” She pulled the pan out and hit one of the buttons on the range. Another beep sounded and the oven clicked.

  She sat back down next to me. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

  “That someone should tell me what the hell is going on.”

  She nodded again. “Right. Yeah, absolutely.”

  “Okay.” I waited. “So?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I already told you. I can't say anything.”

  “Come on,” I said. “I saw her today. I was just at her house.”

  “You did?” She sounded surprised. “What did she say?”

  “She told me nothing was wrong.” Tana's expression clouded and I nodded in satisfaction. I knew I'd been right, knowing that Abby wasn't telling me the truth. “And she also told me she didn't love me.”

  Tana took a deep breath and said nothing.

  “I know she's lying,” I said. “About both things.”

  She stayed silent, suddenly fascinated by the cuticle on her thumb.

  “Fine,” I said. “I get it. She's your best friend. You're not gonna tell me things she doesn't want me to know.” She looked up at me and smiled and I knew I was right about that, too. “But just tell me one thing.”

  “I don't know if I can, but I'll try.”

  “Tell me I'm right. About her lying.” I hesitated. “About both things.”

  “I told her it wasn't a good idea,” she said, her voice soft. “The decision she made. I told her I thought she was wrong. I actually haven't talked to her since...since she broke up with you. I was too pissed. And now she won't call me back. And the stuff that's going on...she needs her space. She needs to decide what she wants to do. But I told her it was the wrong thing to do.”

  “You did?”

  She nodded. “Abby's my best friend. She always will be. But I'm on your side, West. I really am. And I might not be able to tell you what's going on but that doesn't mean I have to stop talking to you. It doesn't mean I can't tell you to not give up. Because I'm hoping she comes around.”

  I nodded, weirded out by the rush of tears I felt pooling in my eyes. I blinked a couple of times, hoping she wouldn't notice. Tana and I were definitely friends, but through Abby. She had always been our common denominator. And here she was, not spilling secrets from her best friend, but not turning me away, either.

  I thought about her words. She was telling me to stick around. To wait it out. She thought her best friend had made the wrong decision. That she just needed space. A new thought formed and I felt my gut turn cold.

  “She's not pregnant, is she?”

  Heat creeped into Tana's cheeks. It was something I hadn't considered. We were careful. She was on the pill. But Tana said she needed space. That she needed to decide what she wanted to do.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It's nothing like that. I promise.”

  Relief flooded me. The last thing I wanted was Abby trying to make decisions about something like that alone.

  “Okay.” I sat there for a minute longer, unsure of what to do or say. “So what do I do? She won't talk to me. She says we're done. What do I do?”

  The oven beeped, signaling it was warm and Tana stood up. She slid the pan into the oven and reset the timer.

  “I don't know, West. I don't know.”

  THIRTY THREE

  “What are you telling me, West?” Coach Child's voice was calm.

  I drummed my fingers on the kitchen table. “What I'm saying is that I need a couple more days.”

  “Look, I understand you're sort of in flux right now. Waiting on Ms. Sellers.”

  He'd called and left another voice mail, letting me know he'd spoken with my probation officer and that he'd gotten the all-clear he'd needed. I'd been up front with the scout from the U about my record and all they'd needed was confirmation from my probation officer that my record was clean. Now they needed the paperwork from me to start the scholarship process. And I hadn't mailed it in.

  I'd told him some bullshit story, that Abby was still working out the financial aspects of the transfer and that I wanted to be sure she could get it straightened out before signing off. I hated lying to him but I wasn't about to tell him the truth.

  “But here's the deal,” he said. “We need to move on this. The money is there for you—guaranteed. But the financial side has to be taken care of. We've got you scheduled to be out here in less than a month. We might be working our asses off here in the athletic department but I'm pretty sure snails are in charge over in finance and admissions. I don't want anything screwing up your eligibility. Not only to play and attend classes but to get the money we promised you.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.” My knee bounced liked a jack hammer. “Can I let you know by Friday?”

  It was Monday. Two days after I'd seen Abby on her doorstep and two days after my conversation with Tana. Two days where my phone had stayed silent and I'd racked my brain, trying to think of what might be going on with the girl I loved and how I could figure it all out. Two days of feeling frustrated and angry and lonely. Two days of trying to figure out just what the fuck I was going to do if Tana was all wrong about how Abby felt. If I was all wrong.

  “Friday?” he snorted. “Sorry, son. We're gonna need to know sooner than that.”

  I swallowed. “Okay. I'll see what I can do. I'll be in touch.”

  “Wednesday,” he said. “Preferably tomorrow. But if she doesn't know by then, you're going to need to make some tough decisions.” The phone went dead.

  I tossed my new cell phone on the table and it clattered against the wood.

  “Hey. Don't go breaking that one, too.” Griffin stepped out of his room. He wore board shorts and no shirt, tufts of blond hair sticking out from his head like little horns.

  He eased himself into the chair next to me. “Any news?”

  “Yeah. I've got two days.”

  “Two days?”

  “Two days to decide what the fuck I'm gonna do.”

  “About Abby? She give you a deadline or something?”

  “No, dipshit.
About school. Arizona.”

  He nodded. “Ah. That. What's there to decide, man?”

  “Whether or not I'm going to go.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You're going.”

  “I dunno.” I reached for the phone and spun it.

  “What don't you know?” Griffin rubbed at his hair, finding the horns and patting them down. “You got a full ride, dude. A chance to play ball. It's a no-brainer.”

  I hated hearing those words. They were the exact words Abby had spoken to me in the casita when I'd told her about my meeting with Coach Childs.

  But it hadn't been a no-brainer. Not then, when I worried about what would happen to us if she was in San Diego and I moved to Arizona. And it wasn't one now, when I didn't know what was going on with her or where I stood.

  “You gonna be around today?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No. Going in to work.” I glanced at the clock. “Shit. In an hour.” I hadn't showered in days.

  He didn't say anything so I asked, “Why?”

  “No big deal,” he said. “I have a couple guys coming by to check out the place. Roommate kind of thing.”

  My knee bounced a little faster. “Right. Okay.”

  “I'm not gonna cancel them,” Griffin said.

  “I'm not asking you to.”

  “Because you're going. To Arizona. Even if I have to drag your ass across the state line. You're going. I'm not gonna let you fuck this up.”

  I rolled my eyes but I didn't say anything. Regardless of how I was feeling, I knew he was right. I didn't want to go without Abby but, if I was being honest with myself, I knew this was the chance of a lifetime. It was the second chance I'd wanted after losing the scholarship to Stanford. That particular fiasco had been out of my control—I only had dear old fucking dad to thank for that. I felt the muscles in my jaw begin to twitch. I hadn't spoken to him in almost two years. Not after he'd emptied my savings account and not after he'd been accused and later convicted of embezzling even more money from the investment firm he worked for. And I'd never forgiven him.

  But if I walked away from this opportunity? If I called Coach Childs back and told him I wasn't coming?

  I'd only have myself to blame.

  THIRTY FOUR

  I'd missed work.

  “You feeling better?” Patrick asked. He was another one of the coaches at the academy. Late-twenties, probably, with thinning hair and the beginnings of a beer belly visible under his academy-issued polo.

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling a little bad about faking being sick the last few days.

  He nodded. “Good. The kids missed you.”

  I believed him. After spending a week on vacation and then missing another week by calling out sick, it had been ages since I'd seen them. They bombarded me with questions and tripped over themselves to show me how much they'd improved since I'd last been there.

  “Vacation was good?” he asked. We were in one of the indoor batting cages, collecting balls.

  “Yep. Hot but good.” I hadn't said a word about the open try-outs. And I hadn't said a word about the U.

  “And Abby?” He'd met her a couple of times, if we'd decided to carpool and she'd pick me up or drop me off at work. It hadn't happened often but there had been enough times where their paths had crossed enough to say hello and make small conversation.

  “She's fine.” It was another thing I hadn't said a word about.

  He picked up a full bucket and hauled it to the side of the cage. “Anything new with you guys?”

  I almost laughed. “Nope. Same old, same old.”

  He grinned. “Welcome to married life, man. Sarah and I are going on five years now. Nothing ever happens. Changes.”

  I'd never met his wife; she was some executive at the Union Tribune and worked ungodly hours. Patrick and I weren't close but he shared a little about his personal life. He was an assistant coach at a local high school, making peanuts during the school year. This was his second summer at the academy and he was hoping to go full-time, make his way into management. So far, it wasn't looking good, as there wasn't much turnover. I knew he wanted kids, wanted to start a family, but Sarah had him permanently on hold, it seemed.

  I started tossing more balls into the empty bucket he brought over. “She still busy with work?”

  “When is she not?” He shook his head. “Lives and breathes it, man.”

  I nodded. That was how my dad had been with work. Always gone. Never around. Of course, we hadn't known that his late nights at work were really nights spent at the casino in Lakeside.

  He moved to another batting cage and I followed.

  “You and Abby planning on getting married?” he asked. He was bent over, picking up balls. “Not right now. I know you guys are still young. But you thinking about it?”

  “No.” My tone was abrupt.

  “Good,” he said. “Not that she isn't a nice girl,” he said, quickly. “But you guys are young. Don't want to see you doing what I did. Settling.”

  I wouldn't have been settling with Abby. She was everything I wanted.

  He straightened, pulling his cargo shorts higher on his hips. “Alright, man. Think we got 'em all.”

  He picked up one bucket and I grabbed the other. We set them behind the netting and then grabbed the bats that were strewn around and racked those. I grabbed a few loose gloves that were left behind and tossed them in a box next to the ball buckets. We unplugged all of the ball machines and wheeled them to the corner. I checked to make sure the radar guns were off and followed Patrick down the hall toward the tiny room that housed the coaches lockers. I grabbed my keys from my mini-locker and shoved my wallet into the back pocket of my shorts. Patrick had done the same and he hit the lights before closing the staff room door.

  “So,” he said. “Wanna grab something to eat? Or you have plans with your woman?”

  “Nah, no plans,” I said. I wasn't terribly hungry but I felt bad for Patrick. I knew what would be waiting for him at home. An empty house. And it wasn't like I was heading home to anyone, either.

  He pushed the door open and the sunshine was blinding. I immediately covered my eyes with my hands, shielding them.

  “Huh,” Patrick said. He pointed toward the sidewalk. “Looks like maybe you do have plans.”

  I turned my head. To him, it looked like Abby standing there, waiting for me. Dark hair pulled into a pony tail, white cami and short black shorts, sunglasses hiding her eyes.

  He was right about one thing. The girl was definitely waiting for me.

  But it wasn't Abby.

  THIRTY FIVE

  “What the hell do you want?”

  Annika's red lips pouted. “Is that any way to greet me?”

  I could think of a dozen better ways, all of them including violence, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “What do you want?” I repeated.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. She looked so much like Abby and yet so different. The mannerisms were the same but hers were more pronounced, filled with haughtiness, oozing with attitude. “I want to talk.”

  “You didn't have much to say when I came by last week,” I reminded her.

  “I know,” she admitted.

  I stared at her for a minute, waiting. I couldn't see her eyes but I was pretty sure she was looking everywhere except at me. I sighed in disgust and turned away, back toward my truck. I didn't want to waste any more time on her.

  “Wait.”

  “Nope. Done waiting.”

  “I came to tell you what's wrong with Abby.”

  I stopped walking but I didn't turn around. No one had offered me that. Not Abby, not her dad, not even her best friend.

  “You want to know, don't you?” she asked.

  I pivoted so I was facing her. The breeze played with her ponytail, loose strands whipping across her cheeks.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you going to tell me?” I asked. “Why now?”

&n
bsp; She shrugged. “I don't know. Because I think you deserve to know.”

  “And why should I believe anything you tell me?” I took a step closer to her. “Why the fuck should I listen to you about anything?”

  I could see her stiffen but she didn't back away. “Because no one else is talking to you,” she said evenly.

  She had me there.

  She lifted her sunglasses and that look was there, the same look I'd seen in her eyes when I'd stopped by with the brownies. Worry. Fear.

  “Tell me.”

  She looked around. “Really? On some sidewalk in Clairemont?” She shook her head. “No. It's gonna take more time than that.”

  “Fine. Where?”

  “We could go to your apartment—”

  I cut her off. “No. Not now. Not ever.” The memory of her coming to my apartment nearly a year ago, pretending to be Abby, was still seared in my mind. I never wanted her there again.

  Her cheeks flushed a little and she shuffled her feet, clearly uneasy. “Okay. Fine. Zanzibar? We can grab a cup of coffee.”