Page 47 of The Fake Out

“You should see the view from back home.”

She twisted, focusing on me, and the lights of the city created a glow that highlighted the long lashes that brushed her cheekbones as she blinked. “Where is home?”

“Currently Boston,” I joked.

Her lips pulled into a line and her eyes narrowed. Once again, she wasn’t impressed with me and my jokes.

“Can’t get you to crack a smile,” I teased.

“Are we joking or talking?” she countered.

That question hit me hard. Though joking was my go-to, I wanted this woman to really know me. I wanted to open up.

“I grew up in Pole Ojea.”

With a hum, she lowered her brows.

“It’s in Puerto Rico. A small coastal town. Not much there. But my dad loved it. He loved the water. We stayed there until I was fourteen.”

“Why did you leave?”

With a thick swallow, I jumped right into the hard part. “My dad died.”

She leaned forward, and suddenly, her warm palm was resting on my thigh. “I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “Wow, that’s a dumb thing to say. I know that.”

Was there really a right thing to say? Her mom had died when she was eight, so she knew that as well as I did.

“People always say that when you tell them one of your parents is dead.” She frowned out at the water. “They act like that simple apology—for something that couldn’t possibly be their fault—makes it better.” She shook her head and then focused on me. “Was he sick?”

I took a breath. Rehashing was a challenge for me. Normally, I didn’t like to harp on the past. I just worked to focus on the good that had come out of it. But more than anyone, I wanted Gi to understand me.

“He owned a fishing boat. That’s what he did for work. Sometimes he’d take me out on the shorter trips with him. It was fun.”

My brother had vague memories of my dad, and my sisters had almost none. So we didn’t talk about him a lot. It felt strange to be doing it now. I cracked my knuckles, and in response, Gi squeezed my thigh lightly.

“He went out for a long weekend. There was a storm. His boat went missing.”

A sharp intake of breath echoed around us, and I covered her hand with mine to comfort her. As if on instinct, she flipped hers palm up. Her hand was warm and soft. Even with the two rings on her finger biting into mine, that connection soothed me.

“Did they ever find him?” She whispered the question, her words hesitant, like she wasn’t sure it was appropriate. Still, she didn’t stop herself.

I winced as a memory surfaced. The call I got a few months after I started with the Diamond Hawks, the Revs farm team. As hard as the news was to take, it had been a blessing. It meant my mother could finally collect the insurance money our family desperately needed.

The first few months in Pole Ojea without Dad had been a nightmare. On top of losing him so suddenly, the insurance company wouldn’t pay out. At the time of my dad’s death, my parents had a small cushion, but not a lot, and it was nearly impossible for Mom to find a steady job to support us.

Gianna squeezed my hand lightly, reminding me I hadn’t answered her question.

“They didn’t find the boat for four years. And no boat meant no life insurance. In that time, my mom tried to support us, but she couldn’t find work in our small town.” I swallowed. “We moved to Jersey with my mom’s sister and her husband. Lived in the same apartment complex. My aunt and uncle helped while my mom worked long hours at a law firm. I spent a lot of time taking care of my younger brother and sisters.” While I spoke, I focused on the way my big hand swallowed hers up. The contrast of my slightly darker skin against hers. It kept me grounded. Kept my emotions in check. “Worked out, though, because the second the baseball coach saw me chase one of the team’s fly balls, I had a spot on the team.”

“Wow, that’s pretty convenient. My dad coached for a long time, and I don’t think he ever had talent fall into his lap like that.”

I chuckled. “I doubt it was that convenient. I was fast, and I loved the game, but I couldn’t hit for shit. He tossed me in center field. I had no issue racing every one of my teammates to every ball.” I shook my head. “I annoyed them all, and I constantly begged to be put in. Swore I was ready to play, even when I had no clue what I was doing.”

“You must have had some idea. Otherwise, I doubt you would have been recruited in high school.”

“Coach Nelson put in a lot of time, teaching and working with me. And I was fast and threw the ball like a rocket.” I joked the way Coach N had about the power in my throw. With a smirk, I took a swig of my wine before setting it down on the rocks. “But, honestly, without baseball, I wouldn’t have made it through high school.”

“I felt that way about art class,” she said, so quietly I almost missed it. “It was my mom’s and my thing, before she died. I painted more after she died because it was a way to feel close to her. And it turned into my peaceful place.”

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