Page 57 of Heavy Hitter

“How did you fuck up?”

“Something could have happened to those kids. Something could have happened to Javi—”

“Javi was doing his job.”

“I told him I didn’t want more security!” Lacey wails. “He suggested more—everyone suggested more; everyone more than suggested it—and I told him I wanted to travel light.”

Jimmy shrugs. “It’s Javi’s job to put his foot down,” he argues. “It’s his job to make sure what you’re doing is safe.”

But Lacey shakes her head. “Nobody ever puts their foot down with me,” she reminds him. “And I knew that, and I took advantage of it.” She pulls back to look at him, her face red and blotchy and beautiful. “I like being who I am,” she says. “I love being who I am, but I just, after everything—I wanted to be somebody else for a minute, you know? And I thought maybe I could just... take a break really quick. Blend in, be like everybody else.” She shrugs. “But I couldn’t.”

“I get it,” Jimmy murmurs, twisting the end of her braid around two fingers. “I do.”

Lacey sighs, sitting back and clearing her throat a little, smoothing her good hand over the wet spots on his shirt. “I’m sorry I ruined your game,” she announces.

Right away, Jimmy shakes his head. “You didn’t ruin my game.”

“Everyone thinks I did,” Lacey counters. “You thought I did.”

“Yeah, well, I was being an asshole,” Jimmy declares with a shrug, “and fuck everybody else. I’m a grown-ass man and a professional fucking athlete. I can ruin my own games.” He pulls her closer again, leaning back so her head rests against his chest. “Anyway, it turned out fine. We’re going to the World Series.”

“I saw,” she says with a watery smile. “I pay attention to that stuff now. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy tells her, then feels himself hedge. “I mean, we’ll see how it goes.”

But Lacey shakes her head. “You’re going to win,” she says, and Jimmy nods.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and feels himself grin with the truth of it. “I’m going to win.” He’s done dicking around and half-assing. He’s done trying to protect himself by acting like he isn’t desperate for all the things he wants.

“I know you think I should say I’m sorry,” she tells him. “For being a distraction, or whatever. For showing up and thunder-stealing. For being as big as I am.”

Jimmy stares at her. “That’s not what I want you to say.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s not what I want you to say,” he says, a little offended. “Why would I ever want you to say that? It would be bullshit, first of all.”

“Well, yeah,” she agrees with a slightly phlegmy laugh. “It would be.”

Jimmy sighs, yanking at his beard in frustration. “Look,” he tells her finally. “I knew what I was getting into the second I left that club with you in New York City. Maybe not the details,” he says, anticipating her protest, “but the general outline. I knew who you were, Lacey. I knew what your situation was. And you asked me if I wanted to leave with you, and I said yes.” He shakes his head. “How much fucking space you take up is one of my favorite things about you. What I’m sorry about is that I didn’t have the balls to be as honest about who I am and what I wanted as you are. As you always have been.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

Jimmy nods. “I should have said I didn’t feel ready for that whole big night out in Cincinnati. And I should have been honest about not being sure it was a good idea for you to come to the game. And, like”—he holds a hand up—“I know I was the one who wanted to go out to breakfast that day, and I know I was the one who was like, What’s the big deal about being public—”

“You were,” Lacey agrees quietly. “And when I tried to tell you what it was actually going to be like—”

“I was an idiot,” Jimmy agrees with a shrug, “and I didn’t listen. I talked a big game, but I was ultimately full of shit and underprepared, and I took it out on you. I’m really sorry, Lacey. I really do apologize.”

Lacey is quiet for a moment once he’s finished, then sits upright. Jimmy thinks she’s about to climb out of his lap altogether but in the end she just shifts around to look at him, legs on either side of his thighs and the two of them face-to-face. “Wow,” she says. “Can I ask you something? Are you sure you failed at couples therapy?”

Jimmy snorts, tipping his head back against the cushions. “I emphatically failed at couples therapy, yes.”

“Well.” She shrugs. “Sounds like you learned something.”

“Not on purpose.”

“Osmosis, then,” Lacey decides, reaching up to worry a loose thread in the seam at his shoulder. “I’m sorry, too,” she says eventually, “for knowing the whole press situation was kind of eating you alive and not doing anything to stop it. And for accusing you of wanting to be with me to stay relevant.”

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