Page 8 of Sometimes You Fall

“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 pushingmeto date. I swear, people inlove 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 tohelp numb the pain.

It only does so much, but still better than being sober at the moment.

Tennessee Whiskeyby 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.

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