Page 39 of Home Run Fiancé
“Asher. It’s been awhile, huh?” This is awkward and I don’t know how to make it better. He’s clearly still mad at me and I’m still mad at him.
“Not really. Just letting you get settled in Texas.”
“Come on, man.” I run a hand over my beard and try to get through to him. “Listen, I know we had some words over your sister, but I don’t want that to come between us. You’ve been my friend for a decade.”
Asher blows out a breath. “Have you talked to Rhys?”
A ping of guilt hits me, but I remind myself I have no reason to feel bad. She’s the one who should be calling to apologize. “No. Figured she got what she wanted, I got what I wanted, and we could just let the whole thing go.”
Asher laughs and it doesn’t sound happy. “Listen, you talk to Rhys and then you and I can talk, okay?”
I shake my head, but then realize he can’t see me. “Dude, that’s not really a good idea. I’m not exactly happy with her.”
“Did you know she was raking in close to ten thousand dollars a month before the public found out about her engagement to you?”
Asher’s comment comes out of left field, leaving me confused. “Um, well, I knew she was doing okay, but that sounds more than okay for a YouTube channel.”
“Yeah, not too bad at all.” His voice changes, hardening. “Hasn’t been able to upload another one since the news broke about her affiliation to you. Too many nasty comments from people finding her blog and deciding to dump their negativity on her channel. I know this’ll be hard to believe, but outside of LA, a lot of people don’t like you.”
The news is shocking. My gut churns and I think the apathy has been chased away by a boiling anger I can get behind. I may be mad at her, but she doesn’t deserve public backlash simply for being connected to me.
“What?”
“Call my sister. I’ll fly out to Texas tomorrow and help you get settled. No matter if I think you’re an idiot, I want to be there for the home opener on Friday.”
“Awesome. I’m glad you’ll be there.” That little bit of good news makes me overlook the idiot comment. I need to know more about what’s going on with Rhys though.
“Call my sister.” And then Asher hangs up on me and I’m back to total silence.
I’m not entirely sure if that went well or not. It’s a good sign he’s flying out tomorrow to stay with me. We’ll get through this rough patch in our friendship. I know we will.
It’s that positive turn of events that has me dialing Rhys’ number next. It rings and rings, then goes to her voicemail, which the machine voice tells me is full and not accepting more messages.
I dial one more time and she still doesn’t answer. My SUV flies down the highway, passing the ten millionth cactus on this trip and I decide I’ve done what I can for now. She’ll have to call me if she wants to talk.
* * *
Someone’s pounding on the door of the new condo I’m leasing just outside Dallas. I’d hoped to get more of a nap in after driving all night to get here. I guess two hours of sleep will have to do.
“Hold on…” I mumble as I make my way to the front door. I trip over a duffle bag I practically threw in the condo in the wee hours of the morning, when I was in a hurry to be home already. I rub my eyes and try to blink away the bleary vision of white walls and zero furniture. On short notice, my real estate agent had at least gotten a mattress delivered, for which I’d be eternally grateful.
I throw open the door and cringe at the bright afternoon sunshine.
“You look like crap.” Asher stands on my doorstep, a small suitcase in hand and a scowl on his face that rivals mine.
“Thanks, lovely to see you too.” I pull the door open wider and let him step through before slamming it shut and trying to get my vision back. I’m sure I look a little rough, but I’ve been driving all night. Funny how the press thinks I’m the bad guy while my agent is a choir boy. If they only knew the things he said to me…
“Wow, really nice place you got here.” Asher sets his suitcase down and swivels his head, taking in the small condo that looks like every other condo in the country.
“Who peed in your Cheerios this morning?”
Asher looks at me, the side of his mouth lifting despite his best efforts to frown. “I don’t eat gluten.”
I bark out a laugh. “Since when?”
Asher’s hands go to his hips. “Since some jerk of an athlete said I needed to fuel my Lamborghini appropriately.”
I roll my eyes and sit down on the tile floor, my back to the wall. “Oh, now you listen to me?”
