Page 43 of Double or Nothing

“He made a mistake, Kat.”

“A mistake? That was one hell of a mistake, making me choose between him and my dying mother, Mac.” Uttering those words, I fight back the emotion and the tears that threaten to fall. The selfishness behind them. The demanding tone when he said them. The lack of emotion he showed when I was completely devastated by his request.

“Don’t tear the whole place apart tomorrow.” Slamming the door behind me, I walk out.

Chapter 22

Sutton

After three hours of sitting here, the sheet of paper in front of me is blank. The whole reason I came to the field was to write and work on a song I had been struggling with for weeks. This field with its broken stands, overgrown grass, and missing bases was always where I went to write. The field was left to wither away, unkempt, and uncared for. Much like I was as a child. My mother gone, my father…

I shake my head, trying to rid it of the thoughts seeping in. That’s not why I came here. Neither are the thoughts of Kat I can’t seem to clear from my mind. I knew I missed her. I knew I wanted to see her again. What I didn’t know was how much it would affect me.

Seeing her again damn near brought me to my knees. She was more beautiful than I remembered, more vibrant. She was everything I missed, with pieces of things I never knew I wanted. The quiet, sweet girl I knew was all grown-up and much less quiet, and something tells me, much less sweet, but in a good way. A way I wish was only intended for me.

That was just the physicality of it. She wreaked havoc on my heart the moment I laid eyes on her. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel empty. I didn’t feel broken. I just… felt. Love and healing, need and want, completeness I haven’t felt since I walked away from her that night.

Why the fuck did I walk away?

A better question is, why the fuck did I come back?

Goddamn Mac and his stupid lies and bullshit.

Shoving off the ground, I brush the dust off my pants. Obviously, clearing my head isn’t going to happen. As I step off the field, my eyes catch the sign of the trailer park down the street. The very one that I grew up in. Staring at it for a moment, memories of growing up there, of my father, all come flooding back. I tell myself to turn around and go back to the rental car parked on the street, but my feet have me walking toward my former home.

I’m drawn to it, sucked in like a bad dream, which is exactly what I feel like I’m in as I stand in front of the trailer that I once called home. The man sitting on the steps still instills fear despite his weak and fragile appearance. The drugs and alcohol have taken over, made him even less of a man than I recall him being.

Still, the little boy buried inside, who was physically and emotionally abused, wants to cower and run. The man in me, the one who knows he can’t hurt me anymore, wants to hurt him back.

I want my revenge. I want him to feel the pain I felt.

As much as I want it, I won’t stoop to his level. I’ve spent the better part of my life trying not to be like him, to be his complete opposite. I won’t change that now. Not just because I’m finally strong enough to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is gruff and filled with anger. Not that I can ever recall a time it wasn’t.

I wish I fucking knew the answer to his question, but I don’t have a damn clue why my feet led me here or why I didn’t fight them harder.

“I was in the neighborhood,” I reply, standing before him with my hands shoved in my pockets.

“You and that stupid baseball field.” He shakes his head. The words falling from his lips leave me stunned. I can’t believe he remembers. Just like when I was a kid, I want to argue with him, tell him it’s not stupid. That I went there because it was the only place I recalled having happy memories. Because I just wanted to feel happiness.

Then I remember, there’s no use. The argument my response would elicit isn’t worth it. Regardless of how much I feel like a kid in his presence, I’m not anymore. I don’t have to explain anything to him.

“I heard you were in town. Didn’t figure I would see you, though.”

“Didn’t plan on visiting.”

“Then why are you?”

I shrug, the only response I can give him because I really don’t know why I’m here or what drew me to this place. Maybe it’s to show him how well my life turned out despite him. To show the asshole, I’m not a loser who wouldn’t amount to anything like he always told me. Instead, I stand here in front of him, strong and healthy, rich, and famous.

Showing him, I’m better than he could have ever hoped to be.

“It was a mistake,” I say, turning around to leave.

“Damn right you were.”

My fists clench at my sides as I whip back around to face him again. Years of anger and sadness erupt, and the things I never said as a kid spew out.

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