Page 10

CHAPTER TEN

JULIET

I’m free.

No more visits from Earl, or Joe, or Derek.

No more looking over my shoulder to make sure no one is following me.

No more living paycheck to paycheck, hoping I have enough to feed myself.

No more praying I can afford my doctor visits, labs, and meds.

I should be relieved. Ecstatic. Jumping for joy and planning the next fifty years of my life, debt free.

But I’m not.

I’m livid.

Because I’m not debt free. Not really. I just traded a seedy bookie for an overconfident golden retriever with an impulse problem.

Overhead, the elevator dings and the doors open, delivering me to the seventeenth floor. Unlike the last time I visited the Row, there are no nervous butterflies taking flight. They’ve been replaced by lightning in my veins, ready to strike Ford McCoy where he stands.

After three pounds on his door, Ford answers. The first thing I notice is the soft cast wrapped around his injured wrist. Guilt floods me, but it’s fleeting because my brain short circuits when it realizes he’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips—gray, because any other color would be a sin. His damp hair clings to his forehead above tired eyes. Of course, he looks like a freaking model despite the fact it’s after midnight, and I’ve clearly woken him up.

“Put a shirt on,” I snap and slide past him into his apartment, careful not to touch any part of him.

The room is a mess. Shocker, I know. Somehow, it’s worse than when I was here earlier this week, yet at the same time it’s more…him.

Ford was always the messy brother. I remember Tyler complaining about it when we were younger. He’d always keep his space tidy, but Ford was always leaving a trail of clutter in his wake. And Tyler always took the fall for it with his dad, since Ford could do no wrong. He was the star of the baseball team. The captain of the surfing club. Everyone wanted to be his friend, and Tyler’s dad wished Ford was really his son.

But while it’s definitely a mess, I can see that everything has a home, just not where a normal person would place it.

“Juliet—” I turn to face him, and catch as his eyes drift down my body, lingering a moment too long on my cropped uniform shirt and skirt. “Did you come straight from work?”

“You’re as observant as ever.”

“Juliet.” This time my name comes out more of a growl than an actual word. “You shouldn’t be traveling across the city alone at this hour.”

“Etta,” I grit out of habit, though it doesn’t matter now. The name was to keep me safe, but now that he’s found me and I’m no longer being hunted down for money, he can call me whatever he wants.

Maybe.

Then again, maybe not.

I’m not sure I know who Julietta is anymore.

“Etta.” He sighs, but it’s filled less with frustration and more with annoyance.

Good. I hope he’s annoyed I woke him up. It will make ripping him a new one that much sweeter.

But first. “Will you please put on a shirt?”

“Why are you here?”

“Nope.” I shake my head, forcing back the angry tremble in my voice. “I get to ask the questions.”

His eyebrow lifts. “And they couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Not when it involves millions of dollars.”

“Oh, that.” His smile falls, like I’ve finally dented his boy-next-door-charm.

“Yeah. That.” I’m about to ask him why he did it, followed by how he did it, but Ford lifts a hand stopping me.

“Before you ask and no doubt tell me all the reasons I’m wrong for paying off Saul, I did it to keep you safe.” I open my mouth again, but he silences me with a pointed glare, followed by a sweeping declaration. “And I’d do it again, so don’t ask me to apologize.”

“I didn’t ask you to intervene.”

He stares down at me with a look that’s half God you’re cute and half are you that dense? I’m not a fan of either half.

“No, you’d rather deal with Earl for the rest of your life,” he says with a disapproving sigh. “Because that’s how long it would have taken you to pay off that kind of money.”

“But it was my debt to pay.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” His smile is almost cruel. “It was Tyler’s debt.”

“But you still paid it.” I cross my arms over my chest. He probably thinks it’s to prove my point, but really it’s so I can keep a pulse on my racing heart.

“Of course I did.”

“Why?”

“We’ve already been over the why.”

And that’s when I lose it. Completely come undone. Arms uncrossed, I tip my head back and step into Ford’s space. “Keeping me safe isn’t good enough. You waltz in here after years and pretend like you care. Where were you when Tyler’s dad was beating the shit out of him? Where were you when we were barely scraping by in the minors? Where were you all the times his dad showed up drunk and reminded him he was nothing compared to you?”

“Juliet, I?—”

“Don’t Juliet me.” I press my finger into his chest between each of my statements. “You left. You went on to one of the top schools and forgot all about him. You went straight to the majors and didn’t look back. You think we didn’t see the headlines? Ford McCoy, youngest player to start with the Monarchs. Ford McCoy, wins the Golden Glove Award. Ford McCoy, seen with X, Y and Z celebrity on his arm at Fancy Pants McGee film festival. Those were the nights I knew—” I look away, not ready to admit to him what happened on the nights Ford’s name was uttered in our house.

Ford might not love Tyler like I do—did—but what does it say about me if I ruin his image of his brother now that he’s dead?

My shoulders shake with a sob. I just want this to be over.

Without a second thought, Ford’s arms wrap around me, and he lets me cry into his chest.

No. Not cry. Sob.

His uninjured hand soothes across my shoulder blades, and I swear there’s a moment his lips brush my hair between encouraging words.

It’s too much.

My anger ebbs and flows. Rage dips into heartache, only for fury to swing back and harden my thoughts. It’s exhausting. But one thing is certain. This was not the plan. I came here with the purpose, and this most definitely isn’t it.

It takes a few tries, but I’m able to force air into my lungs. When I do, Ford pulls back and tucks a finger under my chin. He lifts gently, silently requesting me to meet his gaze. “I’m trying to understand what happened, but I feel like I’m playing with holes in the lineup. I need you to tell me what you knew on those nights, Juliet.”

That I’d be the object of his wrath.

I shake the memories from my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He chews the inside of his cheek while searching my face for answers. “Why are you protecting him after he left you to deal with all of this?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I made a promise,” he admits softly.

“You and your promises,” I say with a halfhearted chuckle. “Who could possibly mean so much to you that you’d pay over a million to settle a debt?”

“My mother.”

My mouth goes dry. Of course. “And what could the great Tawny have made you promise that would make you finally show up for someone other than yourself?”

“Don’t.” He steps back and hits me with a dagger sharp glare. “You can hate me. Punish me in every imaginable way. But don’t patronize my mother.”

“What did you promise her?”

He runs a hand through the long brown tangles of his hair and swallows hard. “Two years ago, she was diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer. There wasn’t anything the doctors could do. Within a month, she withered away before my eyes. But she never lost her spark. Not until the end. Three days before she died, during one of her last truly lucid moments, she let me know she called Tyler’s dad and forgave him for everything. She knew she couldn’t ask me to do the same. I still hate the bastard for what he did to our family, but she made me promise to fix things with Tyler.”

“The fight,” I whisper.

It wasn’t two years ago. Maybe a year and a half. Tyler came home from that game absolutely livid. He broke every glass we had after drinking God knows how much whiskey. I hid in our room, praying he’d pass out before making it to the bedroom.

He didn’t. And I had bruises for weeks on my hips and thighs.

Ford nods. “That was my first attempt to try and talk to him.”

“I’m sorry you lost her.” It’s all I can say. As much as I want to call bullshit and tell him it’s a terrible reason to pay over a million dollars, it’s exactly the kind of thing Ford would do for his mother.

“Me too.” His voice waivers past his quivering lips as he drops his gaze to the floor. “She was better than all of us.”

I wish that were true. Yes, Tawny was an amazing woman, but I know all too well she perpetuated Marcus’ perfect image of Ford. She couldn’t help it. Ford was her son and while she loved Tyler, he wasn’t her blood.

“I can appreciate your need to fulfill your mom’s dying wish, but Ford.” I pause and wait for him to look up at me. When he does, I silently plead for him to understand. “I can’t let you do this.”

He chuckles. “Fortunately, it’s not your choice.”

“But—”

“Maybe someday you’ll tell me the whole story of how you got here. But for now, I want you to start over. You aren’t tied to this city or Tyler anymore. You can live those dreams I know you once had. Go back to California. Open a restaurant. Hell, go see the pyramids. You can do it all.”

I can.

The quietest part of my heart flutters at all the possibilities.

I wouldn’t even know where to start.

“How about with calling your parents?”

I look up, only just realizing I said that last thought out loud.

“No.”

His brows knit together. “Why not?”

“I—” He doesn’t know the lengths I went to sever that link. The things I said—I’m not sure I can take them back. I always dreamed maybe someday, but I didn’t think I’d actually live to see it.

Instead of admitting more of my faults, I tamp down my wounded pride and nod. “Thank you for what you did.”

Ford shrugs in that cool kid kind of way. “What’s being a big shot baseball player if I can’t help family?”

My jaw drops, but I quickly snap it up. “Is that what we are?”

“If you want to be.”

I don’t even entertain the thought.

“And what if I want to pay you back for what you did?”

He shakes his head and lets out a hushed laugh. “I’d tell you family doesn’t work like that.”

Mine does. I can’t count the number of times my dad sat me down and impressed upon me the importance of honoring our commitments. He didn’t take handouts and worked from the ground up for every penny he has.

It hits me that maybe that’s one of the many underlying reasons I never left Tyler. It’s absolutely the reason I can’t let Ford pay the absurd amount of money his brother owed Saul.

I glance around the apartment, my brain scrambling for a solution that satisfies his need to help and my desire to feel like I don’t owe him my life. My eyes land on the pile of dishes in the sink.

“What if I help you keep this apartment organized?”

“I didn’t want you to organize it the first time.” Ford scoffs. “I like my apartment the way it is. Everything has a place.”

Exactly as I suspected it did.

“Does it?” I cross the living room to the coffee table and pick up one of the many stacks of papers. “How long will this sit here before it finds a home?”

“Probably until the next game night.”

“And what if—” A pile of colorful crystals catches my eye from below the space from where I picked up the papers.

Amethyst.

Rose quartz.

Tiger’s Eye.

“You collect crystals?”

Heat fills his cheeks and forces a knee jerk, “No.”

“Then what are?—”

“They’re nothing.” He rounds the coffee table and takes the papers from my hand, setting them back where they were. “How would you suggest I keep that more organized?”

I scan the room, coming back to the coffee table. “Under the table there’s a shelf. We could get you a basket that has file folders on the interior. That way, it’s easier for you to pull them out when you need them. Or maybe a rolling cart that has all of your…What kind of game night is this for?”

“Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Isn’t that a game for nerds?” I immediately clap my hands over my mouth as if they can take away the judgement in my tone.

Seriously, who am I to judge? I take my clothes off and clean for a living.

The right side of Ford’s mouth quirks up in a devilish smirk. “How do you know I’m not a closet nerd?”

“Maybe now you are. But the Ford I remember had posters of surfers in his locker, and the most I ever saw him read was the labels on his protein bars.”

Every part of him falls—lips, eyes, and shoulders. “We aren’t the same people we were in high school.”

“No,” I agree softly. “I guess we’re not.” And given the revelations of the night, I can’t help but wonder what else is different about the man standing in front of me.

Silent minutes pass like hours before Ford finally cuts through the awkward tension. “I like the idea of a cart. I could easily roll it against the wall and keep it out of the way when I’m not planning sessions.”

“So, you’ll let me help then?”

He nods. “On the condition you let me pay you for your time.”

My hand finds my hip as I cock it to the side. “That sort of defeats the point of me doing something to pay you back.”

“A meal then. You organize and I’ll cook.”

“You can cook?”

“I didn’t say it would be a Michelin experience.” He looks down at my uniform and glances at the clock behind me. “Shit, it’s late.”

He sidesteps me and rounds the kitchen island. Opening the fridge, he looks over the door. “Are you hungry?”

“Thank you for offering, but I can’t eat?—”

“Wheat.” He finishes for me. “I know. Is it dairy, too, or just wheat?”

I gawk at Ford, slack-jawed. “How did you know?”

He straightens and shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I looked up Hashimoto’s.”

My jaw drops further, and I’m fairly certain it must be broken by way of shock. “You did?” I hate the awe in my voice, but no one, not even my husband, has taken the time to look up the symptoms of my disease. Not that there have been many people who would care since my diagnosis. I don’t think even Paige has spent a single moment researching beyond what I’ve told her.

But Ford did.

He nods sheepishly, palm rubbing the back of his neck. “I sort of went down a rabbit hole after you said it was what caused all the swelling in your joints. I wasn’t sure what it meant and once I did, I didn’t want to upset you by asking if you were getting the thyroid meds you need because…”

His voice trails off, but I know what he was about to say.

Because he didn’t know if I could afford them.

“I—” Words fail me.

Ford looked up the symptoms of my disease. He knows about the meds I have to take. He understands I can’t have gluten and have to limit my dairy.

Ever since I got this diagnosis, I have struggled with the fact my body is actively turning against me. Tyler always told me if I just ate healthier and started exercising more, I’d go back to normal. He made me feel small and would still demand I cook gluten heavy meals for him before games despite the fact we wouldn’t be able to share them together.

All I wanted was to share a meal with my husband.

But I was the problem.

I spin on my heel, giving Ford my back to hide the tears that fill my eyes.

“Juliet, are you okay?” His tone shifts, the concern stifling.

“Yup.” I lie.

Just over here pretending like you didn’t make me feel seen for the first time since getting diagnosed.

I swipe away my tears, but don’t turn back, afraid seeing the worry in his eyes will be my undoing. “I should probably get home.”

“Let me get a car for you.”

“I’m good,” I say, shaking my head and moving toward the door.

“Juliet, please.”

“Alright.” I concede. “I’ll just head down.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

God, even I don’t believe me.

The click of the fridge closing, followed by his sure steps in my direction, sends my pulse skyrocketing.

Five steps. I’m five steps from the door.

I just need to get out of here.

Which is why I say the one thing I know will stop him in his tracks. “I’m free Thursday morning. What time do you have to be at the field?”

He sucks in a breath. “You’re actually going to help me?”

Two steps. “I pay back my debts.”

“I—” He hesitates like he’s going to argue, but then continues, “I’m on the injured reserve for the next four weeks.”

One step. “I’ll be here at seven.”

“Here, take this.”

I keep my face down as I turn, finding Ford’s hand with a bag of what looks like takeout leftovers.

“It’s from a place up the street. All gluten-free. I…uh…I wanted to know if their gluten-free option was any good.”

God, he makes it so hard to hate him.

“Thanks,” I mutter, taking the bag without question so I can get the heck out of there.

“Breakfast Thursday then,” he confirms, a lilt to his voice like he’s afraid I’ll change my mind.

I nod and scurry out the door before he can say anything else.

It’s only when I’m in the car that I allow myself to fall apart to the terrifying thought that maybe I’ve been wrong about Ford all this time.