Lost in Us (3 page)

S
tanding outside the grand ballpark, it hits me like a ton of bricks that I never visited Ryan at work. I don’t know why. I guess I didn’t need to. Living in the same city, I never found the urge to surprise him at work. Looking back now, I see that was a mistake on my part. I’ve heard so many romantic stories about spur-of-the-moment lunches or walks in the park. Maybe he was right in breaking up with me. I can’t remember if I actually made time for “us” outside of living together.

As soon as I step inside the concourse, my heart races and my palms start to sweat. I’m not a nervous person by nature, but knowing that I’m about to see Ryan for the first time in a year has me on edge. As many times as I’ve been in stadiums, I’ve never been on the concourse. I’ve never been to a major sporting event or another concert as a fan. In this moment, I feel as if I’ve missed out on an important American pastime. There are food vendors of every food imaginable lining both sides. Every few openings are spots where you can buy game gear. Ryan’s closet was full of gear and I often teased him that he had nothing fancy except for a tuxedo. My heels tap loudly against the concrete floor as I traverse down the hall looking for a sign that will tell me how to find his office. This is something I should’ve done with Ryan when he first started working here. I should’ve made the time to check out his office and meet his co-workers, but I didn’t. The more I think about my actions during the break-up, the more I’m convinced that I’m shallow and unworthy of his love. I know deep down that isn’t true, but walking these halls while I look for his office sure makes me feel that way.

“Can I help you?”

I turn to see an older man behind me. He’s dressed in a baseball uniform and it dawns on me that today might be a game day. I never stopped to check. Ryan may be too busy to talk to me. He may suggest I come back at a different time, knowing that my schedule is tight and that flexibility is not my best friend. The man stares at me. His eyes aren’t roaming around my body in a perverted sense, but he knows that I don’t belong here. I smile, hoping to ease his worries. I have no doubt the players get all kinds of stalkers and people trying to break into the locker room. I’m only trying to find their boss.

“I’m looking for Ryan Stone’s office.”

His gaze turns sharp and now I have no doubt he’s looking at me as if I’m some sort of psycho. I may have ignored Ryan’s career move, but I do know he’s the youngest general manager in baseball history and he’s single – a prize to any woman looking for that better fish in the sea. I should know. I caught him. Twice.

“Mr. Stone is a very busy man,” he says with a thick Boston accent. It’s always amazed me how different the dialects are from New York to Boston. We’re so close, only a few hundred miles separating us, yet we’re so different.

“I have no doubt, but I need to see him. Is there someone I can talk to that may be able to call him?”

“You don’t have his number?” he asks a very valid question. Yes, I have his number, but I’m hoping for the element of surprise. My ideal situation puts me in the general vicinity of his office where I can be announced and he can’t run from me. Cell phones can be ignored and calls sent to voicemail. I don’t want to give him that option.

I pull my phone out of my purse and wave it at him. I contemplate giving him my story, telling him who I am, but my status was never important to Ryan. He never once asked me to sing the National Anthem at one of the games or asked me to donate to a charity dinner. I gladly held his arm at many, but was always introduced as Hadley Carter, fiancée. I know that I can tell this man who I am and use a sentence like, “shall I have my publicist call Mr. Stone’s secretary”, but that doesn’t accomplish what I’m here to do.

I take a deep breath and prepare for this old man’s eyes to widen. Clearing my throat, I square my shoulders and grin. “I’m Mr. Stone’s ex-fiancée. I’m passing through town, and I thought I’d surprise him.”

His eyes do in fact widen, and it’s neither a good nor bad thing. He either realizes who I am from the tabloids or maybe from Ryan, but I doubt the latter. Ryan was never a gossip, especially about us. Dylan was though, and I’m sure she still is. However, most people know who I am. I’ve been around long enough to make some type of impact on one’s memory. Or it’s a bad sign. I said the words ‘ex-fiancée’ and this man knows nothing about me.

“May I see some ID?” he asks, shuffling his feet forward.

I appease him by pulling out my wallet and opening it for him. His eyes widen again and he steps back. “If you walk down this way, take a left and head up the escalator, you’ll find his office is about half way down the hall on the left-hand side. Someone should be able to buzz you in.”

“Thank you very much,” I say with as much gratitude as I can muster. Knowing that I’m close and about to see him, my heart is pounding through my chest.

“My granddaughter loves your music, Miss Carter.”

His words warm me and I reach into my bag and pull out a piece of paper. “What’s her name?”

“Sylvia,” he replies as I write out a note to her, telling her that she has a wonderful grandfather. I hand it him and his eyes glass over.

“Thank you so much.”

“Do you have a phone?”

He nods and pulls it out of his pocket. I reach for it and step close to him, putting my arm around him. We smile for the epic fan selfie and I can feel the excitement coming from him. If I had to guess, he’s around major league ball players every day, but he’s excited to be standing next to me.

“There ya go, now you can show Sylvia.”

“Thank you again,” he graciously says, staring at his phone.

“You’re welcome, and thank you for the directions.” Without waiting for his reply, I speedily walk in the direction he’s sent me. I hurry up the escalator and down the hall until I see his office. He’s done so well for himself, and I wish I could say I had a part in it. I didn’t. I could’ve had a part in his failure, but he was stronger than me. He always has been.

I try the door out of habit and am surprised to find it open. The heart pounding that I was experiencing downstairs is nothing like what’s going on now. A shortness of breath over takes me as I step in. It’s quiet and the carpeted floor muffles my shoes. There are three offices and one grand reception desk that’s currently empty. Two of the offices have closed doors and one is open. I take my chance and hope that this is Ryan’s office.

Walking to the last office on the left, I catch a glimpse of the ball field. Yes, of course this would be his office; he is, after all, the boss. I hear faint voices the closer I get and hope that I’m not interrupting him in a meeting. If I am, I resolve myself to sit in reception and wait for him to finish. Now that I’m here and he’s this close, I’m not leaving until I speak with him. He may not have much to say, but I do.

I step into his doorway and immediately feel like I’m being hit by a truck. His arms are wrapped around a woman, a brunette. She’s the complete opposite of me. She leans in, kissing him and he kisses her back. My hand clutches the doorjamb as my breathing intensifies. We’ve been broken up a year and he’s already moved on. I haven’t even thought about another person except for him, let alone entertain the idea of moving on. I can’t because I’m still in love with him. When I close my eyes at night, he’s all I see.

My options are limited. I can walk back to reception, take a seat and wait patiently, or I can stand tall and act like what I’m seeing doesn’t affect me, regardless of the pain that’s ricocheting through me right now.

I clear my throat and they break apart. Ryan’s eyes go wide, but his hands don’t move from her waist. She turns and looks at me, a soft smile spreading across her lips. Does she know about me? She leans forward and places a kiss on his cheek before removing herself from his arms. He’s frozen in place, his eyes locked on mine.

The woman passes me, smiling again as she walks out of the room. If I were she, I probably would’ve brushed my shoulder against hers, but she doesn’t and that makes her the better person. I’m seeing nothing but green right now. The jealousy and rage I’m feeling is circumventing my ability to talk and move.

Ryan rests against the back of his chair, his hand covering his mouth. Is he wiping away the kisses he just shared hoping that there’s no evidence or that I didn’t see them? I could yell and scream, show how hurt I am, but we aren’t together. I have no right, but damn it if my heart isn’t breaking all over again.

“What are you doing here, Hadley?”

I
n a million years, I never thought I’d find Hadley Carter standing in my doorway with the fakest smile I’ve ever seen pasted across her face. Yet, here she is, pretending to be as cordial as ever, when I know deep inside her the jealousy is raging. I have to give Jessica credit. She knew the moment that Hadley cleared her throat that we needed privacy, although I wouldn’t have faulted her for staying either. She has every right to. She and I are together and trying to build a relationship. I think some women would benefit from Jessica’s confidence in this situation. I would assume if guys were more honest with their feelings, their lives might be a bit less complicated. Lucky for me, Jessica knew about my relationship and break-up and was there to lend an ear. I’m the one who made the first move.

Hadley’s hands are clutched together, making me curious if it’s out of anger or nervousness. I’m wondering if there’s some new TV reality show filming awkward reunions standing behind her waiting to bust in the room and shove a microphone in my face. I wouldn’t put it past her to sign up for some show like that. She’s a junkie when it comes to reality TV, but I would like to think that she has more respect for me and our past than to do something like that.

I lean back in my chair and cover my mouth to… what? Stifle a groan? Hide the shock? Either reaction to Hadley standing in my doorway is possible. My back is rigid as the tension in my body starts to take over. It’s three hours before game time and the guys will be taking to the field for batting practice. I don’t need to be there, but I like to watch. I like knowing that everything’s being taken seriously. It’s hard to instill authority when you’re as young or younger than most of the team.

“What do you want, Hadley?” My words are terse, causing her to step back slightly. I don’t know how I feel with her here. Why is she here? Why didn’t she just call? I try to recall whether or not I know her schedule or when it was that I stopped caring. I can’t answer that. I look her up. I follow her. Hell, I’m probably a stalker in most peoples’ eyes. It’s a morbid curiosity that I have.

For the longest time, I didn’t know anything about her. I didn’t want to. Dylan helped by keeping me away from the tabloids, and we were always so busy that we never watched television. Once Hadley and I got back together, I knew not to read the tabloids even though they were good to her. Of course, we were front-page news for a bit, but that quickly died down. Neither of us were party-goers. We were boring to them, and that was just fine with us.