“I hope she knows what to do with me.”
“She will.”
“I wanted her to be you.”
She smiled sadly at him, standing outside the front doors.
“I wish I was her,” she replied, straightening out his jacket.
“You still could be,” he whispered. She glanced up at him.
“I don't think I ever could,” she laughed, trying to lighten the mood. His arm snaked around the waist.
“Sometimes, I think you were meant to be,” he challenged. She put her hands against his chest, pushing away.
“Nick. I appreciate everything you've done for me. You were there for me in a way no one else was, after the hospital. I don't think I can ever repay that, but I can't be ..., I just can't,” she breathed.
She didn't want to break his heart. She never wanted to hurt anyone, that's why she was always so upfront and honest. The night they had slept together, she had bluntly told him she didn't plan on ever seeing him again. After the hospital, she had told him she wouldn't sleep with him again. She didn't know how else she could put it.
He stared at her for a while, then smiled. Kissed her on the cheek. Told her he would call her tomorrow, then went inside. She stared after him for a while, chewing on her bottom lip. She had needed closure with the whole Petrushka/Jameson incident. Now, she could get some closure with Nick.
Sanders was waiting at the condo when she got there. She was kind of surprised – she had forgotten that Jameson said he was going to send the other man. She smiled, sitting across from him in the living room. When they'd left, Jameson had everything packed up and prepped for shortage. She and Sanders sat on couches covered in sheets, surrounded by boxes.
“How are you?” he asked. The only light in the room was coming from the kitchen, backlighting him.
“I'm okay. And you?” she asked. He was looking over her shoulder.
“Is this some kind of game?” he asked. She widened her eyes.
“No. Why would you ask me that?” she was surprised. He sounded angry. Well, angry for Sanders.
“Because you surprised me, this all came out of nowhere. I don't particularly like surprises. I don't like staying downtown,” he told her. She snorted.
“No one is making you stay here, Sandy. You're free to go home,” she pointed out. He finally glanced at her.
“I wouldn't feel comfortable with that, I worry about you,” he replied.
“I'm a big girl, sometimes capable of making halfway adult decisions. I'll be fine,” she assured him.
“Are you going to leave Jameson for Mr. Castille?” he asked bluntly.
Ah, Sanders. So scared of losing your happy home. So sweet.
“No,” she stated.
“Then, may I ask, what is all this about?” he pressed.
“Nick is only in town for the week. I wanted to spend time with him, he's my friend. And I wanted to take some time off, to think. Think about things you told me,” she said. Sanders frowned.
“Alcohol is not as much fun as everyone makes it out to be.”
Tate burst out laughing and got up, walked over to him.
“No, no it's not. But at least you didn't cry,” she snickered, pulling him up and into a hug.
“I don't want to see him get hurt,” Sanders said in a soft voice. She sighed.
“And what about me, Sandy? What if I get hurt again? I almost didn't survive the first time,” she pointed out.
“He won't do that again. He promised me. He promised you. I promise you,” Sanders promised.
“Okay, then. Just give me some time. I'm not going anywhere, I promise you,” she mimicked him. He pulled away from her.
“Sometimes, Tatum, I very much wonder how he puts up with you.”
She started laughing again. Sanders could be very, very funny, when he put his mind to it.
The next two days were relatively peaceful. Nick picked them up, and all three of them went out to lunch. Sanders always seemed uncomfortable around Nick, probably because he felt like his loyalties were being pushed to the limit, but Nick never seemed to care. Nick could probably dine with Hitler, and do it with a polite smile. He was just that nice of a guy, he always wanted everyone to feel comfortable around him.
They got all dressed up for the charity event that he had come to town for, and it was actually a lot of fun. Sanders refused to come along, and though she loved him dearly, Tate was a little glad. Sometimes, Sanders made her feel guilty about having a good time. Which was silly – she was allowed to have fun, with or without Jameson. The only thing she didn't like was the photographers. There were a lot of them about, snapping photos with large flashes. She chewed on her lips.
“I don't want my picture taken,” she told Nick for the hundredth time. He put a hand on the small of her back.
“So you've said. I'm trying, but it's probably going to happen. What's the big deal?” he asked.
“Pictures of people on the internet is what started my whole problem,” she grumbled, letting him lead her to their seats.
“They're just pictures, who cares. He'll get over it. It's not like I've got my tongue down your throat in any of them,” Nick laughed.
“Oh jesus.”
He was right, though. Photographers from every newspaper were there, so it was going to happen. Tate just made sure it happened with a lot of different people, and not just Nick. No use pissing off Jameson more than was necessary. She had photos taken with almost every ballplayer on the team, and one with her hugging the team manager.