Chapter Fifteen
“Another year, another bottle of Prozac,” joked Heather, walking into Maisy’s classroom with a woeful expression on her face. “That was the shortest summer ever.”
For Maisy, it had been the longest summer ever. Especially since the gala over a month ago. She stepped off the chair where she had been hanging a poster of Lin Manuel Miranda as Hamilton. “Admit it. You’re as excited for the school year to begin as I am.”
“Only because I have to get away from my kids! My god, Drake put a slug in Jacy’s bed last night. I can’t wait to get away from the little trolls.”
“Those little trolls are wonderful.”
“Easy for you to say…” Heather spied a vase filled with zinnias. “I don’t get it. School doesn’t start until next week and already you have flowers?”
Maisy picked up another poster and moved the chair. “Those are from our esteemed principal.”
“What? I didn’t get any. How come she likes you better?”
Maisy hopped on the chair and pulled a piece of tape from the roll around her wrist. She centered the poster. “She’s just happy about the donation of school supplies and donuts from Charlie Zumaeta.”
“Oh…that.” Heather groaned, plopping into the chair behind Maisy’s desk.
“Are you still mad at me?
Heather had been very vocal about the fact that Maisy had not spilled any juicy details from that weekend. “I am your best friend. If you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?”
“I told you everything. There’s nothing more to say.” Maisy felt guilty for holding back. But what was she supposed to say? I had a fling that lasted six hours with a super-hot guy who was using me to advance his career. And I am not over it because I will never trust myself with a man again. And I really liked him.
“Hmmmm.” Heather’s hmmmms always lasted about ten seconds when she wasn’t buying it. “At least you could have brought that gorgeous dress home with you. How could you do that to me? Now, I have nothing to borrow for Lamar’s bowling party.”
Maisy finished hanging the poster and stepped off the chair. “The color was all wrong for you.”
Heather leafed through a new math textbook, pretending to study it. “Are you sure you’re all right with this whole visit from the Turbos when they deliver the check next week?”
“Why should it bother me?” Maisy asked, sitting on her desk.
Heather slammed the book shut. “Come on, Maisy. The Turbos are practically filming a commercial in our school. That has to bother you.”
“It’s just a few pictures of Zoom giving donuts and backpacks to the kids. They’re using it for social media and PR. No big deal.”
A week after her weekend in Indianapolis, she’d received a phone call from the Turbos director of marketing. Zoom wanted to present his ten-thousand-dollar check in person. Maisy found it ridiculous that a man who didn’t even know he was donating the money until the gala would suddenly make a big deal of his generosity. But Dr. Harding, the principal of Joy Elementary School, absolutely loved the idea. Eager to get this whole chapter over with, Maisy had said yes. For ten thousand dollars, she would handle seeing Zoom with his over-the-top personality. The only person in the organization she never wanted to set eyes on again was the general manager. And after the way she’d skewered him with the four-inch heels, he would stay far away for sure.
“So, this won’t be a problem for you?” Heather raised her hand. “Swear it to me on behalf of Queen B.”
“I swear on Queen Beyoncé that I am over the Turbos and over Kevin Halderman.” Maisy held up her hand and they did the single ladies’ flick off together.
Heather finished by pumping the air with her fist. “Thank God. I was worried he who must not be named was knocking on the door again.”
“Kevin? We can name him now, Heather. He only cares about two things. Baseball and Kevin. Seriously. Did you think I was still upset about him?”
“I didn’t think it, but I was worried.” Heather sighed and put her arm around Maisy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Maisy.”
“About Kevin?”
“No. About the other guy. Sam.”
Maisy pulled away. “What makes you think I’m upset about Sam?”
Heather pinched Maisy’s chin. “I’m your best friend. You don’t have to tell me. I know you.”
Maisy stubbornly pressed her lips together.
“I knew something was bothering you. It was a simple process of elimination.” She pointed to the textbook. “Like fourth-grade math. I factored one of two possibilities you weren’t talking about after that weekend and played it by you to see if the numbers added up. They didn’t. So, I went with the obvious.”
Maisy removed the roll of tape on her wrist. “It doesn’t always have to be about a guy, you know. For all you know, my car needs a new transmission or my horse threw a shoe.”
“Logic, girl. You would talk about both of those things. You talk about almost everything to me. The one subject you never want to talk about is your love life.”
Giving up, Maisy put her hands across her face and looked through her fingers. “Damn, you’re good.” Hopefully no one else had figured it out.
Heather pointed to her forehead. “That’s why I teach accelerated math.” She put her hands on her hips. “No pressure. I’m gonna give you time, but at some point, you have to confess. If you don’t, I’ll put my mama on you. She’ll find out what happened between you and this Ryan Gosling dude. And when she does, she’s gonna make him regret he ever hurt you.”
“I love you, Heather.” Maisy gave her a hug and blinked back the moisture that collected behind her eyes. She hadn’t cried yet and she wouldn’t now. Men weren’t worth it. “Maybe you should just put your little trolls on it. Jacy would pulverize the guy.”
When Heather left, Maisy slunk down in an undersized classroom chair and closed her eyes. The Turbos had won again last night. Four home runs and a shutout by the newest rookie pitcher had sealed the win. It had been more than a month since she had made her disastrous visit to the stadium. They were tied for first place in the AL Central Division.
If Heather’s logic made sense in other ways, she should be off the hook as the Turbos’ lucky charm. But thanks to the media and a few fervid fans, the credit for the turnaround was going to her. Maisy was feeling less and less like a lucky charm and more like a voodoo doll. Every time they won, she felt a stab of pain.
Less than a month. Then the season would be over — if they didn’t make the play-offs. Which unfortunately was a real possibility. This was the longest baseball season ever.
There’s still next year and the year after that, her evil twin warned her. What did it take to join the FBI’s Witness Protection Program? If she disappeared and changed her name, no one would bother her again.
Including Sam Hunter.
He had called once since that weekend. She’d been too mad to answer. He’d left no message. It infuriated her that he hadn’t said anything. At the very least, he could have apologized for misinterpreting her intentions that night. Or he could have asked her to call back.
Which she absolutely would not have done.
For the past few weeks, her mother had been looking at her with concern. Like Heather, Mom’s hypersensitive radar was detecting the fact that something was not right.
Maisy tried her best to gloss over everything. “Going to the game ended up being fine, Mom. And the gala was fun. You should have seen what they did with the centerpieces.” Maisy filled her mother in on all the details of the game and the dinner and said nothing about Sam. But they had talked about Kevin.
Last night, they’d sat on the porch swing and Maisy confessed to her mom that she had no idea what she’d seen in Kevin for all those years. “He’s only wrapped up in himself and he’s kind of dumb about everything that isn’t baseball. How could I have such bad taste in men?” What she’d wanted to add was that the blazing-hot affair she’d had with Sam showed an even bigger lapse in judgement.
Mom had finally admitted how she felt about Kevin. “He was rather self-absorbed.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“If you will remember, Margaret Mary, your father and I sat you down several times in high school and later when you moved to Indianapolis. We told you we were concerned that you were sacrificing too much for Kevin. You were both so young.”
“Youth wasn’t the culprit. Judgement was,” Maisy had said. “I can’t believe how weak I was.” And still am.
Mom had put her hand in Maisy’s and played with her fingers like she used to do when Maisy was a little girl. It was one of the ways she soothed Maisy when she was upset. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, honey. It’s not weak to fall in love. It’s weak to be too scared to love in the first place. And you, my daughter, are strong. You’ll be ready to love someday, whether you know it or not.”
That night, Maisy woke up to flickers of heat lightning and the rumbling of a late-summer storm gathering in the distance. As the wind picked up and the raindrops started to fall, she thought about how her attraction to Sam was like a momentary charge in the air. A few positive and negative ions that fed a fast-moving storm. It would be over soon.
She closed her window to the rain and wind that pelted the farmhouse and returned to bed, staring at the ceiling and counting the time between thunder and lightning, like she had when she was a kid. The distance between the two always determined if the storm was coming or going. She fell asleep before she figured it out.
***
Sam reviewed the monthly promotions budget for the fifth time. He couldn’t concentrate. It didn’t help that every five minutes someone popped through his office door to express their enthusiasm for the winning streak that was making the team the talk of Major League Baseball.
The Turbos had won five of their last seven games. Starting pitchers were throwing deep in their games and Kevin was doing so well he was in the running for the Cy Young Award. The heart of the lineup was batting a combined 3.45. Everyone was thrilled.
Sam was more measured. If the Turbos stayed even for the rest of the season, they could make it to the play-offs. But even if they didn’t, it had been a successful season. It could all end now and most people would be satisfied. Except him.
It didn’t make sense on paper. The team should have been blown out of the water in the Minnesota Twins series. They’d won all three games. The Seattle Mariners were at the top of the Western Division and should have beaten them handily. But the Turbos had won two out of three.
This was the time of year he would normally start dumping his better, higher-paid players to other teams for their play-off bid. Instead Fuzzy and his coaches were starting to scout players who might be willing to jump to the Turbos for the rest of the season. He was working on details of possible television network coverage in the postseason. It was surreal.
Of course, everyone except Sam, and maybe Fuzzy, who was as incredulous as he was, thought the reason for the Turbos’ success was all because of one woman who had christened the ballpark again.
Maisy Gray.
Zoom was heading out to “bestow” his money for school supplies on her students next week. After confronting Sam over the donation he hadn’t agreed to, Zoom had decided to make it a spectacle. Sam tried to dissuade him from including Maisy, but Zoom was determined to capitalize on her popularity. He had several people in the administrative offices coordinating with Donut King’s marketing department to film the event. The Indianapolis press was included. The event would highlight the Turbos’ community outreach campaign and give Donut King a boost as well.
Maisy was going to hate every minute of it.
Fuzzy poked his head in. “Hey, you got a minute?”
Sam pushed away the paperwork. “Sure.”
Fuzzy adjusted his hat and took a seat across from him. He leveled Sam with the speculative blue gaze that reminded Sam of his high school English teacher. “You’ve barely been down to the locker room. Not since before the Yankees series.”
Sam shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
Fuzzy looked down his long nose at Sam and the cluttered desk. “No more than usual, I’d bet.”
“You’d be surprised,” Sam said. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? You’re lonely for my company?”
The older man paused. “Yes. And No.”
Sam sat back and crossed his arms in front of him. “Shoot.”
“I got a lot of weird stuff happening down there. It doesn’t sit easy with me.”
Sam tipped forward in his chair. A year ago, there had been an outfielder with an addiction to painkillers. The impact of his habit had rippled through the clubhouse, and the media had been unrelenting. “Do we have another drug problem? I can get our doctor—”
“No. no. That’s not the issue.” Fuzzy waved him off. “I’ll spare you the details and the headache. It’s a bunch of shit that isn’t something you need to hear about. I mean, if guys are into magic and good luck charms, who am I to judge?”
Sam ran a hand over his eyes. He was so tired of this superstitious crap. “I’m not sure I want to know then.”
“Good. But I’m feeling some friction and I need to know if there is something I should be dealing with.”
Sam was too tired to handle this today.
Fuzzy continued. “Kevin Halderman has been acting strange ever since that gala. The guy has always been vain and into himself. But he’s suddenly taking an interest in reading.”
“Reading? Isn’t that a good thing? We want our players to be semi-literate.” It came off more sarcastic than Sam meant it to.
Fuzzy regarded Sam through narrowed eyes. “That would be beneficial. The weird thing is, he’s reading children’s books. I caught him reading Winnie the Pooh the other day!”
Sam couldn’t stop the grin that came to his face. Picturing Kevin reading Winnie the Pooh in the locker room was priceless comedy. “I’ll bet the guys are having fun with that one.”
“You have no idea…” Fuzzy joined him in a laugh that ended in a rough cough from Fuzzy. Thanks to Lorraine, he’d quit smoking years ago. He still had a smoker’s cough. When he finished, he grew serious. “Like I said, Kevin’s been acting strange ever since the gala. Gossip in the clubhouse is that all is not well with that model girlfriend he parades around town.”
Sam had a moment of regret for Alexa. She seemed like a nice woman. Way more insecure than he would have thought a supermodel would be.
“I’ve spent my career keeping track of more than just statistics and numbers like your sidekick, Tristan, measures. The mental well-being and the mood swings that affect my players’ performance are far more important to me than all that.” Fuzzy shifted to the edge of his chair. “I’m going to be honest with you, Sam. I track you, too.”
Crap. Sam rubbed his forehead absently. He’d never been in therapy or seen a psychologist, but a tiny wave of anxiety rolled over him as if he was being psychoanalyzed just the same.
“Young man, I saw you watching Ms. Gray at the gala.”
Sam shrugged. “I was keeping an eye out for her.”
“Of course you were. Like a wolf guarding his mate. Two things struck me that night. The odd way you and Maisy Gray reacted to each other and the way you let Zoom throw her to Kevin. She didn’t look happy about it. And neither did you. But you let it happen just the same.”
“I didn’t allow any—”
Fuzzy put a hand in the air. “You are avoiding the locker room for a reason. Kevin is acting like a sick puppy. And nobody’s heard from Ms. Gray since that night.”
“You are assuming there is some sort of love triangle going on between Maisy, me, and Kevin based on that?”
“You and Miss Gray spent a lot of time together that weekend.”
Jesus. Did they have a monitor on him? Since when did anyone care what he did in his personal life?
“I have sources who say you two were a thing. Those same sources say you’ve been out of sorts since she left.”
Sources? Shit. Of course that was where Fuzzy got his information. Half the office had heard the argument between Sam and Maisy the day after the gala. Joanie had barely talked to Sam for days after that. When he’d confronted her about her attitude, she’d pursed her lips and said she would do her job regardless of how he’d treated Maisy. He had asked why she assumed it was Sam who had been the bad guy. She had mumbled something about men and their pride.
“This damn organization needs to learn to cut out the gossip and get back to baseball.” Sam didn’t realize he was clutching the desk until Fuzzy smiled and nodded at his white knuckles.
He let go and sank back in his chair.
“My job is to manage the team,” Fuzzy explained. “Not you. But something odd is in the air and I don’t like the feel of it. Get down to the clubhouse and work out what you need to with Halderman. And then get yourself over to that little town at the top of the state and tell that girl you’re sorry. I don’t believe in luck. But I do believe in karma.”
Great. Now his manager was into philosophy. Sam couldn’t help asking the question, though. “What’s the difference?”
“Good luck is random. Good karma comes when you make it happen.” Fuzzy patted the armrest twice and said, “Glad we could have this conversation.”
Sam stopped him before he left his office. “When did you get so goddamn intuitive, Fuzzy?”
The old man’s eyes were sparkling. “Many years of wisdom, a wife with six senses, and four daughters.”
That explained it. Fuzzy was a pushover when it came to his girls. They were grown and had kids of their own. Earlier in the summer he had shown Sam pictures of his oldest grandson’s high school graduation. It must be nice to have a family like that. Sam couldn’t imagine how Fuzzy found time for them and still managed a baseball team, though.
***
Good luck versus karma. Sam actually looked them up, and damn if Fuzzy wasn’t right. Everybody in Indianapolis was running around talking about the amazing good-luck season the Turbos were having, and the fact that they were within arm’s reach of clinching the pennant. But it seemed like no one was doing anything to keep the good karma going except Sam. He was exhausted from it.
A week after Fuzzy visited his office, Sam traded his weak-hitting center fielder, Jed Freemont, and dumped a pinch hitter, Jorge Carras, from the roster. He brought up a promising hitter from Tampa Bay and signed a relief pitcher from the Orioles. He was a solid mid-game relief pitcher that they needed. One who would last multiple innings until they brought in the closer.
When the new team members arrived, Sam and Zoom were on hand for their first practice. The bullpen was a sea of activity. The media came out to film the new players. Zoom was yukking it up with a gaggle of reporters on the sideline, while Fuzzy was doing his best to avoid the press.
Several Turbos gathered near the dugout. Sam did a double take when he realized who stood in the middle of the crowd. Tristan. It was an unusual sight. Tristan wasn’t the kind of guy who hung out with the players. He was much more likely to be found at his computer running numbers or talking with Joanie.
Blake Alokar was showing off his latest gold necklace and Tristan and the others were admiring it. Romeo Lopez rolled up his sleeve to show off some sort of pink bracelet. Jewelry on ballplayers. Sam shook his head and wondered if the trend would ever end. He started toward them and Blake quickly tucked his necklace in his shirt.
“Hi, Sam,” Tristan said. Blake and the other players stepped toward the batting cage, leaving Sam and Tristan alone.
“I didn’t mean to break up the conversation.” It wasn’t his place to question personal relationships, but when it came to his front-office staff, he couldn’t help being curious. “I don’t see you out here during practice very often.”
Tristan’s answer was smooth. “Some of the guys and I have been working on strategies to improve their performance. I’m keeping track of them.”
Strange. Tristan had very little knowledge of the physical aspect of baseball. Any performance advice was for Fuzzy and the coaches to work on.
“Anything you can share?” Sam asked.
“Not yet.”
Sam spotted Kevin Halderman sitting in the dugout. Visions of him and Maisy on the dance floor still popped into his head at random times — like now. He turned back to the batting cage and patted his pocket absently.
“Here.” Tristan offered him a piece of his own brand of gum.
“Since when do you chew sugarless gum?”
“Gum relieves anxiety,” Tristan said, nodding toward the dugout, his meaning clear.
“I’m not nervous about anything.” He popped the gum in his mouth.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “You know, only two percent of the married population were once childhood sweethearts.”
Shit. First Fuzzy and now Tristan? Everyone suddenly wanted to talk about romance. Maybe they should open an advice booth in left field.
“Do you know the top two predictors of a relationship’s success?” Tristan asked, his gaze turned back to the batter’s cage.
“I don’t give a crap—”
“Trust is number one. Cheaters don’t last.”
Sam chewed his gum faster. Looked like ole Kevin was never going to win the long game with Maisy.
“You’re a fountain of wisdom, kid.”
Tristan gave a long, labored breath. “You hired me for statistics and data analysis. I figured I’d give you your money’s worth.”
“Thanks for the bargain. I had no idea you were such an expert on people,” Sam drawled.
“I may be a math nerd, but I’m not a robot.”
“We’ll have to go out for a beer sometime and share our feelings.”
Tristan sniffed. “In case you’re curious, the second factor in relationship success is how much people know about each other. Big things and little things, like favorite food and drinks. For example, I like wine, not beer.”
“I’ll make sure to remember that on your birthday.”
Sam checked the time. He had work to do. Time to get back to his office. This week’s sessions of Karma for Singles and Relationships 101 from Fuzzy and Tristan were over.
“Hey, Hunter,” Kevin said, walking up from the dugout, clutching a book. “Hey, Tristan.”
Sam sighed. He was bound to run into Kevin sooner or later. He tilted his head sideways to read the title in Kevin’s hands. “Tom Sawyer?” At least he’d moved on a few grades.
“Yeah. But I don’t get it.”
Tristan snickered and walked toward the batting cage, leaving him alone with Kevin.
“What don’t you get?”
Kevin held up the book. “The girl, Becky, rips her teacher’s book. And Tom Sawyer takes the blame.”
It had been a while since Sam had read Mark Twain. “What’s the problem?”
Kevin shook his head. “Why would he do that? He gets whipped by the teacher over her mistake.”
Sam stared at Kevin’s profile. Kevin had relied way too long on good looks and a better arm. Someday they would both disappear.
“Think about it, Halderman.” Doling out advice seemed to be the thing these days. He might as well do his part. “What does Tom Sawyer get out of sacrificing himself for Becky?”
Kevin gazed out at left field with an alarmingly vacant expression.
Forget it. It wasn’t worth explaining. “Let me ask you something, Halderman.”
“Huh,” Kevin said, still considering Tom and Becky.
“You and Maisy, what’s going on with you two?” There. He had finally asked the question that had been plaguing him for weeks. Even though Maisy had indicated it was all over with Kevin when she barged into Sam’s office after the gala, he was curious about Kevin’s perspective.
Kevin’s mouth turned down. “She doesn’t seem interested. Something about being a different person. Hell, I think she seems the same. She’s better, actually. Did you see how hot she was at the gala? That dress color made her look naked.”
Sam clenched his fist. “What about Alexa?”
“She’s all mad at me. She says I tried to dump her.”
“Well, you were dancing with Maisy. You talked to her all night.”
Kevin’s mouth dropped open as if he couldn’t believe Sam was so stupid. “She’s my good-luck charm, man. I had to be with Maisy. I’ll lose if I’m not. I was going downhill ever since she, I mean I— Alexa…”
“You mean you haven’t played as well since you dumped Maisy?”
“Well, yeah. It’s not the same. Alexa doesn’t cook for me, and she doesn’t like to come to my games and cheer me on.”
Kevin was looking like a twelve-year-old who missed his cookies and milk. The kid was seriously confused about the difference between a girlfriend and a mother.
Back to the point of this conversation. “You’re not with Maisy now. And you won the other night in Pittsburgh when she wasn’t even in the stadium.”
“That’s ‘cause…” He ran a finger inside his shirt and looked back at Tristan, who was talking to the shortstop. “Never mind.”
Sam lowered his voice so Tristan wouldn’t hear. “Just curious, Halderman. What is Maisy’s favorite drink?”
Kevin looked down at the book. “I don’t know. Some kind of healthy thing probably. A smoothie or tea.”
“I mean alcohol.”
“Beer? Why is it so important?” Kevin’s eyes lit up. “Is she coming back to the ballpark?”
“No,” Sam said firmly.
They were interrupted by Charlie Zumaeta’s booming voice. “Just the two people I want to see.”
Zoom walked across the infield, followed by Fuzzy, who rolled his eyes when he saw the book in Kevin’s hand.
“I’m delivering my check for school supplies to that school in your hometown next Friday, Halderman. Your agent said you could come with me. You can throw balls with the kids. We’ll make it a whole community-outreach thing. It’ll be great for the team.”
Kevin gazed doubtfully at the dirt. “I don’t know. I’m not great with kids.”
Zoom scratched his head. “What? It’s your hometown, son. Kids are like apple pie and the American flag. These are the kinds of events that baseball players are made for. Besides, you’ve done PR at the children’s hospital and autograph day with the team before.”
Kevin shifted his weight. “Yeah, but not on my own. I don’t always understand kids. Besides, I pitch against Chicago that Saturday. Every game is super important now.”
“Damn right!” Zoom stood straighter. Sam could swear there was something behind the way he was pressuring Halderman. It made his skin crawl.
When he’d told Zoom Maisy had left town, he hadn’t been happy. The fans hadn’t protested much because the team was still winning. But rumblings of needing her at the ballpark for the all-important games in the next few weeks had started. Sam was worried that Zoom was going to put more pressure on Maisy to come to another game.
Zoom measured Kevin from head to toe. “Son, who’s paying your salary?”
“My agent?” Kevin was taken aback. “Oh. You.”
Zoom nodded slowly. “That’s right. I’m the one running this show. If you can’t make it Friday, then get out there Thursday and take some pictures for our social media campaign. I want your mug on the front page of the sports section as you hug kids and show them your glove. You hear me?”
“That means I’ve gotta see my mother,” he mumbled under his breath. Sam didn’t blame him. After seeing Kevin’s mother at the Grays’, he was beginning to think he needed to include some counseling in Kevin’s benefits package, too. That and remedial reading.
Zoom wasn’t done. “Hunter, make sure Halderman gets out there.”
“Yes, sir.” His response was automatic. When had he become such a kiss-ass?
Fuzzy’s lips curled up. The love triangle he’d hinted at last week was rearing its ugly face. The old man was loving this.
“You’ve already been out there to that little town. Comeagain, is it?” Zoom asked. Before Sam could correct him, he added, “You’re getting a warped view dealing with numbers and contracts all day, Hunter. Time to think about our fans. It’s the least you can do for this team. No excuses.”
Zoom rejoined the throng of reporters and Sam felt a new level of resentment. Sam had been the one making deals happen since the season started. He barely had time to eat meals, much less schmooze with Zoom and his friends in the owner’s suite. He had busted his ass negotiating the trade that was supposed to get four players for Kevin Halderman. When that had fallen through and the news of Maisy Gray and her magic wand of luckiness entered the city, it had been Sam who had gone to the Grays’ farm to get Maisy back. Hell. He had broken his toe trying to get Maisy to come to the ballpark.
Then he had fallen for her.
Then he had given her up.
There wasn’t an hour of the day that went by when he didn’t think about Maisy. She was brave and funny and gorgeous and full of energy. And her favorite drink was tequila. Kevin had no clue at all. She loved helping people. Sam knew that much about her. If they were two normal people with no connections to baseball, their relationship would have stood a chance.
Zoom was wrong. Sam had sacrificed plenty for the Turbos. And he was beginning to wonder if any of it was worth it.
Tristan was back by his side, punching away at his phone.
“Any other little statistical gems, kid?” He meant to be sarcastic, but his tone was softer. Shit. Maybe he should see a real therapist.
“Successful couples are good at conflict resolution. They forgive, and they work out their differences instead of running away or giving up.”