Layne
AS SOON AS the door shuts behind him, I let out a sigh and close my eyes. Bryant Fucking Nash was in my bar. The Bryant Nash. Third baseman for the Smoke. In my bar.
I’ve been a baseball fan my whole life, a side effect of being a tomboy and being raised by a single dad who owns a sports bar. I could tell he was trying to be all incognito with his hat pulled low, but he wasn’t fooling me. I’d kept my distance from him, letting him have is anonymity. He really is even more gorgeous in person. I was pretty sure it was him when he put his right arm up on the bar, and I saw the tattoos that start at the top of his hand and cover every ounce of skin visible on that arm. His dark hair was peeking out from under his ball cap, his new beard not really hiding the chiseled jawline under it. But it was when those intense eyes met mine I knew exactly who he was. There is no mistaking those eyes. They’re almost black they’re so dark, and they show his emotions more than I think he realizes.
When he saw Jimbo come in for lunch, I watched his reaction; his eyes never left Jimbo. At first, he looked concerned, and I thought he might even say something to him, but then he saw me lean into Jimbo’s hand. I chanced a glance at him and saw a look of disgust cross his face before he turned his attention back to the TVs over the bar.
The idea of him scrutinizing me for feeding Jimbo pisses me off, and he’s lucky I didn’t call him out on his shit. Judgmental bastard.
Jimbo has been a part of this place for as long as I can remember too. He’s the local mute homeless guy. He’s as much a part of this place as I am. He doesn’t interact with anybody but me now that my dad is gone. He comes in couple times a month. If I have leftovers from the night before, I pack them with me to the bar in case he shows up. If I don’t have leftovers, I make him something in the back. He eats and leaves. Every single time he comes in, he touches his dirty finger to my nose in greeting. He’s done it since I was a little girl, and it’s the only communication other than head nods and shakes he gives me. He does not acknowledge anyone else.
Once when I was a kid, I followed him when he left. He walked for what seemed like ever before he went into a makeshift tent he’d put up in a narrow alley between two buildings. The alley wasn’t even wide enough to drive a car through, so I don’t know if it would even be considered an alley. I tried to get a closer look, but when he poked his head out from under the tarp and caught me, he shook his head no and pointed behind me, instructing me to leave. I’d run all the way back to the bar to tell my dad about Jimbo living outside in a tent. It was then my dad explained to me that he was homeless and didn’t have any other place to go.
So I learned some hard lessons about life at an early age. Not everyone is as fortunate as I am. I grew up with an amazing father and had him in my life for more than thirty years. He was the most loving and giving man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He cared about the people who came into this bar like they were his own flesh and blood, and he treated them as such. When he passed away last year, the outpouring of love for him made me see how special he was to everyone, not just to me.
I had friends who pitied me when I was younger because I grew up without a mother, but I never once felt like I was missing out on anything being raised by my dad. My mom died during childbirth, the knowledge of which has always pained me. My mother is gone because of me. I know that’s ridiculous to even think because my dad has always told me how much my mom loved me and how excited they were to have a baby. I know I’m not directly responsible for her death, but it still makes my heart hurt to explain to someone who doesn’t know me. It was hard when it was only my mom gone, but now that my dad is gone too, it’s so much worse.
I finish wiping down the bar where Nash was and where Jimbo sat and ate, before starting my daily bar chores: washing bar towels, soaking and cleaning the drip trays, rotating the bottle stock, and making a list for the liquor distributor when he comes tomorrow. This is my short day thankfully, filling the spot between Tyler leaving because he has class today and Tasha showing up for her shift. Since it’s pretty early in the day, it’s usually slow enough that I can get a lot done.
I can't help but wonder what the hell Bryant Nash was doing in my bar. It’s nowhere near the stadium, and I can’t imagine he lives around here. I mean, I love my neighborhood, but it is by no means the kind of homes and apartments where a famous baseball player would live. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe he was trying to have a normal afternoon where people weren’t shoving cameras, notepads, and boobs in his face to sign. He looked lonely. I know the look because I wear it most days.
It’s been a little over a year since my dad died, and I can’t for the life of me figure out how to let him go. He was always the constant in my life, unlike my ex.
Even in the short time Garrett and I were together, it was more for convenience than it was for anything else—proven immediately upon my finding out I was pregnant. We’d only been together about six months, so I figured he wouldn’t be happy about it. He’d acted completely indifferent at first. Maybe it was the shock. After a few days, he’d asked what I wanted to do about it. When I told him I was keeping the baby, he took a deep breath and told me he’d help with whatever I and the baby needed. He then promptly ended our relationship. If you want to call it that. It was then I learned a very valuable lesson. You don’t truly know another person the way you think you do.
I’m over the bitterness of Garrett letting our relationship go, probably because he’s wonderful to Gracie and I couldn’t have asked for a better father for her. Although he’d immediately called our relationship quits, he has been there for her, and me really, since the moment he found out I wanted to keep her. We share custody of her, and although sometimes it stings that he has moved on with his life and I haven’t, I can’t complain since he always puts Gracie first.
Thinking about Garrett’s upcoming wedding makes me feel uneasy. I’m not jealous, but I’m not exactly unaffected by it either. His fiancée, Chrissy, seems nice and Gracie likes her, but there is something unsettling about letting another woman act as her mother when she’s not with me.
Over the last few years, Garrett and I have come to an understanding and have actually been able to set aside our past and be civil, even friendly, to each other for Gracie’s sake. We weren’t meant to be together, we both knew it the moment a tough decision was put in front of us. But I’ll never regret a minute of our time together and neither would he because we wouldn’t have Gracie and she is our world.
Thinking about my baby girl brings a smile to my face. Her personality is so much like mine it scares me a bit. Total tomboy, loves her sports but will wear a dress while doing it all. She recently informed me she wants to play football, but she’s going to design her own uniform, and it’s going to be pink and have a tutu skirt. I tried so hard not to laugh because I always want her to believe in herself and to strive for what she wants. So, I told her I’d help her design it.
Turning my attention back to the bar, the door flies open and in comes Garrett, followed quickly by Chrissy. He looks pissed and determined to get to me.
“Did you tell Gracie she could play football?” he barks out before he even gets to the bar.
“First of all, you need to lower your voice,” I tell him firmly. “I did tell her she could play football if she wants too. Why is it a problem?”
“She’s a little girl, Layne!” he shouts.
My face must be turning red because Chrissy’s eyes fill with worry before she turns her attention from me to Garrett, grabbing his arm to shush him.
“Don’t yell at me again or I’m kicking your ass out of here. I’m not even kidding,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “I’m fully aware she’s a little girl. She also changes her mind about what sport she wants to play, what vegetables she likes, and what she wants to be when she grows up on a weekly basis. She can’t even sign up for football for another year because the cutoff for registration was last week. In the next year, she’ll change her mind four hundred more times.”
I watch as his face softens, and Chrissy’s hand starts to rub the arm she had a grip on.
I know this next part is going to piss him off, but it needs to be said. “But make no mistake about it, if Gracie wants to play football when the time comes, I will not deter her from it.”
His anger returns. “My daughter is not playing football,” he bites out.
“She’s my daughter too in case you forgot, and I will not raise our daughter to think she is limited in any aspect just because she has a vagina,” I shout at him.
Several of my regulars move to the other side of the bar, giving us what little privacy they can without leaving completely.
“Don’t give me this women’s-lib bullshit, Layne. She’ll get hurt!”
“And if she was a boy, the same risk would be there,” I reply, shaking my head. “We won’t be agreeing on this subject, so it’s best we both walk away before we say something we’ll regret.”
“I will never regret saying something that will keep my child from getting hurt. You’re crazy if you think I’ll allow her to play football.”
“I guess we’ll revisit this discussion if the day comes that she wants to,” I state calmly. “Now, I have to get back to work. Always lovely to see you, Chrissy. Garrett.”
I turn back to the coolers to start getting things finished up for the next shift, ignoring Garrett’s glare on my back.
He will not win this argument with me. Ever.
I turn the sound of SportCenter up so it drowns out the anger bouncing around in my head. The moment the sports caster says his name, my head swivels quickly to the TV, and there, in all his gorgeous glory, is the man that was seated at my bar only a couple of hours ago.
Bryant Nash.
“Sources behind the scenes tell us Nash’s shoulder is holding up fine and he’s strong as an ox. If the last few games have shown us anything, it’s, despite being on the upper end of thirty, Nash is a force to be reckoned with. His eyes are set on the World Series. He’s made that much obvious.”
I wonder if that’s why he was slumming it on this side of town. Trying to get away from the vultures.
“I’m here. Sorry I’m late. Damn accident down the street has the whole block screwed up,” my newest bartender shouts as she flies through the swinging doors and into the bar area.
“Thanks for showin’ up, T,” I rib her, giving her a wink to let her know I’m kidding. Tasha seems like a good girl, and she works her ass off when she’s behind the bar. My regulars have already expressed how much they like her, or as the old guys say, “She’s a keeper.”
My departure usually takes at least ten minutes because all my regulars need to say goodbye and ask me questions they didn’t manage to ask in the couple of hours I’ve been here. I swear they all feel like they need to step in for my dad now that he’s gone so I get the personal questions like “you dating anyone these days?” If I didn’t love these guys so much, I’d tell them all to mind their own damn business. I know they are concerned with how I’m adapting to him being gone. I appreciate them more than I’ll ever be able to tell them.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I see exactly what Tasha was talking about. There are cars being rerouted all over the place to avoid the accident a block over. Good thing Gracie’s school is only a few blocks away or I’d be late to pick her up.
By the time I pull up in front of the school, the line is atrocious. Parking a block down, I’m stepping out of the car when I hear a horn honk. I look up in time to see the one woman on the planet I don’t want to see today stop beside me and roll her window down.
“Hello, Ms. Scott. Have a moment to chat?” she asks in her high-pitched, nasally tone.
“Sure, but I need to grab Gracie first since I’m running behind. If you want to pull over by my car, I’ll be back in a minute,” I tell her, walking away without waiting for a response. If she wants to talk to me, she can wait.
As soon as Gracie sees me, she heads my way. She looks upset, and it has me on edge since Ms. High and Mighty wants to discuss something with me.
Ms. Worthington is the epitome of uptown know-it-all bitch, and she drives me crazy. The problem is, she is Garrett’s business partner’s ex-wife, and she’s always felt like she should have a say in things involving Gracie, which is odd since she doesn’t even have custody of her own child. She gave him full custody, with her only having visitation, in exchange for a fat monthly alimony payment. Gold digger much?
I almost groan out loud when I see she did, in fact, pull over to wait to talk to me. “What’s going on, Gracie? You okay, baby girl?”
“Abagail was mean to me yesterday, so I wouldn’t play with her today. When Ms. W came to volunteer in class and saw us not talking to each other, she told me to stop being a spoiled brat,” she says under her breath as we make it to the car.
My blood begins to boil immediately. I take a deep breath and try to remind myself neither Gracie nor Abagail need to hear me freak out on her. Stay calm. Breathe.
Stepping up to Ms. Worthington’s open car window, I make eye contact with her before speaking. “What can I do for you?” I ask with as little anger as I can manage right now.
“Well, I wanted to make you aware Gracie refused to play with Abbie today and told the other children not to play with her either. That kind of bullying won’t be tolerated, and the teacher and I felt since we know each other, I should address it with you first.”
I swing my eyes to Gracie, whose face is bright red and tears are rolling down her cheeks. Her teeth are crushed together and her jaw is clenched. When her eyes meet mine, she shakes her head adamantly, and I know she’s telling the truth. That is not who Gracie is, but it is definitely who Abbie is. We’ve had problems with her being bossy or mean to Gracie in the past, and Gracie won’t put up with it. She’s strong enough to stand up for herself, and I won’t ever punish her for it. Ever.
“That’s not true,” Gracie barks out. “She was making fun of my hair yesterday, and I decided I wasn’t going to play with her anymore. It’s not my fault our friends know she’s a bully and didn’t want to play with her either.”
I put my hand on her back and usher her to the car, telling her I’ll be there in a minute.
“Look, this isn’t the first time Abbie has been mean to Gracie, and I’m not going to punish her for standing up for herself. If you’re so sure Gracie was the bully, why don’t you ask all the other kids why they refused to play with Abbie today?” I seethe, turning around to walk away, but stop before I get even a full step away.
Turning back to her, I lean in the window and speak as low as I can so Abbie doesn’t hear me. “And if you ever call my daughter a spoiled brat again because she’s refusing to play with your devil child, I will break my foot off in your ass.” She jerks her head back in shock and glares at me.
“Well, I see I’m getting nowhere with you. I guess I’ll take this up with Garrett. At least I know she’s getting good parenting on one side of this dysfunctional family,” she bites out and starts to roll up the window, but I place my hand on it, and it stops.
“You do that. Garrett has my number if he wants to discuss our daughter,” I say, smiling brightly at her.
I turn and walk away, hearing her peel away from the curb quickly. As soon as I’m in the driver seat, I turn around and find Gracie’s face covered in tears and snot.
“I swear, Mama, I didn’t tell those kids not to play with her. I’m tired of her being mean to me and thinking it’s funny,” she sobs. Reaching into the back seat, I grab her hand, rubbing my thumb back and forth across the top of it. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble with her mom.”
“Oh, baby, there is nothing to apologize for. I don’t doubt you one bit about what happened, and you will never get in trouble with me or your dad for standing up for yourself,” I tell her honestly. “Don’t cry, honey.”
She shakes her head, pulling her hand away from mine and buckling herself into her booster seat. For an eight-year-old, she’s so articulate and independent. I watch her wipe the tears from her face and tell her we’re not going anywhere until she gives me a smile, which she does.
As soon as we walk in the front door of the house, I head to my room to change clothes and text Garrett. The devil woman is probably already either over at his house or talking to him on the phone. I’m pretty sure she tried to sink her claws into him after her divorce from Tomas, but he was already seeing Chrissy.
Me: Warning: Tomas’s psycho ex is on the warpath because Abbie was being mean to Gracie yesterday at school and Gracie refused to play with her today. I told her I wasn’t going to punish Gracie for sticking up for herself. Then I threatened to kick her ass if she ever called Gracie a spoiled brat again. She thinks I’m mother of the year. Call me if you need backup.
I set my phone down and change into my comfy sweats. Garrett doesn’t like the snotty bitch either. He knows she’s about as fake as they come and is usually pretty good at defusing a situation with her. I hope our little blowup about the football thing doesn’t put him on the wrong side of this argument because he’s mad at me.
Just then my phone chimes with a response from Garrett.
Garrett: She’s pulling into the driveway. Thanks for the heads-up. I’ve got your back.
And this is why we co-parent together so well. We may not always agree on everything, but we always have each other’s back and always do what we feel is best for Gracie, despite our disagreements.
After I’ve made dinner, we both do our nightly routine of showering and getting our stuff ready for tomorrow. Gracie is as anal about organization as I am. I can’t relax when there are things to be done. This is why, at six in the evening, my daughter and I are laying out our clothes for tomorrow, packing tomorrow’s lunches, and going over the day’s schedule.
Once we’re finished prepping, we snuggle up on the couch to watch Cupcake Wars. We’re addicted to this show and watch it religiously. Odie, Gracie’s tabby cat, hops up to snuggle with her. Yes, she named her cat, who looks like Garfield, after the dog she loves in the show. I told her she could name her whatever she wants. In her defense, she was only five when I brought her home and Gracie named the female kitty a boy’s name, after a dog. I mean, it’s her cat. Another reason Garrett and I never would’ve worked together. He’s always been overly concerned about outward appearances and what other people think. I couldn’t care less what people think of me. That’s their problem, not mine. Garrett kept trying to get her to name the cat a girl name. The more he pressed, the more she wanted to name her Odie. Another trait she got from me. Stubbornness.
We chat about school, but avoid talking about Abbie. I let her fight her own battles when it comes to her friends. If Abbie is mean to her, I’m not going to make her play with her because their dads work together. Not happening. Before long, she’s fast asleep on the couch, Odie curled up beside her. I put a blanket over them and tiptoe out of the room. At least once a week she falls asleep on the couch with me, and if I wake her, she won’t be able to go back to sleep, so I let her sleep on the couch. She’s asleep, so does it matter where? She went through a phase when she was a toddler that she would not sleep in her bed. Refused. So each night, I’d let her pick where she wanted to sleep, and I’d make her a little bed with blankets and pillows, and she’d sleep there. The floor in my walk-in closet, the floor in the living room, the bathtub. I didn’t care as long as she was sleeping. It was a nightly thing for about a year, and then one day, she just decided she was ready for her big girl bed.
As I get in bed, my mind returns to Bryant being at the bar. Will he come back? Should I pretend I don’t know who he is so he doesn’t leave? I know he’s there for the anonymity, so if I start talking to him about baseball, would he stop coming? I’m totally overanalyzing this. I’ll probably never see him again. Dammit.