Page 61 of Run Home

She shakes her head in amusement and looks away, but she can’t hide the pinch of her cheek between her teeth. “Tell me,” I gently prod.

She shifts positions, switching from sitting cross-legged on her bed to leaning back against the pillows. Mentally, I reach an arm through the screen, placing it around her shoulders and tucking her against my side.

“Things have been a little tense in our salon space,” Sam says uncertainly. “Veronica has never liked me—”

“I’m not sure I believe that,” I cut in. “Who couldn’t like you?”

“It’s true!” Sam emphasizes. “If you were there with us, you’d see it. She’s . . . cold to me. She doesn’t even try to hide the fact that I annoy her. Which feels odd since we’re grown adults and not high schoolers. Plus, Lynsey says Veronica’s not that way with her. But also, things have gotten a little weird with Lynsey since my calendar has booked up faster than hers. I don’t know. It all feels off, and I hate it because it makes me feel the same as—”

She cuts herself off this time, and I wait for her to finish the thought. When she tries to change the conversation back to my trip, I stop her. “Sam, it makes you feel the same as what?” She shakes her head again, but not in amusement this time. I’m suddenly looking at a view of the ceiling fan in her room.

“Sam?” I ask, watching the circular motion of the fan blades. When her face comes back into view a few seconds later, the redness around her eyes would indicate tears. But her eyes are dry, and her expression is detached.

“I get worried that Veronica—and maybe even Lynsey—thinks that I’m getting all of these clients because of my connection to you. And maybe that’s true. Maybe I am. And that feels a little like Ryan dating me because of my connection to Griffin,” Sam states almost robotically.

“I . . .” Words fail me. In both English and Spanish. I have no idea how to respond.

My mind flashes back to when Sam called me after her breakup with Ryan. The night floods my thoughts, my senses. I can feel the rain pounding against me as I ran to where she was shivering under the overhang. I can feel her clammy forehead and slick hair as I brushed the long tendrils away from her eyes. I can feel the insubstantial weight—not nearly enough weight—of her in my arms as I carried her to the car.

I can feel her pain.

And I don’t know how to respond. I never know how to respond to pain.

“It’s fine,” Sam dismisses. “I’ll figure out what I can do to smooth things over with Lynsey and how I can be less annoying to Veronica. It’s gonna be okay. I’m making it a bigger deal than it is anyway.”

“Sam, I . . .” I begin, but nothing follows. “I’m . . .”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore. Let’s talk about Drew’s chances of winning the Home Run Derby,” Sam says, her voice overly enthusiastic.

“Sam—”

“What’s your bet, Adrian?” Sam repeats. Her tone leaves no room for argument, but I still wonder if I should argue anyway. In my hesitation, she continues, “I love Drew to death, but I don’t think he has a chance of beating the heavy hitter from Washington.”

I’m caught between the words Sam is saying and the words she’s not saying. And I’m completely unsure whether I should follow her lead away from the conversation or lead her back to finish it.

“You know I have to back up my teammate,” I say.

“Of course, you want him to win, even if it isn’t likely,” Sam teases.

I force a smile as I agree with her. “I always want to win.”

But even as conversation moves on, even as I continue packing and Sam chatters away about the air-conditioned wedding tent, I feel pretty confident that I just lost.

I think I just failed Sam.

As Griffin and I walk through the hotel lobby, I nod my head toward the bar. “Want to get one of your cranberry-lime things and hang for a little bit?”

“Don’t you need to get your beauty sleep before the media stuff tomorrow?” Griffin asks. We’ve had a full day of travel and watching the All-Star Sunday festivities together. I’m glad Sam demanded I bring Griff with me this week because I can see how much fun he’s had connecting with old friends from other teams and laughing with Drew and me.

I’d be having just as much fun if last night’s conversation with Sam wasn’t looming in my thoughts.

I mean, I’ve still had plenty of fun. It’s my core wiring. But my thoughts have been melancholy in the moments of downtime that I haven’t been distracted by the activities and friends.

“I could stay up another hour,” I say. “Unless it’s past old man West’s bedtime.”

Somehow Griffin sees through my joking and looks at me with those perceptive eyes of his. I try not to blanch under the scrutiny.

“Sure,” he says, and we find a small secluded table in the bar seating area. After ordering two of his favorite drinks for us, he shakes his head. “We’ll see how far off from terrible they manage to get.”