Someone Like You (28 page)

“Oh for Pete's sake,” Abby said dismissively. “That's ridiculous.”

“They just both hate that you're obviously hurting, and they care. And their tempers are a lot quicker to fuse than yours and mine.” Carolyn winked. “We're the levelheaded ones in the family, remember? They're the hotheads.”

Abby snorted out a giggle. “Yeah.”

Carolyn took her hand. “Abby . . . I'm not saying being with a man like Pierce isn't risky. He does have a past. But it's in the
past.
Personally, I think if someone is trying so hard to change, if they've recognized their bad patterns and are trying to change them, they should be given a chance.”

“I
did
give him a chance,” Abby said.

“Maybe he needs another one,” Carolyn pointed out. “He's human. We all stumble, we all make mistakes.” She held up the phone. “He knows he screwed up. And he's been trying to fix it ever since, right?”

Abby sighed, nodded, and twisted a tissue in her fingers.

“Here's the big difference between Pierce and Ewan,” her mother said, quiet but firm. “Ewan messed up, and you never heard from him again. Because, sadly, he didn't really care about you. It was easier for him to run away. He was a no-good coward.” Carolyn shook her head as she thought of him. “Now, Pierce messed up, and he hasn't stopped trying to reach you. Would he do that if he didn't care about you? If he was still the man he used to be, or if he didn't care, it'd be quite easy for him to run away too. He's not. He's owning his mistakes and contacting you every day so you won't forget about him.” Carolyn's eyes pinned her daughter. “These are very different men, Abby. And different situations. And you're not pathetic. You're deeply hurt, and you should be. Pierce should be doing some groveling. But soon, what you need to decide is, and it's a tough call: Give Pierce another chance? Or not?”

“And for either way, why?” Abby added. “I need to really be sure.”

“Yes. That. Come here.” Carolyn pulled her in for a hug, and Abby let herself be comforted. It felt so good, like a lifeline in a storm.

“So you think I should give him another chance?” Abby asked into her shoulder.

“I don't know. That's something you have to figure out.” Carolyn rubbed her back. “I think you need to decide how you'll be happier: with him, or without him. Because you're already in love with him. So maybe it's not worth working out, but maybe it is. Love makes it a whole different ball game.”

“It makes it more confusing and messed up,” Abby ground out.

“Yes. But it could also make it that much more incredible if you two are right for each other.” Carolyn kept rubbing her back. “You have more thinking to do. But hopefully I've helped you figure out what you need to think about, instead of just being sad and crying.”

“You have.” Abby clutched her mother tighter. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“Of course. Hope I helped.”

“You did. You always do.” Abby kissed Carolyn's cheek and pulled back. “I'm so lucky to have you.”

“We're all lucky to have each other,” Carolyn said. “That's what family is for.”

Which is something Pierce has never known,
Abby thought sadly. She thought of the look on his face when his father first lit into him; it'd been painful. She'd caught a glimpse of the boy inside, angry and alone. It wasn't her job to fix him. But with a better understanding of him, she could make a better decision about giving him another chance. She just desperately didn't want to be hurt again, and wasn't one hundred percent sure Pierce would be able to deliver on his latest promises.

Chapter Twenty-Four

On Saturday morning, Abby got to the field half an hour early, as she always did. It was frigid this morning; true fall had finally kicked in with a vengeance. The temperature wasn't supposed to leave the high forties all day, and the wind whipped coldly as it blew across the open field. The sky was still a flat early November gray, promising more rain later in the day. All the trees in the park had turned, glorious at their peak, exploding into shades of brilliant yellow, bright orange, deep red, and rust. It was a beautiful fall day, perfect for the last game of the season.

And her insides were in knots. This was the last time she and Pierce would have any reason to be together. She'd slept terribly last night. Between her mom's words crashing around in her head, and the silence from Pierce—no more texts or calls, as he'd promised—she wondered what today would bring. Waiting to see him filled her with a combination of anxiety, excitement, and caution.

The shrill wind gusted, making her eyes water behind her sunglasses. Even with her hat, gloves, black fleece pants, and black Uggs, along with the puffy ice blue parka she'd finally pulled out of the closet, she could feel the cold taking over, making her nose and cheeks sting. The Jaguars were playing the first game of the morning. The good news was they had a chance of winning. The bad news was that since it was early, it was colder. A deep shiver ran through her and she reached for her travel mug of coffee to take a long sip. She waved to Gordon, the Bears' head coach, who stood at the opposite end of the field. He was already setting up a net.

She'd gotten used to Pierce helping her set up, but he wasn't there. Maybe he wouldn't show? No, he wouldn't do that. Even if he didn't want to deal with her, he wouldn't do that to the kids. He'd proved that by coming to both practices that week. With a sigh, she set down her mug, grabbed the huge sack with the netting, and dragged it along the grass toward the empty goalpost.

As she walked, she saw Pierce heading toward her. Her heart flew into her throat and the butterflies started their crazy dance in her stomach. God, he was so striking. Black wool hat, sunglasses, scruffy square jaw. A black parka and black track pants, his long legs carrying him with that masculine grace she adored. She swooned inwardly as he approached. The wind gusted then, whipping at her face and snapping her back into awareness.

“I'll help you with that,” was all he said, taking the sack from her hands.

“I can do it,” she insisted.

“We'll do it together,” he said quietly.

They worked in tense silence. Half of her wanted him to initiate conversation, and half of her dreaded it. She'd decided that if Pierce tried to talk to her, she would respond, and maybe they could talk it out.

But for the first time all week, he didn't. He didn't speak to her at all. The heaviness of their mutual silence weighed on her. By the time the goal was set and their things in order by the sidelines, her hesitation and relief had turned into anxiety and irritation. It looked like all her fending him off had finally worked; he wasn't saying a word to her. He barely even looked her way. In fact, when they finished, he strode across the field to talk to Sofia Rodriguez. Abby felt a lick of annoyance when she watched him kiss Sofia's cheek in friendly greeting, saw the megawatt smile spread on his face when she said something that made him laugh.

She felt vaguely nauseous.

“Auntie Abs, we're here!” Dylan's voice rang out as he ran across the field toward her. Her parents, bundled up in heavy coats and carrying their chairs, trailed behind. She was more than happy to have the kids to distract her.

Soon all the kids were there, their soccer uniforms pulled over sweatshirts and sweatpants to protect them from the cold. Pierce didn't come back over to their side until all the kids were there. Then he called for a team huddle. He crouched down, took off his sunglasses, and the boys circled around him.

“Okay, you guys. This is it. Last game of the season.” Pierce's head revolved slowly, making sure to have eye contact with every boy. “Let's just have
fun.
Doesn't really matter if we win or lose. You're not going to get to play soccer like this again until the spring. So go out there, and do your best, but have fun with it too. All right?”

“Yeah!” the boys all shouted, fired up and ready.

Abby gazed at Pierce as he straightened to his full height and put his sunglasses back on. Her heart filled and overflowed as he high-fived every kid with a dazzling smile. God, she loved him.

The referee blew the whistle to start the game, and Cody, their starting goalie, ran off to the net.

“Who's playing first, Coach?” Pierce asked Abby.

“Um . . .” Blinking, she looked around, realizing she had to choose quickly.

“Where's your clipboard?” he asked, the slightest edge in his tone.

“I ditched it,” she said, not looking at him but out at the field as her heart thumped traitorously. “All my planning didn't do me much good in the end anyway.”

His mouth tightened into a hard line and his brows furrowed, knowing she was talking about them as much as the damn clipboard. His arms crossed over his chest as he stared her down.

“Okay,” she said, turning to the kids. She picked out who would start and they ran onto the field. She and Pierce stood a few feet apart, each in their own circle of personal space, the silence practically strangling her.

Talk to me,
she thought, willing him to feel what she was thinking. But he stood there, arms across his chest and legs apart, watching the game and calling out to the players when necessary.
You could talk to him, you know, Abby. You idiot
. But she couldn't make herself do it. She had no idea what to say, and today it was clear he didn't want to talk to her, so . . .

“Are you going to the awards banquet tonight?” he asked, startling her. Her head swiveled to look at him. He wasn't looking at her, but out at the field, still watching the game.

“Yes,” she said, also turning her head to look out at the field instead of at him. “With Dylan and my parents.”

“I figured,” he said.

“Are you going?” she asked.

“Yup.”

She looked back at him, unable to mask her surprise. “You are?”

He looked down at her, frowning. “Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?”

“I just . . . didn't think you'd go.” She shrugged. “Didn't think it was your kind of thing.”

“That's ridiculous,” he scoffed. “I wanted to go with you. That's not happening. But I would never slight the team that way.”

“Of course,” she said faintly.

“Well, you'll hear about this tonight, so I wanted to tell you myself.” Pierce took off his sunglasses to better look at her. “I've taken a few steps this week. I, um . . . I'm looking into buying shares in part of one of the professional teams. You had a good idea there, Abby. It can end up being lucrative, and something interesting for me to be involved in.”

She nodded, her heart aching. She wanted to hug him, to be happy for him. But she stayed still and kept listening, her lips clamped shut.

“Also, I went to the board of the Edgewater Soccer Club. I'm going to give clinics to the whole club, once a week and over vacations. And . . .” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I gave them a donation. So, the club will be able to better benefit the kids, and their families.”

That made her stare harder. “What . . . what does that mean, exactly?”

“I wanted to do something for them. So, I'll be footing the bill and buying all uniforms, shin guards, and cleats—whatever equipment the kids need to play—for the next two years. For all players, boys and girls. Everyone.” His shoulder lifted in a shrug, and he put his sunglasses back on before looking out at the field again. “I wanted to do something . . . that was what I could think of.”

“That's very generous of you,” she whispered, her throat almost too thick to speak. “But why?”

Another shrug, but he said, “Because I just wanted to do something good, with no strings attached, and I could.”

Without warning, tears sprang to her eyes. She walked away from him, not wanting him to see her losing her grip. She went as far away from him as was reasonable, still on their side of the field, and made herself watch the rest of the game.

* * *

Pierce glanced at Abby out of the corner of his eye as she walked away from him. Was she happy about what he'd told her, or angry? He had no idea. The tension between them was so thick he was choking on it. And did she have to look so goddamn adorable in her winter gear? He wanted to hold her close, bury his face in her neck, and just drink her in. God, he missed her.

He hated this. The heavy silence, the hostile friction, the fact they couldn't seem to talk to each other. That he'd hurt her so bad she could barely look at him. The remorse that made him nauseous and restless, like he wanted to climb out of his skin.

He hadn't tried to talk to her because he thought that was what she wanted. He was waiting until the game was over, as he'd assured her he would. But he couldn't help feeling like maybe she wanted him to? He didn't know. She was so damn hard to read sometimes.

But he'd heard the slight tremor in her voice, seen the way she pressed her lips together before she'd spun away and walked up the sidelines. She was upset. He did still have an effect on her; she hadn't shut him out completely. That was something. He wasn't sure what, exactly, but it gave him a glimmer of hope.

The Jaguars won the game, 2–1. It was close, but they'd done it, and the boys all jumped up and down, howling and cheering, rolling around like puppies. Pierce laughed, sharing their joy. He shook hands with parents, high-fived kids, and stole glances at Abby a few feet away as she did the same. His heart panged as he thought,
We should be celebrating together
.

The referee came over to ask Pierce a few questions about the rules of English football, and Pierce chatted with him amiably for about five minutes. When the ref shook his hand and walked away, he turned around in time to see Abby walk away with her arm around Dylan's shoulders. She hadn't even said good-bye. Annoyed and feeling dejected, Pierce watched her deliver her nephew to her parents and chat with them for a minute, then they parted ways. Abby turned to sneak a peek at Pierce over her shoulder. He whipped off his sunglasses and stared back, compelling her to stop and look at him. She froze for a few seconds, then rushed off, all but running to her car.

His jaw clenched tightly, and he put his sunglasses back on as the winds whipped harshly across the field. They felt like he felt inside: hollow, cold, and fierce.

It couldn't go on like this. He was a man of action, dammit. He had to do something. Something to show her how he was willing to split himself wide open if it meant having her back in his life.

* * *

Abby dressed slowly for the awards banquet. She didn't want to go, of course. She had to, of course. She grunted at her reflection in the mirror in frustration.

Boy, had she chickened out that morning.

She knew damn well Pierce had wanted to talk to her after the game, and she'd run away with her family. The angsty look in his eyes, pleading with her to go talk to him, had stayed in her head all afternoon.

She knew she wanted to give him another chance. She knew she loved him, and that was the bottom line. Hearing him out, when he'd tried to make amends over and over, was the least she could do.

When she got to the banquet, she'd seek Pierce out and see if they could find a place to talk. Give him a chance, and really listen. And tell him she was willing to try one last time, because his actions had proved he was truly sorry and wanted her back.

She had gotten to know him in their time together. He was more vulnerable than he let the world see, but he'd let
her
see. So she'd known exactly what he was doing when he pushed her away. Maybe she shouldn't have let him do it. What she did know was that in spite of her fears, she was willing to try again, because she believed in him. It all depended on what else he had to say.

It was raining again, but harder than last night. She checked her outfit again in the mirror. The simple but feminine dress was sleeveless, had a high neck, and stopped just above the knee. Midnight blue with teeny tiny white polka dots, it was one of her favorite staples in her wardrobe. She could dress it up, tone it down, and she always felt pretty in it. Perfect for the banquet. She pulled a matching midnight blue cardigan over it and checked her reflection. Not bad at all.

She still had an hour before they had to go to Edgewater High School, where the banquet was being held, and decided to read until it was time to leave. Grabbing her Kindle, she sank onto her bed. Downstairs, Dylan was excited, loudly singing and talking with her parents and her sister. Fiona had been able to take this one night off, and the boy was beyond happy.

The doorbell rang. Who would be coming over now? She heard muffled voices: first Fiona, sharp and heated, followed by her mother's voice, calmer, before she heard her father clearly saying, “Get the hell out of here, before I throw you down the damn stairs.”

“With all due respect,” answered Pierce's strong, deep voice, “I'm not leaving until Abby herself tells me to. I really need to speak with her. It can't wait anymore.”

Abby burst from her room to get down the stairs before her father killed him.

“If I tell you to leave my house—” Jesse was saying, face red with fury and fists clenched. Carolyn was at his side, trying to calm him down.