Page 81 of The Curveball
“You can’t wearthat one. Nope.” Alice shakes her head and flicks her fingers, shooing me back into the dressing room.
Skye snickers and snaps a picture of me, and subtly gives me a thumb’s up from her seat.
I balk and tug at the hem of the little black dress. It’s form fitting, gives off the right amount of skin without being too revealing, and frankly, it makes my legs look like they’re more than ten inches long. Next to the behemoth of a man who looks like he could bench press the building, I need the length.
The strangest part about the dress is the neckline. There, for all to see, is the scar across my chest.
Since the day I was marred by the broken bottle, I’ve hidden it like a badge of shame. It became a poison in my life, a broken piece of the past that caused me to grow into someone suspicious, cynical. Unworthy.
Until Griffin’s kiss traced every inch of the edges, until he looked me in the eyes and told me I was worthy. He’d said I was everything.
I shudder thinking of that night, and all the nights after. I’m in love with Griffin Marks, and I can’t remember a time I’ve felt this happy.
“Why don’t you like this dress, Ally?” The night needs to be perfect when I wear it, so if the dress is off, it isn’t the one.
“Sugar bear.” Alice cocks her head to one side. “This whole party is forhisfoundation. We can’t have the poor guy tripping all over himself at the mic when he looks at you.”
I giggle like I’m twelve and do a half spin in the mirror. “I’m getting it. The man needs to stumble a bit.”
“I think it’s beautiful.” Skye stands, snatching the bags of dresses she bought since she couldn’t decide between red, gray, or a sexy sapphire cocktail dress. She’d mumbled something about a fashion show for Parker, but Alice and I steered the conversation in a different direction at that point.
Newlyweds.
Days like today I still can’t believe I’m here, butterflies in my stomach, because in a few days I’ll be on the arm of the hottest catcher in the league.
After we’ve paid for our dresses, we head to the parking garage, laughing and planning about the big to-do coming up this weekend.
Parker and Griffin have worked tirelessly this week ensuring the fundraising banquet goes off without a hitch. RSVPs from players, celebrities, agents, scouts, owners, managers, and the uber rich like Grant Pierson are attending. I’m giddy thinking of all the support they’re gaining this year. I hope it opens the best new scholarship fund for the Future All-Stars yet.
The dinner is also when those who’ll participate in the charity games can sign up. Each year it gets more popular, and rumor has it a bunch of movie stars are going to sign up for one this year.
When Griffin told Carter he’d get his chance to mingle with actual big-screen actors, I thought my brother was going to puke. He’s wanted to be a stunt man in Hollywood for years, and Griffin comes out of the woodwork with some connection to a rising star in Hollywood.
The brother of one of the rockers in Perfectly Broken, I guess. Because, of course, Griffin knows someone in Hollywood. I’m convinced the man knows everyone and their second cousin at this point.
To see the foundation bloom heats a rush of pride in my chest. Griffin and Parker have worked so hard to make it impressive. When a passion is sincere, magic happens.
Both men lived lives where they had to have multiple paper routes or after school jobs at twelve years old instead of playing video games, all so their single moms didn’t have the burden of their competitive team fees on their non-existent budgets.
They found common ground since they both lost their dads young, and both had to figure out how to make it to the big leagues while taking care of their families and moms.
Their passion shows through the work they do for thousands of kids.
But pride is dashed too soon by a blanket of anxiety, deep and harsh. A blade carving open my chest to old wounds.
A few steps from my new car—a Kia Griffin insists is a clown car since his big legs barely fit—my phone buzzes. The name draws out a groan.
“What’s up?” Alice asks as she digs around her bottomless purse for her keys.
“It’s my dad.” My shoulders slump. “He’s actually been calling lately.”
Alice lifts her eyes. She knows my dad, she’s probably the only one besides my family who knows details below the surface. “Have you been ignoring him?”
I wince. “Maybe. I’ll text him back, but . . . we haven’t talked since the birthday dinner. Griffin and I took Ruby out to a movie last week, but we only had to deal with Angelica. He was so . . . subtly condescending at dinner, and I just don’t want to deal with him. Maybe that’s juvenile of me.”
“Nothing juvenile about boundaries, Wren Bird.”
Skye wears a look of concern. She doesn’t know as much as Alice, but is aware my father has been a distant figure. Clearly, if the mother of his children raised those children together instead of with him.