Fix Her Up: A Novel
Fix Her Up: Chapter 2

Travis squinted through his front windshield into the sunlight and wished it were raining. Maybe if the sun weren’t beating down on him like a cheerful asshole, he could have given himself an excuse to stay inside one more day. Instead of his usual routine of waking up, ordering breakfast delivery from the diner, chasing it with a six-pack, and going back to sleep, he’d found himself pulling on clean pants and walking out into the daylight. His sudden motivation had nothing to do with Georgie’s visit yesterday—nothing whatsoever. He’d simply hit his limit for staring at the same four walls and needed a change.

Was this the right change, though? A construction job?

He didn’t need the money. If he wanted to spend the next decade living like an antisocial vampire who drinks Bud instead of blood, he had the funds to do it comfortably. Frankly, that sounded pretty appealing at the moment.

I think you want to stay in here forever, because it means you don’t have to try again.

Travis pushed himself out of the truck with an annoyed growl. When did little Georgie Castle turn into such a ball-breaker? Last time he’d seen her she’d still been in middle school. She’d spoken only when necessary so she wouldn’t have to show off her mouthful of braces. Far more preferable than the whirlwind who’d blown through his apartment yesterday, engaging in a one-way food fight. Some things about Georgie hadn’t changed, like her uniform of ripped jeans and oversized sweatshirts, but she’d definitely found her voice. He wished she’d directed it elsewhere.

Travis tugged on the collar of his shirt, grimacing at the dampness. August in Port Jefferson. He’d been out of his air-conditioned truck for only five seconds and his clothes were already sticking to him. From his vantage point, he could follow the paths of residents hurrying down the gentle slope and curve of Main Street, rushing to get to their next, cooler destination. Beyond the town’s main drag, water spread out wide and blue, boats lifting and dipping with the current. Banners stretched over the road, advertising church festivals and town hall budget votes. Whether he wanted to be back home or not, time and distance had given him enough objectivity to admit Port Jeff wasn’t a terrible spot. It would just be hotter than the devil’s ass until fall hit.

Travis came to a stop on the sidewalk, looking through the giant picture window of Brick & Morty. Through the gold lettering that hadn’t changed since his youth, he could see his friend Stephen Castle on the phone, probably barking orders at some poor soul. Travis’s best friend had been groomed to take over the family house-flipping business since high school and he’d fallen right into rhythm, inheriting the institution from his father, Morty. Right after Travis’s ascent to the majors, his phone calls to Stephen had been the one thing keeping him grounded. When all the Rookie of the Year fanfare threatened to inflate his head, Stephen had no problem reminding Travis he was the same asshole who’d broken his arm at age nine attempting to ride a skateboard backward down the Castle driveway. Toward the end of his career, he hadn’t needed Stephen to deflate his ego.

Fate had handled that nicely on its own.

Would his easy friendship with Stephen be the same now that Travis’s identity had been stripped away? The death of his career seemed to cast a shadow over his every interaction now. He’d always been a baseball player. The game ran in his veins. It never failed to be the first thing people spoke to him about. How’s the shoulder? Better than ever. How’s the team looking for the upcoming season? We’re focused and ready to win games. Hit me one out of the park. I’ll hit you two. The few times he’d left the apartment since returning to Port Jefferson, the topic of baseball had been deftly avoided anywhere he went. If someone asked him about the weather or complimented his new non-haircut one more time, his fucking head was going to explode.

Was this his life now? Pretending as though the five years of his baseball career never happened? Some days, that’s what he wanted. He wanted to numb himself to the memories of his injury and subsequent decline. Being shared around the league like a bummed cigarette. And finally the phone call from his team manager that was the equivalent of shooting a lame horse. Other days, though . . . pretending his career never happened scared the shit out of him. What was the point of all that hard work when he’d ended up right back in Port Jefferson, hitting up his friend for a job, just like his father always predicted he would?

That was a reminder he could have done without today.

Knowing he needed a minute before having to converse with a real live human being, Travis sighed and backed away from the window, leaning up against the building’s concrete wall. Maybe he should put this off until tomorrow. It wasn’t a reunion, exactly, since Stephen had been at his place a week . . . or maybe two . . . ago. Hard to remember since he’d been knee-deep in a bottle of Jack at the time. Having a sober face-to-face conversation with the bluntest person he knew might not be the greatest idea in his shitty frame of mind.

“Travis Ford?”

He turned to replace a pretty blonde he didn’t recognize approaching him on the sidewalk. When all he could muster was a nod, she laughed.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Can’t say that I do,” he responded, without matching her smile. “Should I?”

Her composure faltered, along with her stride, but she recovered fast. “Well . . . we went to high school together. Tracy Gallagher. I sat behind you in homeroom senior year.”

“Oh, right,” he said tonelessly. “Sure.”

Port Jefferson was a little bubble of a town. What happened out in the world only mattered insomuch as it directly affected the residents. But the familiar mixture of interest and censure on Tracy’s face made one thing pretty obvious: his reputation as an unrepentant womanizer had penetrated the bubble. She stood there waiting for him to elaborate on his monosyllabic answers, maybe even make a pass at her, and she was about to be sorely disappointed.

“Um,” she continued, seemingly unfazed. “You’ve been back in town for a month and I haven’t seen you around. Were you . . .” Cheeks turning pink, she squared her shoulders. “Did you want some help reacquainting yourself with the town?”

“Why would I? Nothing here has changed.” God, he was being a complete dick. As little as six months ago, they would have already been on their way back to his place. Good old Two Bats, always up for a lay. Until he wasn’t worth a damn anymore. Everyone had wanted a piece of him until shit got heavy, right? After the trades started and his stock went down, his phone stopped ringing. Here was a woman showing him some interest. Hell, she seemed nice enough. Maybe her intentions were pure. But after the fleeting smoke-and-mirrors lifestyle he’d led for the last five years, he could no longer muster an ounce of excitement. None of it ever meant anything. “Look, I’m about to meet with a friend . . .”

“Tracy. I work at the boutique.” She pointed south. “Down on the other end of Main Street. Glitter Threads.”

He forced a tight smile. “If I ever need the perfect little black dress, I’ll let you know.”

She laughed as if he’d made the joke of the century instead of a sarcastic jackass comment. “Why wait to hang out? There’s a new park down on the water, actually. If you wanted to check it out, I could pack a picnic lunch, or . . .”

His laugh was toneless. “A picnic.”

Finally picking up on the fact that he wasn’t interested, Tracy paused and her expression went flat. Irritated. Part of him felt bad for being impolite, but the other half? It felt good to not be the charming ladies’ man who took nothing seriously except his batting average. “You know—”

“Hey, Travis,” said a voice behind him. The sound reminded him of dripping Popsicles and skinned knees, but it had changed some. Grown huskier, lost the slight lisp. Georgie came into view, a ball cap pulled down low on her forehead, hair escaping in every direction. “Are you ready?”

He gave Stephen’s little sister a bland look. “For what?”

“Uh. Your doctor’s appointment, silly.” Georgie poked him in the ribs. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

Was Georgie swooping in to save him from Tracy? Yeah. It appeared she was. And he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The idea of a picnic with anyone—especially this woman who probably expected him to dazzle her with stories about meeting celebrities—was right on par with water torture. “Right. My doctor’s appointment.”

Georgie sent Tracy a wince. “When I described the symptoms to his doctor, they asked me to bring in a stool sample right away. Whatever he’s got, they haven’t seen it since the nineties.”

Jesus Christ.

Tracy raised a skeptical brow. “He looks fine.”

“That’s how it starts. One second you’re feeling fine . . . and then . . .” Georgie made an explosion sound, clapping her hands together. “Pus everywhere. You wouldn’t believe the pus. You can’t get it out with regular detergent.”

“You took it too far,” Travis muttered to Georgie. “Way too far.”

“I’m new at this,” she shot back, out of the side of her mouth.

Obviously onto the impromptu ruse, Tracy jerked her purse higher on her shoulder. “I can take a hint, Travis Ford. And by the way, you’re not as hot in person.”

“Aw, give him a break. He’s had a rough month.”

That comment earned Georgie a glare. “Don’t ever come into the boutique, Georgie Castle. Your legs are too short—even for the petite sizes.”

Georgie’s confidence dipped, but she lifted her chin to make up for it. “They don’t treat me this way at Gap Kids—you could learn a thing or two from them.”

Travis realized he was frowning down at Georgie. The top of her head only reached his shoulder. Small but fierce. Again, he marveled over the quiet girl who’d barely been capable of eye contact, once upon a time, becoming this scrappy defender of . . . him. Why the hell was she even bothering? Travis didn’t know, but he felt compelled to return the favor in some small way. Probably because she was Stephen’s little sister. “Your legs are normal-sized.”

She stared up at him as if he’d given her a way better compliment. Just as quickly, though, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Tracy turned tail and stormed down the sidewalk. “Know what? I hope you do get some disease from the nineties, Travis Ford,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t know why every woman in town is determined to throw her hat into the ring. You’re not even worth a midweek leg shave.”

“Points for originality.” Travis and Georgie watched the blonde until she was out of earshot. “Although, did I really hear her asking you out on a picnic?”

He sighed. “You did indeed.”

“Would she have shown up with a Yogi Bear wicker basket? Would she have packed a giant cartoon ham hock? I’m disappointed you didn’t say yes, just to satisfy my curiosity.”

Travis knew he should say thank you, but he didn’t want Georgie getting the impression he wanted or needed any more of her interventions. God forbid he formed an obligation to her. No one relied on Travis for anything now and he relied on exactly nobody. Commitments were temporary, and thus he didn’t bother making them. When he’d landed in the pros, he’d allowed himself to trust teammates, coaches, managers, despite the lesson he’d learned at a young age. He wouldn’t make that mistake a third time. The only exception to the rule was waiting for him inside the office, and even Stephen was kept at a comfortable distance.

“I’m meeting with your brother, Georgie.” He turned and opened the door, air-conditioning rushing out of Brick & Morty to greet him. “Run along.”

Georgie followed him inside. “What brought you out this fine summer day? It wouldn’t have anything to do with me—”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure, because . . .”

Travis turned on a heel and the brim of Georgie’s hat drilled him in the chest, the impact knocking it off her head. He opened his mouth to tell her, no, nothing she’d said or done was responsible for his leaving his cave to meet with Stephen. It was pure coincidence. But the fallen hat had allowed her deep brown mass of hair to spill out everywhere. Over her shoulders, down her back, across half of her face. One of her green eyes peeked out through the wave of it all and he got distracted from his speech.

Yeah, she’d definitely . . . changed.

Georgie broke their stare, stooping down to grab the hat and yank it back down over her head, pulling her wealth of hair through the back opening. “What are you here to speak with Stephen about?”

The husky tone of her voice perturbed him even more, though he couldn’t say why. “Can you go play outside while the adults talk?”

She looked bored, but Travis got the impression it was an act. “It’s not my turn for the swing.”

The sound of a phone hitting the cradle ricocheted through the office.

“Georgie,” Stephen called behind Travis. “That’s enough. We’ll talk later.”

“Right,” she muttered, her smile tight. “I can take a hint, too.”

An uncomfortable sensation moved in Travis’s chest as Georgie backed toward the door. When he’d been patronizing to her like an asshole, it hadn’t sounded as bad as when Stephen did it, right? Yeah. Probably. And so be it. Making this girl feel welcome wasn’t his job, especially if her own brother didn’t see a reason to do so.