"Not really." She laughs. "I wanted to check in on you, see how you're doing. Daisy mentioned you weren't watching the game yesterday."

"You know I don't ever watch the games."

"You used to," Amanda counters.

"Don't go there, Amanda. I'm not in the mood to get in a fight with you. I'm trying to find my Zen right now. I need kitties."

"Fine," she capitulates. "But tell me, are you liking this program so far? Do you think it's helping?"

Finally finding a spot a few cars down from the building, I put my blinker on and start the process of parallel parking. I'm a genius at it, so I have no doubt that I can fit in the space I'm attempting right now.

"I don't know if it's helping just yet. We haven't done much but talk, write letters, and try to let go of what's been holding us back."

"Are you comfortable there?"

"For the most part. Unfortunately, I was put in a group with my douchebag coworker, Carter. It's obvious he doesn't want to be in the program and is just trying to skate through, so it's hard sharing deep, personal stuff with a guy who couldn't care less. I have to see him nearly every day, so there is no separation from the pain."

"Carter?" Amanda asks. "I think Daisy was texting him yesterday and giggling."

"Daisy was texting Carter? Like back and forth?"

"It seemed like it."

Carter texting Daisy? Now there is something I never thought I would see. Daisy and Carter couldn't be any more opposite than fire and water. Just after getting to know Daisy briefly, it's obvious she's too sweet, way too innocent, and way too inexperienced to be a friend to Carter. Carter is your typical asshole with a vendetta against life. He's never been someone you want to hold a conversation with and if he's given the chance, he would rather ignore you than actually engage, unless it's to pick a fight. He's really good at picking fights, especially when it involves throwing fists.

"Daisy should stay away from him."

"Really?" Amanda asks a little surprised. "She seemed to think he was a good guy."

Spinning the steering wheel, I back into the spot perfectly and put my car in park. "I like your sister, Amanda. She's nave but so full of hope and joy, which is infectious. She's one of the bright sides of the program. Carter is not someone she should be around. He's someone who can easily squash the sunshine out of her."

"Really? It didn't seem like that. She seemed happy when she was texting him."

"I'm telling you, Amanda, he's bad news. So not someone for Daisy." I gather my purse off the passenger seat next to me, glance at my side mirror, and check for cars. When the coast is clear, I get out, lock up, and jog across the street to Denver's Cat Company. "Listen, I'm at the Cat Company and I don't want to be that person who walks in on their cell phone." Hammering home my concern, I add, "I don't want to hurt Daisy's relationships, maybe I'm wrong about Carter, maybe he's changing. I would be shocked if he was, but I just want you to know that she should be careful. That's all. I've seen him in bad moods before and you don't want Daisy near him when he's like that."

"Okay. I'll be sure to warn her. Thanks, Hollyn."

"Anytime. Now, I must get to petting pussy."

"Every time. You say it every time you go in there."

I laugh and hop in place, trying to stay warm despite the winter chill. "It's tradition. I'm going now though, I'm freezing. Talk to you later."

Hanging up, I slip my phone in my pocket, and open the door. The atmosphere is very laid-back. The first portion of the shop is a mini cafe where you can buy drinks and look at all the profiles of the cats frequenting the cafe. They are all rescued and up for adoption. Every time I come, I'm tempted to adopt a kitty but I refrain, fearing being labeled a crazy cat lady. I'm trying to avoid that right now.

As always, I grab a strawberry-kiwi Snapple from the cooler, pay the cover charge, and head up to my favorite spot in the corner-my favorite spot currently occupied by a rather large man with his head down, twirling a cat toy for a little black and white kitty. Ugh, why today does someone have to take up my space?

Irritated, I watch for a second as the man's forearms flex with each movement. Why do I know those forearms? I shouldn't by any means recognize forearms, I haven't fawned over forearms in quite some time, but I recognize these. Scanning the gentleman from head to toe, I take in his Nike shoes, dark grey sweatpants, pushed-up sleeves of a black Henley, and since his head his bowed, I only see the top of his black baseball cap.

Jace?

No, that can't be Jace. Can it?

I step forward, hoping and praying it's Jace because I don't want to be the creeper approaching a random stranger at a cat cafe for no reason. As I make my way toward him, a floorboard beneath me creaks, gathering his attention. I know it's Jace the minute he lifts his head. Those dark blue, tortured eyes penetrate me from beneath his bill, the scruff on his face letting me know he hasn't shaved since our last meeting, and the defeated slump in his shoulders showing he still carries his dreadful pain.

"Hollyn?"

"Hey, Jace." Feeling a little awkward, I say, "I didn't know you frequent the Denver Cat Company."

He chuckles, a light smile peeking up at me. "I don't. This is my first time here. I was just . . ." He pauses and then leans back in his chair, running his hand over his face, lifting his hat ever so slightly off his forehead. "Hell, I was wandering around, looking for something to take my mind off things. I saw this place and thought I'd give it a try." Looking up at me through his impossibly long lashes, he asks, "How weird do I look in here?"

I look around and wince. We're surrounded by women with children who are walking around with the cats, trying to get them to play with the myriad of toys offered for visitors. He looks incredibly out of place.

"Uh, weird might not be the correct word," I smile, "but you make it work."

He chuckles again and then pats the seat next to him. "Take a seat, make me look a little less awkward."

Happy to have the company, I take the seat next to him and set down my drink on the floor. I watch him dance a ribbon in front of a cat, teasing it masterfully.

In a joking, low baritone voice, he asks, "So, do you come here often?"

A little chuckle comes out of me as I shake my head. "Yeah, my friend Amanda thinks it's one step away from becoming a crazy cat lady, but I can't help it. I feel like I can just sit back and forget about everything around me when I'm here. Just play with cats."

"How often do you pet pussy?" Jace asks with a wince, causing both of us to laugh.

"I say the same ridiculous joke. My friend Amanda, Daisy's half-sister actually, chastises me every time I say it. But how can you not? It's such an easy joke."

"It's pretty unavoidable. Honestly, you're too much of a square if you're not making that joke."

"Agreed, and no one likes a square," I add but then think. "Although, if you're not a square, what are you? What's the preferred shape for people to be? A circle? Rhomboid? Trapezoid?"

"Trapezoids are startling shapes. Never liked the little fuckers."

"Let me guess, you're a diamond kind of man?" I ask, laughter in my voice.

Still teasing the cat, he answers, "Grew up on the diamond, lived my whole life on one, pretty sure I will die on one too. I think that makes me a diamond man."

He looks like he's lived his entire life in the gym, but I don't mention that. "Did you always want to be a baseball player?"

If I take a step back and think about it, it's weird to know that Jace is THE Jace Barnes from the Colorado Miners, the Jace Barnes that broke all kinds of rookie records last year, the Jace Barnes who won Rookie of the Year. He seems nothing like the man I saw trending all season last year. He's subdued, troubled, quiet. He has the exterior of a famous professional athlete with his broad build, strong and powerful muscles, and his rugged handsomeness, but his interior is shattered, barely hanging on by a thread. You can see it in his eyes; they are pleading for help, begging for the pain to stop. If only I knew how to help him, how to direct him. I know that pain, and I haven't dealt with it well. Hell, I still don't know how to deal with it.

"Ever since I could remember, I've wanted to play baseball. It was an escape for me. I didn't have a stable household, shit, I didn't have a household at all. Living in foster care, I clung to one thing: baseball. It was the only family I really had, so I hung on to it, lived it, breathed it. It's what kept me out of trouble and kept my hopes alive for getting out of the hell I lived in. Luckily for me, I had a coach who saw my potential and helped me along the way, to get me to where I am today. If it wasn't for him, I don't know where I would be right now." Taking a deep breath, he nods at me. "What about you? What do you do?"

I hate that question. Why is that a question adults feel obligated to ask in order to hold conversation? As if what we do defines us. It might define some of us, but not everyone. Then again, right now, I can't particularly say anything defines me. Well . . . that's not true. What defines me at the current moment? My trauma, my loss. That's what singularly characterizes me.

Not wanting to go into too much detail about my failed attempt to become a nurse, I settle for the easy answer. "Eh, nothing special right now. I'm a waitress at Carter's uncle's restaurant."

"Really?" Jace resembles shock in his expression. "Huh, I guess that makes sense since it seems like you know each other."

"Yeah, unfortunately. We've never really gotten along. He's a beast to work with."

"There has to be a reason why he's closed off all the time. Sarcastic. Kind of a brooding bastard, that guy."

"You can say that."

"But there is good in him," Jace adds, this time surprising me. "You can see it in the way he listens to Daisy, like he wants to help her but doesn't know how to. At the last meeting he showed a little humility, a little humanity, and hopefully, we'll continue to see that in him." How does Jace possibly see that in Carter? Maybe I'm blinded by his abhorrent display of anger I see regularly.

"Are you the silent observer of the group?"

He shrugs his shoulders, his eyes cast down toward the cat, his tan forearm flexing with each toss of the ribbon in a different direction. "It's easy to observe when you sit back and listen, if you truly listen to someone rather than preparing to respond to what they're saying. It's the difference in creative listening and reactive listening. Being on the receiving end of reactive listening my entire life, I've strived to be a creative listener. It's hard, but I feel that I hear people better when I do so."

I'm kind of blown away right now. Never in a million years would I have pegged Jace Barnes as someone with such a sensitive soul. Despite his broken veneer, he gives off a hopeful, positive vibe that I find myself gravitating toward right now.

"That's a beautiful way to think of having a conversation."

Tipping his head to the side, he glances in my direction. "It's a beautiful thing to be able to listen to each other. Not just hear their words, but read body language as well. Imagine if we were all trained that way, the kind of compassion we'd have for everyone."

"I'm getting the feeling you've had an unfair deal of judgment."

He pulls on the brim of his hat, adjusting it lower on his brow. "You could say that. It's funny that as a collective whole we ask for compassion and understanding but have a hard time handing it out when the time comes. I've always tried to put myself in someone else's shoes before passing judgment, because you never know what that person is truly suffering from, why they are the way they are. Take Carter for instance. It's obvious he doesn't want to be in the program, that he's just going through the motions, but there is a deeper reason he's not sharing with us. Instead of jumping to the conclusion that the man is just a dick, I'm trying to see it from his perspective with every bit of information he gives. First impressions are meaningless, because not everyone can be on point all the time, and yet, one bad day can ruin us."

"Do you have a hard time trying to put on a happy face for fans and for the media?"

"Not really." He shakes his head. "But this year, this season, I'm going to have one hell of a time trying to keep myself from breaking down on the field, let alone in the locker room, or during interviews."

"I can't imagine." I take a deep breath and continue, "When I lost Eric, it almost felt like my breath was taken away with him. I felt cold as stone, lifeless, like a steel rod making the motions through life, but never feeling anything. I'm sure I wasn't pleasant, or chipper, or even a joy to be around because I was either hating life, hating other people, or crying hysterically."

"But it got better?" His eyes plead with me.

One of the ribbons provided for the cats runs through my fingers as I play around with it, needing to fidget with something as I talk about Eric. I hate to break Jace's hopeful heart, but I can only be honest about my situation. "Doesn't seem like it. Breathing feels just as hard, but unlike when Eric first passed, I'm used to it by now."

"You learned to live with it."

Not the first time I've heard that. "I guess so."

Sitting back in his chair, Jace lets out a long breath. "Shit, this is not the type of conversation we should be having in front of the cats. I'm sure they enjoy other types of topics, less morbid."

That garners a chuckle from me. "Yeah, what kind of conversations do you think the cats like to hear?"

"Hmm." He ponders my question for a few seconds, giving it some good thought. "They probably like to talk about the tuna count in local fishing holes. Latest trends in scratching posts, and of course, the drop of the next Taylor Swift album."

"Naturally." I laugh out loud. "Oh to be a cat."

"Sure as hell is an easy life." Turning, Jace smiles at me, a genuine, beautiful smile. It kind of reminds me of Eric's smile in a way. Charming, very charming. A smile I haven't seen in the media, a smile that seems reserved for intimate moments. "I'm glad I ran into you, Hollyn. It was nice talking to you outside of the program's dictated discussion."

"I agree. You're pretty cool, Jace Barnes."

"Pretty cool?" He raises an eyebrow at me. "Only pretty cool?"

"Hey, I have to give you something to strive for. It's all about progression, Jace."

"True." He chuckles. "Hey, look at us proving our existence today and growing our support system. Marleen would be so proud."

"If she was here, she would be gushing."

If I have to admit it, I'm gushing a little inside as well because for the first time since Eric passed, I feel a little at ease. It's like the band around my chest relaxed somewhat. Odd. Jace gets me. He feels my emotional distress. He knows what it's like to lose something so incredibly precious to you and for that, I know our friendship will always be unique.

CARTER.

What the hell am I doing here?

Being a total dumbass, that's what.

Meatloaf? I'm here to learn how to make meatloaf? Fuck, I could make meatloaf in my sleep, and yet I accepted Daisy's invitation to teach me one of the things she knows best.

This was an incredibly stupid idea because honestly, what do I really have in common with Daisy? I barely know her, so what the hell are we going to talk about? And she's going to find out I'm a chef at some point, that will just humiliate her, and I don't want that.

But fuck, texting her the other day, it felt almost normal. Guiding her felt normal and I have no idea why. It wasn't until Fitzy started whining and tossing popcorn at me that I slowed down on the texts even though I wanted to continue to talk to her. The only other person I've ever really wanted to text was Sasha.

There is something about Daisy that draws me to her. Is it her innocence? She's so pure, so untouched, not even being close to jaded like me. Does that make me a bigger dick than I am, wanting to cling to her innocence with the possible chance of scuffing her pristine personality?

I sure as hell hope not.

Tucking my helmet under my arm, I take off my gloves and walk up to the townhouse Daisy gave me directions to. Yes, actual directions, not an address. She's so old school. Shit, I like that about her.

The weather is ridiculously cold still, so I blow into my fist a few times and then knock on her door. It takes a few moments to answer but when she does, an excited Daisy in a pair of khaki slacks, a cream turtleneck, and a maroon fleece zip-up vest greets me. What is with this girl and her vests? Her grandma clothes do nothing for the figure I know she's hiding.

"Carter, you made it. Come in, you must be cold."

"Thanks," I say awkwardly, completely regretting this get-together.

"Here, let me take your helmet, we can set it in the entryway." Fumbling, she grabs my helmet and gloves, and while I'm trying to take off my leather jacket, she attempts to assist me but given I'm a good half foot taller than her, she ends up just pulling on one of my sleeves, making it more difficult to take off.

Once I untangle myself, I take my boots off as well, not to track any dirt in the house. Daisy starts to assist me, but I put up my hand to stop her. "I've got my shoes."

Stepping back, she folds her hands in front of her and nods. "Sorry," a light giggle pops out of her heart-shaped mouth, "I guess I'm a little eager to have company. I was doing a lot of reading on the Internet about being a good hostess and it told me to make sure I take your jacket and whatnot."

Reading on how to be a good hostess? Why am I not surprised?

"Well, I'm not sure they meant for you to take your guest's shoes off," I say with a little chuckle.

"Oh." The expression on her face falls, her eyes casting down in embarrassment.

Standing tall, I come up to her and with my index finger, lift her chin. As I notice her wide eyes, her breath picking up, I say, "It was a nice gesture though." Looking around, I end the intimate distance. "Where's the kitchen?"

"Uh, over here."

She motions us down a short hallway into an open-concept space. To the left is a small living space with a beige sectional couch, purple frilly pillows, and a giant flat-screen TV on a dainty white cabinet with an Xbox tucked to the side. Man and woman cohabiting, blatantly obvious. To the right is a small dining area with a four-person dining set, matching buffet table and . . . a kegarater. I chuckle to myself, as this is most definitely man and woman merging their lives together. Anchoring the large space is the modern kitchen with dark cabinets, marble counters, and a . . . oh hell, an electric stove top. The devil's cookware.