How Much I Care (Miami Nights Book 2)
Page 3
Love,
Austin
Oh my God, he gave me his phone number, which I promptly program into my phone. I find the picture Carmen took of me when we were out shopping the other day. I don’t always like pictures of myself, but I don’t hate that one. My curly dark hair isn’t huge from the South Florida humidity like it so often is, and we’d had our makeup done as a trial run for the wedding. I look as good as I ever do, so I set up a text with the photo before I can talk myself out of it.
Will write back more tomorrow, but this is me. Not married, no kids, and yes, I googled the hell out of you. I enclose the laughing and kissy-face emojis and send the message. I’m giddy off the high of talking to him.
He writes right back with the eyes-bugging emoji on its own, followed by another text:
WOW. You’re BEAUTIFUL. But I already knew that. Write back to me tomorrow. I’ll be waiting. Love, Austin
Drop the mic. I’m dead. How will I survive until I can talk to him again? Better yet, how will I sleep?
Chapter 3
AUSTIN
I’m glued to my phone from the second I take my seat on the ass-crack-of-dawn flight to Detroit. I’m pitching the third game of our series with the Tigers, so I’ve got a couple of days to chill and prep for my next start. In other words, I have time to obsess over that picture Maria sent me. I can’t stop staring at her gorgeous face and sexy smile.
She said she’s not married, but she didn’t mention whether she’s single.
I hope she is, because my obsession with her grows with every message we exchange.
Trust me, I know this whole thing is nuts. I can’t fall for the woman who donated bone marrow to save my kid’s life. Can I? No, I can’t, but that’s kind of what’s happening, if I’m being honest.
The one good thing about an early-morning flight is no one is in the mood to chat, which is fine by me. I spend the first hour rereading the messages she and I have exchanged so far, getting the same high off the rereads that I got the first time around. She’s a warm, sweet, beautiful woman, and the fact that I’m developing a world-class crush on her shouldn’t come as any surprise to me.
She saved my child’s life. How could I not love her? But aside from that momentous fact, I’m crushing on her, Maria, not my child’s donor. It’s almost like she’s become two separate people to me. Sure, I met her because she donated, but after getting to know her a bit, I like her for a million other reasons.
I wonder what time she gets up and how soon I might hear from her, seeing as this is a workday for her. The ball is in her court, so to speak, but that doesn’t mean I can’t message her again in the meantime, does it?
No, it doesn’t, and yes, I know this is starting to resemble middle school when the “should I or shouldn’t I” debate over girls occupied ninety percent of my brain cells, thus my lousy grades.
I want to talk to her some more, so I call up the last message I got from her last night and hit Reply.
Hi there,
I know it’s your turn, but I didn’t want to wait to talk to you some more. I’m on the flight to Detroit, and rereading our messages. I gotta be honest—waiting to hear from you is a bit torturous.
I sound like such a pussy, and I don’t even care. What does that tell you?
What time do you have to be at work? What are your days like at the clinic? Oh, and one more question… You said you’re not married, but you didn’t say whether you’re single. Are you? Just in case you were wondering the same thing about me, I am. No girlfriend, no friends with benefits, no nothing since I broke up with Ev’s mother. She kind of turned me off anything to do with women and dating.
I’m going to send this before I can talk myself out of asking whether you’re single.
Love,
Austin
I press Send on the message and realize my palms are suddenly sweaty, which happens only right before a start, when my nerves kick in. Ugh, does that mean I’m nervous about asking Maria if she’s seeing anyone?
Well, yeah, kinda.
I put down my phone and rest my head against the back of the seat, closing my eyes and trying to chill the fuck out. I’ve let this thing with her become bigger than it should be, which is probably due to how completely fucked up I’ve been since Ev got sick. I cringe when I recall telling Maria about the therapy and the PTSD and all that.
It’s not like it’s a big secret, but did I really have to dump all that on her the first day I got to talk freely with her?
Like always lately, my own thoughts drive me crazy. I never used to be an anxiety-ridden disaster area, but seeing your child through a life-threatening illness has a way of turning even the most laid-back kind of guy into someone totally different than he used to be. And if I’ve learned anything in therapy, it’s that I can’t hide from the feelings Ev’s illness has left me with. I can only try to cope with them.
Post-trauma, it would be impossible for me to get to know Maria, or anyone else, for that matter, without making that part of the equation. It’s who I am now, for better or worse. And I can’t hide from it, as much as I wish I could forget what we went through.
Sometimes it irks me that my parents have picked up and gone on like nothing ever happened. I’m aware that my hovering annoys them, but damned if I can help it. The fear of that beast of a disease coming back hangs over me like a dark cloud I can’t shake no matter how hard I try.
I think that’s why this flirtation or whatever it is with Maria is so exciting. For the first time since Ev got sick, I have something else to think about besides doom and gloom.
Writing to her and reading her responses have given me something I haven’t had in far too long: hope. Of course I realize it’s silly to be finding hope in someone I barely know. I’ve never even actually spoken to her, and yet, that doesn’t change how she makes me feel. It’s such a fucking relief to have something to think about besides baseball and health disasters.
I probably ought to refrain from sharing that thought with her, since I don’t want her to think that’s what she’s become to me—something to relieve my anxiety—even if that’s what she does for me.
My phone vibrates in my lap, and I grab it, fully aware that I’m worse than a fifteen-year-old girl in the throes of her first crush.
Morning!
Hope you’re having a smooth flight. I hate to fly, and I could never have a job that required me to fly as much as yours does. They couldn’t pay me enough! What do you do when you arrive in Detroit?
I get to work around eight thirty, and we open at nine. We try to close by four or four thirty if we can see everyone who’s come in that day. Some days we’re so busy, we have to give out numbers so people can take their place in line the next day. I check people in and record their vitals (height/weight, temperature, blood pressure and pulse). I handle all our patient charts and do a million other things to keep this place running smoothly. I’m at the clinic now, but this morning has been slow so far. I’m in the office sneaking this message to you. Not that anyone would care what I’m doing. It’s a pretty cool place to work.
We have a nurse practitioner named Miranda (she and her husband founded the clinic thirty years ago) who sees all the patients, except for the days when Jason (my cousin Carmen’s fiancé) comes in. He’s been filling in while our regular doctor is recovering from injuries he sustained in a car accident, and Miranda was part-time for months while she recovered from knee surgery. We’ve been so slammed, and Jason has been a godsend to us over the last couple of months. He’s arranged his schedule at Miami-Dade General Hospital, where he and Carmen both work, to be here on Thursday afternoons.
A lot of the people we see don’t have insurance, so the clinic is truly a lifesaver for them. In fact, it’s because of the clinic that I was in the Be the Match database. We did a registry drive here about four years ago, which is when I was swabbed. It’s one of those things you do and then never give another thought to until you get a call that you’re
a match for someone.
About your questions… I’m also twenty-eight, completely single after a bad breakup a couple of years ago (although I think your breakup takes the prize for worst ever), and in case you’re wondering, waiting to hear from you is torturous for me, too!
Well, I’d better get back to work. If you think of it, text me when you land, so I won’t be worried about you flying.
Love,
Maria
My heart does this weird fluttering thing when I read that last sentence and see that she’s included her number. How long has it been since anyone other than my parents cared about whether I’d landed safely somewhere? Kasey never gave a shit where I was. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize how little she cared until my teammate’s wife told me what was going on while I was away.
I think it’s cute that Maria says they couldn’t pay her enough to fly the way I do. Would ten million a year get her on a plane every week or so for six months? I wonder, but I’d never ask her such a douchey question.
Hi again,
Flying isn’t my favorite thing, either, but it’s a necessary part of the job for half the year. I’ve gotten used to it, but I can think of a million other things I’d rather do.
Today, for instance, I’d much prefer to be visiting a free clinic in Little Havana… I’d love to have her check my vitals. I bet my blood pressure is up a little since I received that sexy-as-fuck photo of her last night. I’ve looked at it a hundred times, easily.
When we land in Detroit, a bus will take us to a hotel near the ballpark. We get to chill until about three, when we go to the park for batting practice and warmups. Sometimes a group of us will go get lunch, but most of the time, we take the downtime when we can get it. On game days, I usually sleep in, get room service, watch TV and take it easy, especially the days when I’m pitching. The season is a grind, and by the time September rolls around, we’ve been battling annoying injuries and trying to play through them for months. We’re not in the running for the post-season this year, so this is our second-to-last road trip. Guess where we’re going on the last one? Tampa and Miami! That’s the week after next, and the three games in Miami will end the season for us. Maybe we can meet up while I’m in town?
I toss that out there casually, as if the possibility of actually meeting her isn’t the most exciting thing to happen in a really long time.
Your clinic really sounds like an amazing place. It’s nice of your cousin’s fiancé to volunteer at the clinic. I know way more about doctors and specialties than I ever thought I would. (And we’re back to the trauma! See why I can barely stand myself? Not sure how anyone else can.) Anyhow, I’m glad to hear you’re single. That matters to me more than it probably should, if I’m being honest. I’m almost twenty-nine, which makes me practically a senior citizen in this game.
Between everything with my ex and Ev’s illness, I’m not the same guy I was a few years ago. My dad likes to say that life changes you, and that’s certainly true in my case. It never occurred to me that Kasey would be unfaithful or that she’d leave our BABY home alone to party. You don’t even want to know how ballistic I went when that happened. At first I didn’t believe it, but there was video. The other wives suspected she was leaving the baby, and they set out to prove it. That video is the reason I was able to get sole custody of Ev. I told her if she fought me on that, I’d turn the video over to the cops. Not that I would’ve done that, because Ev would’ve ended up in foster care while they investigated us, but Kasey barely hesitated in signing away her rights. The whole thing was disgusting and upsetting and terrifying. When I think about what could’ve happened when my BABY was home ALONE… It boggles the mind. I knew it was over with her when I didn’t even care if she was fucking other guys. She left my daughter home alone. Nothing says OVER like that!
“Who you texting, AJ?”
Startled out of my grim memories of Kasey, I glance across the aisle at Santiago, our starting catcher and my closest friend on the team. “No one.” The last thing I need is for the guys to catch wind of the fact that I’m “talking” to someone. They’ll turn it into a BFD, and I don’t want them getting ahold of something that’s become so important to me.
“Awful lot of words for no one,” Santiago mutters.
I turn my back to him and continue typing. I wish I had my laptop with me. It’s easier than typing on my phone.
Anyway, I was just starting to bounce back from that disaster when the next one hit with Ev. I told you about my epic breakup, so now you have to tell me about yours… If you want to, that is. No obligation. True confession? I’ve looked at your photo a hundred times since last night, and I’m really, really, REALLY glad you’re single. Did I mention that?!
Love,
Austin
I send it before I can talk myself out of the super suggestive last bit. What am I doing exactly? She lives in Miami. I’m in Baltimore when I’m not in some other far-flung city. What do I think can become of this “friendship,” anyway?
If I were to tell the team’s media liaison that Everly’s bone marrow donor lives in Miami, they’d want to do something with her when we play there in two weeks. Would she be up for that? Would I?
God, I’d love to meet her and to see if the attraction I’ve felt for her through pictures and words carries over in person.
And if it does? What then?
After this season, I’m a free agent, which means I can go anywhere I want—and more or less name my price. It’s an exciting time that I’ve been looking forward to for a while now, except for the part about moving again. I love the O’s. I love my teammates and their wives and kids. I love the management and the ownership, but playing in the AL East is tough if you’re not the Sox or the Yankees. The thought of leaving the O’s is heartbreaking, but there’s almost no chance I’ll sign with the O’s again.
I haven’t seriously considered any other team because my agent has advised me to play it cool and do everything I can to finish this season strong. The goal is to ink a big deal that’ll set me up for life and allow me to finish my career in the next city I end up in. The more wins I notch in these last few games, the higher my free agency price goes. After losing most of last season to Ev’s illness, this season matters more than ever. I’m at nineteen wins, four losses and two no-decisions with three starts left.
This road trip is critical to finishing strong. It’s not the time for distractions, even beautiful distractions like Maria.
I can tell myself that a thousand times, but I already know I won’t stop talking to her regardless of what’s at stake. Talking to her has made me feel better than I have in years, and I won’t give that up for anything.
When we land, I send her a quick text. On the ground in Detroit.
We’re on the bus, heading to the hotel when she responds.
Glad you arrived safely. Have a good game. I’ll be watching.
I have butterflies in my stomach knowing she’ll be watching, and I’m not even playing in tonight’s game. Maybe we can FaceTime later. We just got here, and I’m already counting the hours until after the game when I can talk to her some more.
I can’t wait.
Chapter 4
MARIA
I use my lunch break to write back to Austin on the computer in the office, because I hate typing on my phone. Hearing he’s been staring at my photo since last night has made me super distracted. I’ve had to take more than one blood pressure twice this morning because I forgot the readings before I could record them, which is not like me at all.
Hi again,
How’s Detroit? The story of how Jason came to volunteer here is a long one. I’ll tell you that when I have more time.
Besides the added anxiety, which is totally understandable, by the way, how have you changed from before the breakup with Kasey and Everly’s illness? And also by the way, anyone who’d leave an infant home alone so she can party is a MONSTER who doesn’t deserve a child! I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt
to realize that was happening while you were away for work. I assume they pay you pretty well to play baseball. Why didn’t she hire a babysitter if she needed to go out so badly?!? I feel bad judging someone I don’t even know, but that’s just unforgivable. I’m SO GLAD you have sole custody of Everly now.
I just looked at the schedule for the Marlins, and I can’t believe I’d forgotten that their last home stretch is against the O’s! My dad and I share our tickets with other family members, but I already told him to save those three games for me. Are you starting while you’re here? And yes, we should get together while you’re in town. Is Everly coming with you, by any chance? I’d love to meet her, too.
You said the guys are nursing lots of injuries by this point in the season. Does that include you?
So my epic breakup was nowhere near the thermonuclear level of yours, but it was still pretty bad. I’d been with Scott since we were twenty-one. We met at the restaurant, actually, when he worked as a prep cook while he was finishing college. We moved in together after we graduated from college, and for a few years, things were good. I got the job at the clinic, and he was with a marketing company downtown. I wanted to get married, but he dodged the subject every time it came up (which I realized with hindsight—always 20/20, right?). I was completely oblivious to any problems between us. I thought his distance was just what happened when you’d been with someone for a long time.
Then my sister, Dee, was home for a weekend and ran into him in the grocery store with another woman. He introduced her as a friend from work, but Dee said he acted super freaked out about seeing her, which tipped her off there was more to the story. So she told me what happened, I confronted him, and he admitted he was in love with his coworker and had been for a while. While I’d been talking about getting married, apparently he’d been trying to find a way out of our relationship. I remember being completely shocked. There were no signs he was seeing someone else, at least not that I picked up on, and that made me feel stupid as well as heartbroken. I kicked him out of our place that day, and I’ve never seen him again. We’d been together five years by then, so it left me sort of reeling. The betrayal was the hard part, not to mention having to get tested for STDs in case he’d brought something home to me (he hadn’t, but still…). That the person I trusted the most could do something like that was hard to take. Since then, everyone wants to fix me up with someone, but I’ve avoided that nonsense. I just do NOT want to deal with it, you know?