by Mj Fields
It has, in fact, also been on her Christmas list since she was three. So far, it’s been easily delayed by telling her ‘we’ have to finish school. Clearly, that has now come back to bite me in the ass.
“But first we have to finish this internship then apply for jobs all over and see who offers me the most money.”
She climbs off of me, steps back, and turns her hands palm up. “But why?”
“Well”—I push up off the floor—“what if I met a man, and he fell head over sneakers in love with me—”
“Us,” she corrects.
“Right, us.” I grab a box of clothes off the floor and set it on her bed, opening it to pull out a pile to hang. “If we met a man and he fell head over sneakers in love with us—”
“No, we met the man, he falls in love with you.” Pretty sure that’s what I just said, but whatever. “I’m waiting for Flynn Eugene Fitzherbert to fall in love with me.”
“Gotcha. So, this guy falls in love, and then I get a job in, say, California, and then we have to move. That wouldn’t be fair to him, right?”
“But, Mommy, what if Flynn Eugene Fitzherbert lives in New Jersey?”
Dear Lord, I need wine.
“Well, if he does, he’d find you when you were finished with college and you’re old enough to fall in love.”
“How old is old enough?” she asks, pulling open a box of toys and tossing them all over the place.
“Twenty-four or finished with college.”
“But who will I bring to college with me if I don’t have a kid?”
Okay, maybe I need a Xanax, too.
I grab her new stuffed animal, a Jaguar. “You’ll bring him.”
She grins from ear-to-ear and laughs the kind of laugh that’s contagious, one from her belly. That laugh is better than wine and much more effective than Xanax.
“Come on; let’s go get ice cream.”
“Mommy, we haven’t had dinner yet!” she squeals with excitement.
“I think we have cause to celebrate.”
“Our new apartment?”
“Yeah, Georgie, our new apartment.”
Exhausted from the moving and the unpacking of just Georgie’s room, the kitchen, living room, and the bathroom, I step back and close the door to my room and decide to sleep on the couch.
I fill my water bottle before hitting the couch.
Georgie loves our ‘new’ couch, and I love that she thinks it’s new. The only thing new in this apartment is her bed, a gift from Bill’s parents for her ‘graduating college.’
It wasn’t until I was in year two of my doctorate program in New York that they even asked to see her. My gut instinct was to say no, it truly was. I mean, she was almost three years old—three—and they hadn’t wanted anything to do with her before, so why now? Why after all the hell they put me through, all they did, would they even expect an ounce of kindness?
Lily suggested I give them a chance. I told her I just wasn’t that big of a person.
Georgie knew her dad died in a car accident, the same accident that I carry a scar from back surgery. She knows that he is in “heaven” with the stars. What she doesn’t know is that he begged me to get an abortion, and that when I told him I wasn’t sure I could, he flipped out.
A few days later, he wanted to talk, and that’s when the accident happened. That’s when his grieving parents verbally attacked me while I lay in a hospital bed, in traction, pregnant and alone. They knew I was pregnant. I was called an opportunistic whore and a slut who slept with their son when he was promised to another woman.
Scared and alone, and weak, so freaking weak, I took their shit. I didn’t throw in their faces that I didn’t know he was engaged while we dated for six months, and when I found out, I walked away. He begged me back. He told me she was suicidal, and he wanted to wait to break up with her when she went home for summer break, so her family could take care of her. I thought it was sweet.
I didn’t tell them that because I wanted them to go away, and yes, I wanted them to continue thinking their son, their dead son, had done no wrong. After all, I wish I had that same belief in my father.
I didn’t hear from them until a few months after I had her, when they came after me, wanting to rid me of the burden. That’s when I fought them, when they tried to get me to sign her over, and again when they took me to court, saying I was unfit to raise a child when I had no one of my own, meaning family to help if I needed. They received supervised visits due to a similar outburst toward me at court. This time, with his fiancée in the courtroom glaring at me. They never showed up to the first visit and didn’t schedule another. I was very thankful for that.
I raised my Georgie alone and never asked for a thing from them. To me, they were monsters, and so was her father the day of the accident. That’s why I knew I was already the bigger person, and that’s why they’ve yet to spend even a minute with her alone since they asked to be part of her life a year ago.
“No,” I whisper to myself. “No more.”
I look around the living room and allow myself to take in what I alone have accomplished.
After two months of hospital residency, something good fell in my lap. I get to work in the field I want to work in forever. Even though this was not a sport that I would consider staying with long-term, it was hours, and it was a paid position. Gymnastics was my dream, but this was the best option since I would be in it for six months and walk with all the criteria for my license completed.
My only worry is that Georgie may not understand that temporary means for a short time. She’s kind of an in-the-moment kind of girl. But I know now that wherever we end up, I’ll always have a job. And as much as my dream is sports, I can do whatever I want and never ever again eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at lunch every day because that’s all I can afford to eat, or tape my shoes so the soles won’t fall off. I made sure Georgie never went without, she was never cold or hungry, and now I can do the same for both of us.
Home, I have made a real home for us.
Lying back on the new to us couch, I close my eyes and smile, trying to remember if there was ever a time in my life that I felt this exhausted yet still had a smile on my face.
“Nope, no. Not that either.” I try to push away the one night that I did something strictly for me and out loud tell the image in my head, “HB, go away.”
As quickly as the words are uttered, I jackknife off the couch and grab my phone. I flip through the calendar to see the date of my one and only one-night stand and realization hits.
Eight fucking weeks.
And then … then I cry.
Standing in front of the owners desk, his feet on top of it, he lets out a hearty laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“I’m sorry for the confusion, Mr. Costello, but I can assure you that—”
“Hold up.” He turns and removes his feet from the desk, leans forward, and shuffles the papers in my folder around. “Says here you were invited to be on the Olympic women’s gymnastics team when you graduated high school but opted to go to college instead.”
“Yes, sir, I—”
“Name’s Buck, as in a male deer, Ellis.” He shakes his head and chuckles again. “When I got your recommendation and saw your name, I thought you were male.”
“I can assure you that I am very professional, and your players will see me as nothing more than one of the boys.”
“Gonna have to let you know, the majority of my players are old, but they’re certainly not blind.”
“Well, when I’m in work gear, my hair is pulled up in a knot, and I’m not wearing makeup, I kind of resemble a chubby twelve-year-old boy.”
He throws back his head and laughs in a way you would laugh, too, unless that laughter is directed at you. And guess what? It is definitely directed toward me.
“Sir—”
“Buck,” he corrects.
“Fine. Buck, can I be frank with you?”
“Still trying to wrap my brai
n around Ellis, but sure, be Frank.”
I run my hand over my face and clear my throat. “Without sports, I would have been nothing. I wouldn’t have been a college graduate, and I certainly wouldn’t now hold a doctorate. I’m not sure how many others were in the pool you chose from, and I’m sure some were also athletes. But I was chosen to be an Olympic athlete. Until my accident, I was still going to end work toward the Olympics, and I can promise you that I have no doubt about that. Maybe … maybe one in a million physical therapists can say that, but I’m pretty sure none of them can say they were in a tragic accident and lost that one in a million chance and still want nothing more than to help athletes be the best they can be physically. I’m sure none of them lost everything and pushed through four more years of schooling and graduated at the top of their class. I promise you, Mr.—”
“Buck.”
“Buck, I promise you that I am a professional and will remain professional.”
“Ellis”—he leans forward—“I’ve no doubt that you’re professional, but they may not be at times, and I cannot and will not put my ball club through a lawsuit because I threw a girl in the locker room and she couldn’t handle locker room talk. Men can be pigs, Ellis. Athletes with higher testosterone than most are even worse. Can you handle that, Ellis?”
“Yes, sir, I can.”
“If you were my daughter, I sure as hell wouldn’t want you dealing with that shit.”
“I can handle it. Just please don’t fire me when they come running to you after I put them in their place. And, Buck, some of them will be crying.”
To that, he throws his head back again in laughter then pushes a packet of papers at me. “Head to HR, Ellis. And welcome to the club.”
As soon as I close his office door behind me, I run to the bathroom and throw up.
After washing my face and pulling my hair up in a ponytail, cursing Lily and myself for taking her advice on doing my hair and makeup to make a good impression, I walk to the door and pull it open.
I hear Buck’s voice boom from his office. “Son, you just missed our newest member of the physical therapy team, and let me tell you, Ellis is going to be a ballbuster.”
“Not afraid of the work, but if he goes easy on me, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Wouldn’t expect any less of our star.”
“Not a star, Buck. Happy to be a member of the team.”
“Humble, that’ll work.”
I walk into HR and smile. “Hi, Mr. Cost—”
“Buck sent you, doll?” She holds out her hand, and I place the file in it.
“Yes. I’m Ellis Stavros.”
She looks up from her computer and snort laughs. “Well, that’s something.”
“Yeah, apparently, I was expected to have—”
“Balls and not boobs?” She laughs.
“Well, how I see it, boobs are just like balls that haven’t fallen yet.”
She laughs out loud. “Oh, sweetheart, I hope you can keep that attitude; our men are gonna do their best to get under your—”
“Skirt? I can promise you that I will be wearing workout attire.”
“Well, I was going to say skin, but—”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Minnie, Ellis Stavros here?” a man calls from behind me.
“Yes, sir.” She smiles.
“Well, send him down to the conference room. The new kid’s here, and I’d like him to meet the new doc.”
“She’s right here. Henry, meet Ellis. Ellis, this is our Henry. You’ll be working under him.”
“Fuck,” Henry murmurs as he turns away. “Let’s you and I go meet the new kid.”
We walk past a set of double doors with a plaque that reads, “Locker Room,” and stop in front of one that’s labeled, “Conference Room.”
He pushes open the door and holds it. “Have a seat. They’ll be down any second.”
I walk toward the long conference table, around to the opposite side as the door, and sit. “Could I have a look at his file?”
“Shit, I didn’t get a copy for you. But from what I’ve been told, he’s going to need daily therapy. He pushes himself hard; we need to make sure he doesn’t push himself too hard.”
“Is that what his file says?”
“No, it’s what I’ve heard.” He sits down and drops the file in front of him, not even opening it.
I point to it. “Do you mind if I have a look?”
From the doorway, I hear the same voice that I heard when leaving the bathroom as he begins to list his injuries, and I pull a notepad and pen from my bag and begin writing as he tells us his injuries.
“All injuries on the right side of my body. Separated shoulder, a small meniscus tear in my knee.”
“And how are they healing?”
“Couple months since the date of the injury. Just get tight at times.”
“We can manage that.” I look up from my notepad and my heart skips a beat, and then another when he nods.
Henry stands and extends his hand. “Amias Steel, pleasure to have you on the team.”
Amias Steel leans forward and gives his hand a firm shake then looks back at me. “Right eye injury, spotty vision at times, and, oh yeah, I bat left.”
He looks back at Henry. “I need daily therapy. I push myself hard. I expect to be pushed a little harder every day.”
He looks back at me. “I’m missing a lot from the night of my accident, but things are definitely starting to come back to me.”
Spring Training
As soon as I get the fuck out of the meeting with PT, I all but run to my vehicle. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Swear to God, I felt like I saw a ghost. Could have ignored it; she looked like she had to.
After Max filled in the blanks about the night of the accident, I made a few calls. My boys confirmed that we did, in fact, play stripper at a bachelorette get-together in the VIP section. They also confirmed I called dibs on the bride. I never call dibs. Found out, because I feel like a piece of shit enough for wanting to rub up on a woman who is getting hitched, the bride’s name was Lily Carmichael. Did some internet sleuthing, came across some pictures they had posted on the internet the night of the accident, and Lily Carmichael, now Lily Schneider, was definitely not who I would hook up with. Tall, leggy, blonde-haired, blue-eyed southern belle. Pretty sure she had fake tits.
However, for the past few weeks, I have been dreaming about a short, athletic black-haired beauty with crystal blue eyes. The girl’s name is Ellis. The only pictures of Ellis were ones posted on Lily’s, social media pages. Ellis doesn’t have a public social media presence.
I hit the call button on my vehicle’s dashboard screen and say, “Call Cowboy.”
I look at the time. It’s six o’clock. He shouldn’t be at training right now, but he’s not answering his phone.
“Cowboy, it’s Amias. Hit me up as soon as you get this message.”
As I sit in the parking lot, waiting for him to return my call, I catch sight of Ellis hurrying toward what I assume is her Toyota Corolla. I slouch down in my seat as she makes her way from the exit of the stadium to the main road. I have to fight the urge to follow her, but when I see a booster seat in the back of her ride, I decide against it.
Fifty percent positive isn’t odds I bet on. Not when the possibility is that she’s married and has a kid.
Fuck, I think as I watch her white car drive out of sight.
I hit recent calls, then hit Cowboy’s name again. I need to fucking know.
“Steel, everything good?”
“Yeah, man, everything’s good. Just had a question.”
“Shoot.”
“The bride from the night of the accident? She blonde or brunette?”
“You’re tripping pretty hard on this, huh?”
“Don’t like the fact that I can’t remember if I fucked a married woman or not.”
“We were shit-faced. Pretty sure they were, too. We are all adults, doing adult shit
, stop trippin’.”
“Blonde or brunette?”
“Dark hair, man, about waist-length, blue eyes, guessing about five-foot-two if you took off her fuck-me heels.”
“Anyone get a picture?”
“No fucking way.” He laughs. “We told them no pictures, so we sure as fuck weren’t taking any.”
“When I resurfaced, was I alone?”
“Would love to give you a straight answer, but I have no fucking clue.”
Frustrated but not wanting to let on to the fact any more than I already have, I tell him, “See you in a few days, man.”
“Definitely. We need a night together, OG. Team tearing shit up.”
Not sure if I want to see her again, but I am damn sure I want answers, so I scroll through my phone and hit Buck’s name. He gave me his personal phone number.
“Everything okay, son?”
Fuck no, everything is not okay. I feel like a chick in the movies who wakes up after four years of being in a coma and doesn’t recognize her own kids.
“Henry’s not for me, Buck.”
“He’s been with the team the longest; has the most experience.”
“I wasn’t impressed. He hadn’t even read my file.” That’s definitely not a lie. “He knew I was coming, had plenty of time. He should have read the documents my physical therapist’s office had faxed over. It’s lazy. I don’t do lazy.”
“When you get to Clearwater, you’ll meet the other staff. I’m sure you’ll be more than happy—”
“I want Ellis in Florida.”
“She’s green, kid. Just hired her on. Six months, and she’ll have completed her hours, got her license, and probably be leaving baseball. She was a gymnast. I’m guessing she’ll head in that direction.”
Gymnast.
“Being green means she’s up on the newest techniques, whereas I’m guessing Henry hasn’t seen the inside of a classroom in—”
“Has nothing to do with the fact she’s a hot little number?”
“When I was going into that meeting, I stood at the door, listening. She was requesting my file. He had it sitting in front of him, unopened. He didn’t offer it to her, and she didn’t sit there on her hands accepting that. She asked questions. He responded with what he had heard. Heard, Buck, not read in a file detailing the past few months of my recovery. When I walked in and gave a detail description of my injuries, she took notes; he did not. Not that I should have had to—they were all right in front of him—yet he goes on what he’s heard, not seen or read. You’re a businessman, Buck, I know you recognize that I’m an investment. It’s clear that your boy Henry doesn’t have the best interest of your business or your investments at heart. I want Ellis in Clearwater, and I’m not budging.”
