by Kate, Jiffy
The flight attendant stops by to take our drink order and we both ask for water. Mack probably needs it if he had the night I think he had and I don’t usually drink leading up to a game day. We’ll both be starting tomorrow and I want to be my best.
“We talked,” I finally say. “And she agreed to see where this thing is going.”
When I told her I expected her to be there when I got back and her eyes flared with heat, I had to force myself to leave. If I hadn’t already been running late, I would’ve taken her on that desk.
I still plan on taking her on that desk.
I plan on taking her on every viable surface in my house.
“But she’s still working for you?” Mack asks, accepting the water from the attendant and passing it to me.
“Thank you,” I tell her, and then answer Mack. “Yeah, she’s still working for me.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Damn, dude. I can honestly say I didn’t see this coming, but I’ve always noticed a chemistry between you two, so I’m not surprised.”
“I really like her,” I mutter, partially to him and partially to myself.
My eyes gaze back out the window and I can picture her so clearly sitting at the desk in my office where I left her. Knowing she’s there feels right, like she’s meant to be there.
“I can tell,” Mack says. “And I know you and you wouldn’t be trying with someone like her if you weren’t serious about it.”
He’s right, I wouldn’t.
I always knew I’d give love another shot. I know there are people who get a divorce and write off marriage, but I’ve always wanted to be married. Commitment isn’t something I’m scared of, never has been and never will be. According to my mom, I was made for monogamy.
Even through high school, I didn’t like the idea of playing the field. Once Felicia and I started dating, I was in it for the long haul.
There have been moments I’ve blamed myself for the divorce and I know I’m not perfect, but I also know I would’ve done anything Felicia asked of me. That doesn’t mean I’m still in love with her or I would go back to her now.
That ship has sailed.
But I want that again.
With someone like Casey.
Maybe it’s the fact I’ve been there and done that or that I’m thirty-one and over the bullshit, but I don’t want to waste time on meaningless sex or meaningless relationships. If I didn’t see a future with Casey, I wouldn’t be pursuing her.
When we touch down in Denver, there are two large buses waiting to take us to the hotel. Game time is in five hours, so we’ll have a short turn around once we get there before we head to the field.
“Looking sharp, Davies,” Buddy says as he walks by my seat, giving my shoulder a light slap.
“Thanks, Skip.”
When he slips into the seat beside me, I’m not going to lie, my heart beats a little faster. After the shit show I put on at the end of last season, I was worried about being traded. Even though I’m on year seven of a ten-year contract, anything is possible. Of course, I’d go wherever I need to continue to play baseball.
But my home is in New Orleans.
“And I don’t just mean in that suit,” he continues, his eyes focused straight ahead. “I have to say, I was worried about you for a while. I’ve seen players go through all kinds of shit and never bounce back from it mentally. Sure, they can still throw a ball, hit a ball, catch a ball, but we all know, if your head isn’t in the game, you’re not going to be the best you can be.”
He pauses and I stay quiet, giving him a chance to finish what he sat down here to say.
“You showed up to Spring Training with your head on straight and threw some of your best stuff in that first game. You proved yourself and what a pillar of this organization looks like. We weather the storm and come out stronger on the other side.” I can see him nod his head out of the corner of my eye and I feel my shoulders relax and my chest swell with pride. “That’s New Orleans… and that’s who we are.”
My throat feels a little tight, so I stay quiet, letting him finish.
“Looking forward to the season and seeing what you’ve got for us.”
“I appreciate it,” I finally say, hoping I don’t sound as emotional as I’m feeling. “Thanks for sticking with me and for your support. It means a lot.”
Subject: Superstitions
Ross,
I know you baseball players have your superstitions so I don’t want to say anything wrong.
What’s off limits?
Can I tell you “good game”? You pitched amazing? Nice butt?
Tell me what I can get by with because I don’t want to be blamed for anything going wrong.
And I’m guessing you’re still not shaving, which I’m totally okay with. You look sexy with or without a beard, but I must confess I’ve had dreams about the feel of your beard against my skin and would like to experience that again.
Everything is good here. Your house is still standing. Alice came and did a deep clean. Phil hooked me up with a great landscaper who’s going to give us a quote on tidying up the backyard. I’ve already told them they can’t touch the pitching mound.
Two people contacted you for interviews, both of them will be done via phone calls and I scheduled them for your off day between Colorado and Arizona.
At your service ;)
Casey
God, I love her smart ass.
Pulling my laptop closer, I start typing my response.
Subject: re: Superstitions
Here’re some hard and fast rules:
1. Never talk about a no-hitter or a perfect game.
2. If you don’t know what a no-hitter is, Google it.
3. After you win a game, it’s perfectly acceptable to say “good game” or “nice butt”
4. Once you start a winning streak, you don’t shave.
5. But if you have two at-bats with no hits, you shave it off.
6. Sometimes, we decide not to shave until we hit .500, so it can go either way.
We could be here all night, but I think that covers what you asked about.
Thank you for all you do. I know it’s a job and you’re getting paid to do it, but you do it well and I’m appreciative. I don’t ever want you to think I take it for granted.
About that dream, I’d like to make it a reality.
I’ve never been one to wish away my life, but I’m counting down the days until I’m back home. And with you.
Wishing I was at your service,
Ross
Our emails are back to what they were before I left Florida, maybe even better than they were in Florida, and I couldn’t be happier about it. Relieved is actually more like it. She was pushing me away for whatever reason, but these past few days, things have felt like they’re back on track.
The Revelers are also back on track.
The team is gelling and even though we’re winning, there are still areas we can improve on. But something about this season reminds me of the last time we went to the playoffs. I have high hopes.
I have high hopes for a few things.
And it feels good.
“So, how did the interviews go?” Casey asks, her voice sounding sleepy.
Adjusting the pillows behind me, I grab my water and settle in. I’ve waited to talk to her on the phone for two days. With our schedule, sometimes it’s really late before I make it back to my hotel room.
“Great,” I tell her after taking a drink. “Thanks for setting those up. Do I have anything else on the schedule?”
“You did have an email from a marketing company who represents a supplement company. They were looking for an endorsement, but I responded for you and told them you don’t endorse anything you don’t take. Was that okay?”
Chuckling, I smile. “Perfect.”
“Oh, we should see if the company who makes those green smoothies wants to use you.”
My laugh grows louder.
“Or maybe ESPN wants t
o do another Body Issue…”
“Shit,” I groan, pressing my head into the pillow. “I’m never going to live that down.”
“Live it down?” Casey asks, suddenly sounding very awake. “Are you kidding me? That’s the best thing since sliced bread. It will live in infamy. Women, and men, will talk about it for years to come.”
My laughter dies as I think about Casey checking me out in that magazine. “So, do you have a copy?”
“Not just one,” she says too quickly to be a lie.
Actually, I swear I can hear her cover her mouth, like she didn’t mean for that little tidbit to come out.
“Are you a closet Ross Davies fan?” I tease.
There’s a rustle on the other side of the phone and then Casey answers quietly. “There’s no closet about it.”
“And where are these copies of the Ross Davies Body Issue?” I ask, growing hard at the thought of her looking at them and pleasuring herself. I know that might be cocky of me, no pun intended, but I can’t help it. Does she pleasure herself? Does she think of me when she does?
“Places,” she says curtly.
I laugh again, not even hiding my enjoyment of this fact. “Places, huh? And… what might one do with more than one copy?”
“They’re going to be collector’s items one day,” she says. “Because you’re, well…”
“I’m what? Old?” I ask, wishing I was with her right now so I could sweep her up and spank her ass for that one.
“I was going to say a legend… or you will be.”
“Now you’re just sweet talking and backtracking, but I’ll let you have it.”
The phone line goes quiet and I actually love it when we’re like this, just breathing and listening… existing in the same space, even from miles away.
“So, about those magazines…” I finally say, unable to let it go.
“Oh, my God,” Casey groans. “I’m never going to live this down.”
Nope, not gonna happen.
“Not to change the subject or anything,” she adds. “But I was just wondering… does that offer still stand for me to move into the guest house?”
My heart sputters in my chest and then restarts, beating hard.
“Yes, of course,” I say, trying to sound calm and like this isn’t the best fucking news I’ve received. “It’s yours if you want it.”
I mean that quite literally. I’d sign it over to her if she wanted.
Don’t ask me the whys of that. It’s just the truth.
“Well, I want it,” she replies. “I’ve been looking for a place for the last week and haven’t found anything I love that’s in my price range and in the right location. I found this great walk-up in the Quarter, but that’s a little too far from where I need to be most days. Then there was this garage apartment a few blocks from Charlotte’s, but it was more of a studio and the kitchen was so small… and you know how I love to cook.”
She’s rambling and I love it, so I let her, but she doesn’t have to convince me.
“I already told you it’s yours and any time you want to cook in my kitchen, you’re more than welcome.”
That statement was dripping with innuendo and I meant every word of it.
Chapter 18
Casey
Lying back on the padded table, the paper crinkles beneath me and I’m chilled. The flimsy gown the nurse gave me to put on isn’t giving me any warmth and I’m suddenly feeling very alone.
I’ve had this feeling wash over me plenty of times in the past few weeks, ever since I found out about the pregnancy, but this is the strongest it’s been.
There’s an obvious void next to me, where I wish Ross was—standing, holding my hand, experiencing this with me. But I don’t get long to dwell on it.
“Good morning, Ms. Carradine,” an elderly woman says, walking into the room with a kind smile. “I’m Dr. Campbell.” She slides a rolling chair up to the foot of the bed and tilts her head toward me. “Are you ready to hear this baby’s heartbeat?”
This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for—concrete proof of the life growing inside me. But now that I’m here, I don’t know if I’m ready.
“Sure,” I say, nodding my head nervously. “Okay.”
Her warm hand comes down on mine and she gives it a light squeeze. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”
Without further ado, she begins typing on a keyboard, then squeezes some warm gel on my stomach. Picking up the wand, she starts to move it around my abdomen.
A moment later, the room is filled with a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh… and tears fill my eyes.
“Baby looks good,” she says, looking at the screen before swiveling it in my direction.
That’s when I see it, a small blob that’s already starting to resemble a real baby.
“Oh, my God,” I gasp, my hand coming up to cover my mouth as tears flow freely down my cheeks. “There’s a real baby.” The chuckle that escapes is half joy and half wonderment. I can see small nubs where his or her arms will be… a head and abdomen… and tiny nubs for feet. It’s like a five-year-olds drawing of a baby and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“A real baby,” Dr. Campbell echoes back. “I’ll print out some of these pictures for you to take home… your baby’s first pictures.”
My baby.
My baby’s first pictures.
And the first time I heard its heartbeat.
My heart has been split in two—half still beating in my chest and the other half beating in my belly.
“Baby is measuring about ten weeks and five days, which puts your due date around November tenth.”
November tenth.
After the playoffs.
Even if the Revelers make it to the World Series, we should be good.
We.
Me.
Ross.
This baby.
Guilt floods my body as I lay there and realize I’ve stolen ten and a half weeks from Ross. Well, technically, I’ve only known about this little peanut for a few weeks. But he should be here today. I know he’d love it, regardless of the circumstances.
There’s just something inside me that tells me Ross Davies will be an amazing father. And he’d want to hear his baby’s heartbeat and see his or her first picture… know the due date and experience every moment, no matter how small.
I have to tell him.
“Can I record the heartbeat with my phone?” I ask, swiping the tears off my cheeks. “I need to share it with someone.”
She gives me an understanding smile and picks up the wand again, pressing it against my belly while I push record on my phone.
Half an hour later, I’m sitting in my car with black and white pictures of the tiny baby growing inside me, a video of his or her heartbeat on my phone, and a new resolve to take back control of my life.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve kind of lost myself, giving in to fear and uncertainty. But I’m done with that.
Putting my car in reverse, I pull out of the parking lot and head for Charlotte’s.
“Char,” I call out as I let myself in the backdoor. The entire drive over here, I thought about telling her about the baby. It would be nice to have someone else to share this secret with and since we’ve always shared our secrets, it would be the natural thing to do. But I need to tell Ross first. I owe him that much. So, this visit is for something else I need to do.
“In the studio,” Charlotte calls back.
On my way through the kitchen, I grab two bottles of water and a couple of pieces of fruit. Knowing my sister, she’s been living on coffee and donuts. Basically, she’s a cop with a smoking hot body and a voice of angels.
“Hey,” I say, poking my head in to make sure she’s not recording.
Charlotte lifts her head from the notebook in front of her and gives me a huge smile.
“Hey, you.” Standing, she stretches and then pulls me into a hug. “I was wondering when you were going to come home. How’s work
going at Casa de Davies… House of Davies… Davies Corporation, huh?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “That doesn’t sound half bad. Kind of has a CEO-Secretary vibe. Maybe the two of you could…”
“Oh, my God, Charlotte!” I push her away and feel my face heat up. “Here,” I say, shoving the bottled water and fruit into her hands. “Drink some water and eat a banana.”
“Have you had his banana?”
My eyes grow wide. “What is wrong with you?”
“Why are you such a fuddy-duddy?” She pouts and peels the banana, cramming half of it in her mouth like a child. “If you don’t want to talk about sex, what do you want?”
As annoying as she can be, I love her and I’m thankful for her inappropriateness because it worked nicely as an icebreaker.
“I’m moving into Ross’s guest house,” I say, ripping the band-aid off. “I’ve been looking for an apartment and nothing has been in my price range or the right location and he offered, so I’m taking him up on it.”
“So, you’re going to screw your landlord.” Nodding, she plops back into her seat. “That could work.”
“Are you going to help me pack or what?” I ask, sitting across from her.
Charlotte drops the smile and looks over at me with a serious expression. “Are you sure about this? I know you’ve made passing comments about finding your own place, but there’s no rush.”
“I know,” I tell her, reaching out to take her hand. “And I love living here, but I really need my own space. It’s time.” I’m having a baby. The confession is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. I will tell her soon, but not yet. “I need to be on my own and figure things out.”
She gives me a soft, sad smile. “My baby sister is growing up.”
Tears prick my eyes and I laugh them off, shaking my head.
“Actually, you’ve always been older than your years,” Charlotte continues. “I feel like you’ve been taking care of me for so long and I depend on you so much…”
“And that doesn’t have to change,” I assure her. “I’ll still be here for you and I’ll do whatever you need me to do. None of that will change.”
She bites on her lip, her head slowly nodding. “Yeah, it will change, but that’s okay. Change is good, right?”
