by Shey Stahl
“Oh, c’mon. Tell her she’s starting player in my bang bank.”
I stop what I’m doing, gathering my clothes from all over the place. I guess I am messier than I thought. “I don’t even know what that means.” On the nightstand, I notice the container of Jelly Bellies I picked up for Tatum. Fuck. A sharp pain hits my stomach that I’m leaving without her. No more debates about the best flavors and me teaching her to count using them. Hundreds of memories made in two short months plague my thoughts, and I wonder if where my life is heading is in the right direction.
“I’m gonna miss you.”
“I won’t miss you.”
He laughs. “Oh, bullshit.”
“Okay. I might. Is your uncle in jail yet?”
“Nah, but he left town. Something about Enzo getting into some trouble down in Mexico. Apparently, he’s pissed off some drug lord and kidnapped the kidnapped.”
“How do you kidnap the kidnapped?”
“Uh, well, all I know is he’s like a bounty hunter for the mafia. Or some shit. Anyways, he took off with the girl he was supposed to bring back. Now Luca is looking for him before the mafia finds him.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, that’s Enzo for you. Crazy as fuck and irrational.”
Can you imagine Christmas in the Rossi house? Yeah, me either. It’s probably like a scene out of Scarface. “He sounds as crazy as your uncle.”
“You’re telling me. I found a finger in the sink. A fucking finger!”
“I’m not surprised.”
He sighs, and I can hear car doors closing and voices in the distance. “You said goodbye to Sydney and the kid yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, my friend, see ya in the minors, I guess,” Ez says, more emotion in his voice than I’m sure he wants to admit. “Paint the black, Reins.”
A smile tugs at my lips. I think back to the first time I met Ezra Rossi. Summer ball. Cape Cod. He tossed me the ball and said, “Paint the black.” And then said my pitches made his balls buzz. I had no idea what to think of that five-foot-six, wild black-haired man, but regardless, I’m going to miss this crazy Italian bastard. “I’ll see ya around, man.” After I hang up with Ez, I look around the studio apartment I’ve been living in for the past couple of months. I can count the number of times on my hand that I’ve slept in that bed in the corner. I’ve spent more time in Sydney’s or on the floor in Tatum’s room to ensure no monsters go under her bed. A job I take very seriously.
With two tickets to Anaheim stuffed in my pocket, I make my way over to the house, knowing tomorrow I’ll be in California signing a contract and then leaving for Salt Lake City. My career—something I’ve worked my entire life for—is about to begin, yet I’m physically sick walking into her house.
It smells like lemons and sugar the second I open the door. Tatum’s running around, half-naked, with my baseball hat on backward, and screaming at the top of her lungs for the cat who is refusing to come out. I can’t say I blame Olaf for hiding.
Making my way into the kitchen, I find Sydney putting the final touches on a lemon pie for me. At least I hope it’s for me.
I come up behind her, my mouth on the exposed curve of her neck. “You made me pie?”
Turning, she wraps her arms around my shoulders. She smiles, so bright and happy for me though deep down, I know there’s sadness, too, because we know what this means. “It’s a special occasion.”
I refuse to let go and hold tighter, staring at the whip cream on top and wishing I could lick it off her body like we did last week. “Not that special.”
She works her hands between us and cups my cheeks. “Don’t downplay this.”
“It’s hard not to,” I admit, my voice shaking, but she doesn’t catch on. “If I don’t, I’ll probably burst into tears that this is actually happening.” She thinks I’m joking, but I’m not.
Facing me, she points her finger into my chest. “I have two rules, bigs.”
Leaning back into the island, I motion her forward with a wave, grateful for the break in the heaviness weighing down on us. “Lay ’em on me.”
“No mullets and no mustache.”
I raise an eyebrow, entertained that she didn’t play the card most women do. “I thought you were gonna say no women.”
She winks. “That too.”
“That’s a lot of demands for someone who claims she’s ‘not dating’ me.”
Pressing her lips together, she fights back laughter. “Excuse me, but did you just air quote the words not dating.”
I smirk, rolling my bottom lip between my teeth. “I did. To get my point across.”
Dipping her finger in the whip cream on the pie, she licks it. “And what’s your point?”
Reaching forward, I tug on the front of her shirt and yank her into me. “That you won’t date me.”
“That’s not true.”
“I sleep in your bed every night. We’ve been out to dinner seven times and to the movies twice with Tatum. Remember, you spilled a drink on my dick, and I sat the entire movie wet.”
Her eyes widen because she spent the remainder of the night teased by me with my tongue on her clit until she couldn’t take it any longer, and I finally let her come. “I said I was sorry.”
“Still….”
She raises an eyebrow, her finger falling from her lips. “Still what?”
I dart my eyes from the sweet cream on her lip to hers. “You won’t acknowledge we’re dating.” I lean forward and trap her, refusing to allow her to get away from me. “In interviews, when I’m asked if I have a girlfriend, I’m going to tell people yes. I’m on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Just so you know, I told them I was dating someone.”
“I know. I saw the article.” Her expression softens, her lips curling up into a smile but still, I see the fear in her eyes. “That was sweet of you.”
I dart my eyes to the pie. “And you made me a lemon pie, so I’m going to assume I’m your boyfriend now. Because of the pie.”
She lets out a chuckle, rolling her eyes playfully. “Making a pie doesn’t mean you’re my boyfriend. I made Sadie one last week.”
Growling, I press my body into hers, my hands traveling from the counter to her shoulders. Grabbing a handful of her hair, I yank and force her to look at me. “Don’t be making anyone pies but me. They’re mine.”
Her eyes find mine, and though the fear in them is still very much there, she offers me what I want, in a way, when she whispers, “I won’t if you promise not to grow a mullet. I don’t like them.”
I kiss her neck and bite down on her collarbone. “Then tell me I’m your boyfriend.”
“Cason….”
“I’m being serious here. I… love you.” I hit her with it. I wasn’t going to throw the words out there so casually, but I do. Deal with it.
By the look on her face, she thinks I’m joking. But the words hit her right where I want them to. Her heart. She blinks, her breathing increases, and the smile widens. I don’t wait for her to say it back before I kiss her.
But then again, I want to hear it. Not that she loves me, because I don’t need the affirmation, but that when I leave here, she’ll be waiting. “Say it,” I breathe against the seam of her lips.
“Say what?”
My lips fumble against hers, my stance shifting. I pull back and gauge her reaction. Same as before. “Don’t make me beg.”
Her hands cup my cheeks. “I’m dating a major leaguer.”
Relief floods through me, and I can’t help but kiss her again. I hate what comes next because this feels so good with her. There’s been no effort here. We just sort of fell into place since that first meeting, and even being hundreds of miles away, that’s not going to change anything.
“Get a room!” Sadie yells from the family room.
I don’t let Sydney go. I know this isn’t goodbye, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like it is. With my heart weighing heavily on my chest, I hold her close and press my lips to
hers, again, seeking out the affirmation that she will be here, waiting for me and knowing she doesn’t have to.
Pulling back, I reach inside my back pocket and hand her the two tickets I got for her and Tatum. “Come with me.”
Her eyes drop to the tickets and then lift to mine. Wide. Shocked. Excited? I don’t know. I can’t get a read on her. “What?”
I step back, my ass hitting the edge of the kitchen island. “Come with me to Anaheim this week. You can come to the game with me, and then we can take Tatum to Disneyland.” I lean in and whisper, “There’s a Frozen musical,” and drift my eyes to the kid, trying to seal the deal.
Sydney laughs sarcastically. “Oh, that sounds amazing.”
“So you’ll come then?” To cushion my wager, I pull out the ticket I bought. “These are non-refundable.”
“Cason… you should—”
I stop her, shaking my head. “Share this experience with the two people I care about most.”
At first, I think she’s going to turn me down, until she doesn’t. “When do we leave?”
My shoulders roll forward, and I sink into her embrace. “Tonight.”
Her hands rub up and down my back. “I’ll let you tell Tatum.”
I find Tatum watching Frozen while Sydney ties up some loose ends with her business and has Sadie stay at the house.
Sitting down next to her, Tatum practically sits on my lap. I point to Olaf. “Did you know there’s a musical in Disneyland with him?”
Tatum lifts her eyes to mine and then back to the screen. “Can I hug hims?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Do you want to go find out?”
She nods, her eyes lighting up. “Let’s go find hims.”
And that’s how easy it was.
THE NEXT TWO days are packed full with contracts and meetings and getting to watch the Angels play from the box seats high above the stadium. I’ve seen big league games. They’re all the same until you’re on the mound yourself. I’ve signed contracts before, and I know I’m not going right into the majors, so it all feels sort of mechanical. Even with all that and my dreams coming true, none of it compares to Sydney and Tatum’s last night in Anaheim with me. We spent three whole days together, walking all around the park, every ride Tatum could go on, and finally, she meets her best friend. Olaf.
The moment he says hello to her, she screams bloody murder and clings to me. “That didn’t go very well.”
Sydney stares at Tatum, confused. “Why are you scared of him?”
Tatum won’t even look at him, her face buried in my shoulder.
“That’s weird. I thought she would have loved him.”
“I don’t know.” Sydney watches the six-foot-tall talking snowman. “He’s kinda terrifying. My head could fit in his mouth.”
I glance at her, then the snowman. “Well, now that you say it, I’d be terrified too.”
I think it’s safe to say her obsession with the talking snowman is over.
On our last night, it sinks in. I won’t have this soon. I’ll be hundreds of miles away, alone, playing with guys I’ve never met before.
I fear Sydney will come to her senses and move on. I’m a twenty-two-year-old kid, and Sydney is a single mother, strong, independent… she doesn’t need me. I want her to, and the fact that she doesn’t makes me want her even more.
I knew I’d be leaving for Salt Lake City to play in the minors. But it still didn’t sink in until my last night, with the fireworks bursting to life in the sky, that I say goodbye to them.
“I’m gonna be leaving to play baseball,” I tell Tatum, holding her in my arms. Sydney’s in line to get her another Dole Whip. I’m not sure she’s going to understand what I’m saying to her. She’s three, and the extent of our conversations have never been much, other than her telling me what to do.
Tatum shifts to look at me but doesn’t say anything.
I watch her face as I say the next part. “I won’t see you for a while.”
Her brow comes together, her hands on my cheeks. “Boy.” She sighs but doesn’t say anything else. I’m not entirely sure how to take that.
Sydney approaches with the Dole Whip in hand. We sit on a bench, the sky bursting to life with reds, greens, and purples. With Tatum on my lap, I hold the bowl while she dips the spoon in.
“I told her I’m leaving tomorrow,” I confess, looking to Sydney for her reaction.
Tears surface in her eyes, her head on my shoulder, her hand on mine. “She knows you’ll be back again.”
I press my lips to the top of Tatum’s head. “I won’t forget you, kid.”
At first I think she’s crying, because something wet hits my hand wrapped around her, but then I realize I’m wearing a good portion of that Dole Whip.
IN THE HOTEL ROOM, I lie next to Sydney, the sounds of Tatum sleeping on the bed next to us soothing, and terrifying. Leaving them is no longer a fear. It’s a reality in less than six hours.
I touch my hand to Sydney’s cheek, sighing. “Don’t forget me.”
Tears surface in her eyes. “That’s impossible.”
I watch her expression fade from sadness to confusion, mirroring my own. “I know you have a life to live, responsibilities, all of that, but—”
She cuts me off. “This won’t be easy, but I’m certainly not in a place where I want to date anyone. I wasn’t even looking for a relationship. And then you happened.”
“I wasn’t looking for that either.”
Her expression softens. “Funny how it finds you when you’re least expecting it.”
I nod, unsure what to say.
“What I mean is, I wasn’t looking for any of that, and you came along and filled the gap I didn’t realize was there. So while you’re gone, just know you’ve got the field covered.”
I snort, shaking my head and trying not to laugh. At least I know she won’t be dating anyone while I’m gone. “You’re something else, Sydney.”
She cups both my cheeks in her hand. “And you’re going to be amazing. I can’t wait to watch every game and talk to you every single day.” Her lips press to mine, tender, sweet, but there’s a certain passion that hadn’t been there earlier today.
With the lights off, the only sounds the humming of the air conditioner, it’s easy to want our last night to be more. I imagine making love to her for hours and constantly confessing my intentions of forever with her. But it doesn’t happen that way. We have these tender moments in the dark, with Tatum snoring next to us.
Sighing, I touch my hand to Sydney’s hip and squeeze, my voice low and meant only for her to hear. “These phone calls… will they be rated R at some point?”
Her bottom lip rolls between her teeth, her breathing picking up. “I think that can be arranged.”
Bringing her closer, I want to do so many things to her but with Tatum in the bed next to us, I know that’s not happening. “I wish I could show you how much I’m going to miss you,” I whisper, holding her to my chest.
Her hands roam up my back. “You already have by bringing us with you.”
I hope she’s right because this feeling inside my chest, the one pulling me in two different directions, love and baseball, it’s more than I want to deal with.
THE REAL SHITTY part about leaving happens at the airport, when Sydney flies back to Phoenix and I head to Salt Lake City.
As Tatum sits on the suitcase staring at a kid picking his nose, I draw Sydney into my arms. “I’m gonna miss you.”
“Not as much as I miss you,” she cries into my chest.
“Hey,” I soothe, rubbing her back. “I didn’t think you were going to cry.”
“I didn’t want to,” she confesses, shaking her head and holding tighter.
I bring my lips to her ears. “Don’t forget me.”
“I won’t. I never could.” Pulling back, she stares at me, and if I ever had any doubt about how she feels about me, I don’t now. “I love you,” she says over her tears. “Thank you for showing me that
it still exists.”
I don’t miss the fact that it’s the first time she’s said it, but I also don’t make a big deal out of it in fear I’ll start crying. Swallowing over the lump rising in my throat, I press my lips to hers. “I love you too. I’ll call you guys every night.”
“We’ll be looking forward to it.”
I let go of her and kneel down to Tatum. “I have to go, Loretta.”
Her teary eyes find mine. “Why?”
“I gotta go play baseball. I’ll see you again.” I want to promise, but I don’t, because I know I can’t.
Tatum’s eyes drop to my hands holding hers and then lift to mine again. “I’m sad without you.”
“I’ll be sad without you too.” Reaching inside my bag, I dig out her present. Not the snowman I got her. I left that in there after the Disney incident. The Jelly Belly container. “But I got you these to remember me. Every time you miss me, eat one.”
Her eyes widen at the size of the container. It’s practically as big as her.
“Cason…” Sydney sighs. “She’s going to get cavities.”
I smile up at her and stand. “She’ll be fine.”
Tatum drops the container to the ground and wraps her arms around my legs. “Don’t go, Boy. Please!”
That’s the moment tears burn my eyes. I lift her up into my arms. “I’ll be back. I won’t be gone long.” Again, I don’t promise, because that’s not fair to her. My dad never promised me anything, and in return, I appreciated it. I was never let down that way.
Tatum’s chin shakes and I know this girl might not be my blood, but she’s my girl.
I glance up at Sydney and she averts her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Why am I doing this? Does baseball really matter that much?
I think back to what my dad taught me. Loyalty. Accountability. I signed a contract and I wouldn’t go back on it now.
But fuck, this hurts. My chest literally feels like it’s going to burst in two at the idea of leaving them.
Fearing a complete breakdown in the middle of the airport, I leave after kissing Sydney probably too inappropriately in front of the kid. She cries against my neck and I hold the back of her head. “I’ll see you soon,” I tell her, my words shaking.
