Catching Tatum

by Lucy H. Delaney

  “I don't know. He came in last night. Seems OK, he's from somewhere back east ... where was that?” I could tell Derrick would be wondering about where the new catcher was from for a long time. Poor kid was a great secondbaseman but not the brightest crayon in the box.

  “Wow. Back east and he made it here?”

  “Yeah ... Cole Thompson, Smithson, or something like that.”

  The name sent a cold chill through me, always had. Cole.

  “Hmmph! I knew a catcher named Cole from back east once. He was a jerk,” I said. But the flashes of him, our worthless relationship, my heartbreak, brought me back to my rules which brought it right back to Justin Parker and how I forgot them all in a second in his arms the night before.

  “Yeah? Well ... he seems cool. I guess we'll see tonight.”

  “We shall see,” I answered and didn't give the new catcher named Cole another thought until I saw his face later that day.

  I got to the field an hour before the first game, ready to meet our new catcher, and get the skinny for the night. My jaw dropped when I saw him ... our catcher was not a Cole Thompson or Smithson; it was my nemesis in life, Cole Jackson. Cole, the boy who ruined my life, in the flesh, and I was supposed to make him feel welcome.

  He was as shocked to see me as I was to see him—I could tell by his expression. I remembered the look even if his face had matured. He recovered quickly with his usual charm and flare. “Well if it isn't Tatum Rodriguez,” he said, flashing his best smile, the kind that made girls go weak. Other girls, not me, not ever again. I stared back, stone faced, arms crossed, and his smile faded. He reminded me of a hungry wolf. “You’ve grown up since the last time I saw you … your hair… its different,” he said and looked me up and down. He had grown up too. Maybe three inches taller and even more stacked, if that was possible. And his eyes, beautiful, magical pools of hazel; they transfixed me. The past came rushing back as we stared each other down for far too long. The other players murmured behind him and were way too into our conversation. I looked away. “You're our new catcher? How did that happen?” I asked. I was confused, so were the players huddled around him. Even the coach was intrigued.

  “Well, you see there are different levels to the game and when you get called up, you move up.”

  “I know that part. I'm not an idiot. I mean how are you here on the Patriots’ team? Why are you here?”

  “I didn't know there was a law against me playing here.”

  “Maybe there is ...” I said.

  “My contract says there's not.” He smiled, victorious. All memories of Parker from the night before were gone. All the wreckage Cole had done to me came flooding back. What were the chances he would end up on my team, of all the teams in all of America?

  I turned and walked away. I was furious. I had to find something to do to keep my mind off of him, but he wouldn't leave me alone.

  “Hey, Tatum,” he hollered behind me. I didn't want to turn around. I knew him well enough to know he was going to say something that made him look cool or me look stupid. I tried to ignore him, but I heard him running up behind me. “Tatum,” he said, grabbing my elbow gently. I spun around and glared.

  “What?!”

  “Listen ...” He sighed, pulling his hat off his head and curling it in his hands. If I hadn't known what a slime ball he was I would have thought he was being sincere. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I was a jerk back then. I didn't treat you right.”

  I laughed. “It's not worth much. You ruined my life,” I said coolly, hoping no one else could hear. “And you didn't even care, and now you come here and want to pretend like it's all cool? I don't do that. Keep your apology to yourself. Play your game ... and leave me alone, OK?”

  He nodded. He looked sad. “All right,” he said and turned back to the other guys.

  “Tatum,” he said again after we were a few feet away from each other. I looked back again. “Yeah?”

  He stood there, looking at me. I didn't know the look on his face. He didn't want me; he wasn't trying to impress me or them. Then he said, “I'm glad you're OK.”

  It threw me off. I wasn't sure how to answer or what he meant so I gave him a curt nod and made my way to the ticket booth.

  My feelings for him were anything but warm, but my job dictated I welcome new players and show them around their new home-away-from-home for the next three months, not that he would be there much. The minors’ schedule was gruesome. There were still seventy-four games to play over the next ninety days and only half were home games. It was just my luck that after that night's double-header the boys would be home for two days straight without a game. With most of the guys I asked when a good time was to show them around. With him I made it as difficult as possible.

  “Look, I work at the gym you guys use. I have to be there at four-thirty a.m. on Monday. I'll pick you up at four-fifteen and show you the place. Be ready when I get there.”

  “You gonna text me?”

  “No ... I don't need your number and you sure don't need mine. I know where you guys stay. Be ready or figure out where to go yourself.”

  I picked him up on Monday as promised. He was at the sidewalk of the apartments the players used, waiting. He tried to make small talk. As long as he kept it about the team or league or city I was fine; but I wanted nothing to do with him in my life so I avoided all personal questions until he asked if I still had to have my dad's permission to date.

  “Look, I meant what I said. You ruined my life. I don't want anything to do with you. I'll show you what you need to know, then you're going to leave me alone and I'm going to leave you alone, capiche? But if you must know, yes, my dad still has to OK it, only because of you ... I prefer it that way. No other loser sneaks around the rules.”

  “Fair enough ... No problem, I'm over it. It was a long time ago. I figured you were over it, too, but whatever—I’ll give you your space.”

  I nodded and drove him to the gym. I gave him a lame gym tour and tried to ignore him, which was especially difficult when he took off his shirt and exposed rock hard abs that begged to be licked.

  Luke came in and made the whole thing so much worse. “Ohhhh, is that the guy?” he asked, catching me ogling, vengefully.

  “No! This is not the guy. I told you there is no guy.”

  “Yeah, and I'm still twenty and cut like a rock.” He went over to Cole, extended his hand. Both men's muscles tightened when they shook. I followed to be sure Luke minded his manners.

  “Nice to meet you. I'm Cole, the new catcher for the Patriots,” Cole reciprocated.

  “Oh, that's right. Ryan got called up didn't he? So you weren't at a party with this girl a couple nights ago?”

  “Nope, not me ... Not much of a partier with this schedule.”

  “Then who was it?” Luke asked me.

  “I told you,” I said, then smiled. “There was no one.”

  “And I told you grins like that don't grow on your face without a guy.”

  “Just go work out and shut up, all right? And you ...” I said, turning my attention to Cole, “I’ll start a class at 6:30; you’re welcome to join in.”

  “You work here?”

  “Yeah, what gave it away, the keys?”

  “Probably.”

  “How am I going to get back then?” he asked.

  “Run. It's good exercise.” I smirked. It was five miles back to their apartments.

  “Really?”

  I let him sweat over it for a minute, mostly because I wanted to look at him longer, then answered, “Nah, Derrick comes early; he'll be here by seven. You can go with him and I'll show you the other stuff when I'm off or Sunday when you're back in town.”

  “How are you going to get ahold of me?”

  “I'll figure it out.”

  “It would be a lot easier if you had my number.”

  “I had it once, don't need it again.”

  “I really messed you up, huh?” he asked. He had that look again.

&
nbsp; It stopped me. I gave up. If he was going to pretend like he cared how he made me feel back then, I was going to tell him. I nodded him toward the office and away from the others. When I felt like we were far enough away from listening ears, I tried my best to get as up-in-his-face as I could. “Yeah, you messed me up. Yeah, OK!? You want me to say it so you can gloat? You messed me up and changed my whole life. I loved you ... I loved you. I would have done anything for you and you blew me off like I was nothing. And you ...” I stopped myself before I said ‘gave me an STD’ out loud and instead finished by saying, “You took advantage of me.”

  “You never put up a fight.”

  “You suck, know that?” I was fully prepared to fight it out to the end, but he quit, he conceded. He admitted he was wrong.

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm sorry. I was a stupid kid. I thought I knew everything and owned that school and I didn't care about anyone else. Can we talk about it? … Later, when you're off work.”

  “No, I don't want to talk to you about anything. The best I can do is to leave it in the past. You taught me to be careful, to watch out for snakes, and now I do, and you're the biggest one. You do your thing; I'll do mine.”

  “Your thing is to show me around, is it not? So…” He grabbed a scrap of paper from the desk and scribbled his digits. “Here’s my number. Let me know when you’re ready for me. We’ll do things your way this time.”

  I didn’t like the way he told me what I was going to do.

  “There’s no this time.” But I grabbed the paper. That's when the plan came to me. Vengeance, payback. After all these years I deserved it… so did he.

  I planned it out the whole day at work and as soon as I was in my car I texted Cole. I was going to have my revenge.

  CHAPTER 10

  Hey

  Hey back

  Ur still a jerk

  Ikr

  Let’s get this over with.

  I WANTED to smack those dimples off his perfect face. I wanted to yell at him without fear of losing either of my jobs or anyone knowing why I hated him so much. I wanted to embarrass him the way he embarrassed me in the school hallway, but any scenario I could think up also made me look bad. I decided to confront him alone, face to face; that way I could deny everything if he ever said anything to anyone. If word got out I could blame it on another girl after me and put it all on him and I would come out looking good and STD-free.

  When?

  Today?

  Maybe talk first?

  That's my gurl.

  I'm not ur girl!

  The guys r going out. I’ll stay. Come here.

  Will we b alone?

  Absolutely

  Perfect txt me when they're gone.

  Hook up?

  No I hate u

  For now

  FOREVER. Txt when they're gone.

  Seven o'clock that night, I got the text. Game on… this time it was my game. He let me in and was all Rico Suave, exactly like I remember him being any time he wanted in my pants, blissfully ignorant that I was about to ruin him or at least finally get to pay him back for ruining me. I asked for a drink first and he gladly mixed me one while I hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter. He had no clue he would be wearing the drink and a hand print across his face in seconds.

  He walked over to me, handed me the glass, and fit himself comfortably in between my legs and grabbed on to my hips the way he used to, like it hadn't been years since we were last together. He electrified me. I wanted to hate him, but instead I wanted him all over again.

  “So you missed me, huh?” he asked, moving his hands up into my dreads. He took a few in his hand and rolled them, then reached up and grabbed them, pulling my head back the slightest bit. Him and hair. I had almost forgotten, and then I remembered his hands were always in my hair.

  “You know it.” I smiled, sipping from the glass to dodge his kiss, trying to decide if I wanted to dump it on the top of his head and watch it pour down his body or toss at him and watch it splash all over his face and kitchen so he had more to clean.

  “Fuzzy navel. Your favorite.”

  “You remember that, huh?”

  “I remember lots,” he said, moving his hands from my hips to my thighs.

  “You remember you have herpes and forgot to mention that to me?”

  “What?” He looked genuinely shocked; all romance and color drained from his face instantly. He let go of me and backed away. “What are you talking about?”

  My face got hot and flushed and my heart was beating like it did at the dentist office when they injected the needle. My mom and that doctor were the only people I'd ever said the words out loud to. If felt like poison coming out of me. “You know what I'm talking about. You gave me herpes, you prick!”

  “Dude, if you've got herpes, you didn't get it from me.” He backed away suddenly, like I was the snake.

  “Don't you dare even turn this on me! You were my first; you were my only! You gave it to me. Don't even try to deny it. You gave it to me and you're going to try and pretend like you didn’t know anything about it!” I jumped down from the counter, and walked up to him. I should have stayed on the counter, I was taller that way. “You ruined my life, Cole! What did I ever do to you? Why couldn't you at least have told me, and let me pick? You just screwed me and let me deal with it!” I tossed the drink in his face. He stood there in shock and disbelief. He looked like I felt when the doctor told me what I had. I put the cup down to slap him, but he saw it coming before I could make contact and caught my wrist.

  “What is wrong with you?! Get out of my house!” He pulled me by my wrist to the door. I got the slap in at the last minute before he shut me out. It was left handed and weak but my work was done. I smiled and spit on his door, then walked to my car.

  Then I did the only thing I could think of: I called my mom and bawled like a baby. All I wanted to do was wrap up in her arms, so I drove to the base and replayed the whole thing while I was curled up next to her on the couch, head in her lap. Finally, she took a deep breath in. I was expecting her to tell me all the reasons why I shouldn't have done it, but, instead, I heard her laugh. I turned my head up to look at her. She smiled down at me. “Good for you!” Then I laughed, too.

  I didn't know what I expected after that. Revenge tasted sweet but then I worried it might come back to bite me. He didn't text back or call. But he showed up with Derrick at the gym early the next morning, no less full of himself than the day before.

  Apparently he had recovered quickly. “Well, if it isn't Tatum Rodriguez. Last time I saw you, you threw your drink all over my face. You feel better now? Can we move on?” he said, looking me straight in the eye. I wasn't sure what that look was either; I learned later it was respect. It was the first time I think I'd really ever stood up to him. Thing was, I wasn't ready to move on. This was the guy that was the reason for my whole game. This was the guy that treated me like an accessory he could use and replace in the blink of an eye.

  “Too bad I don't have one now. No, I'm not over it. You're a jerk and you deserve more than that, but I need to pay my bills and you're the new pet. So, once again, you get everything you want and I get shafted.”

  He looked sorry. I wasn't falling for it. “Tatum, please let me talk to you. You threw me a curve last night.”

  “Last night?” Derrick muttered to someone behind me.

  “I'm not going to talk about that here,” I said, hoping my face wasn't flushing.

  “Good. But I still want to talk to you, even more now.”

  “Dude! Get a clue. I'm not into you. I don't want to talk to you. Ever.”

  He stared me down. He was mad but he shook his head and went over to the weights where he lifted in solitude for several minutes before joining Derrick at a bench.

  I turned the music up; hardcore heavy metal would help them lift and me relax.

  They left that afternoon and I was free, if only for a while. All I had to do was g
et through the next eighty-eight days and he would leave and I would have months to recoup before the next season. If I even did a next season. I could do it. I knew it, but it killed me inside knowing he was on the team.

  I tried not to care about him or pay him any attention but he drew me in; he drew everyone to him. It was like before—well, not exactly—he was still charming, but he was passionate about the game like I never remembered him being. He was loud and boisterous and full of energy and himself. If time had done anything, it had made him even more of a showman. He ignited the crowd. When he was in the box, he took practice swings with the pitcher’s throws and talked to himself if he missed it. He was superstitious, too, always gave thanks when he got a big hit. He pointed to the sky; index finger extended, and then pressed his hands together. Actually he did it if he got any kind of hit. But the clay was the best part: he loved the clay on his hands and would pat and pat it onto his hands in just the right places. He refused gloves, but used enough clay to make up for it. When he got to the plate it was two taps, two twirls of the bat at his shoulder, and golden-flecked eagle eyes on the pitcher. He was a good hitter; not, in my opinion, major’s material, but his batting average was respectable at .292.

  It was his catching abilities and charisma that would get him to the majors, though, I was sure of it. He came to life on the defensive field. It was almost like he could tell what the other team would do ahead of time and he called defensive plays and the pitches beautifully. The players trusted him and Coach Winfield was more in love with him than I ever was. He was one with the fans; he fed off their cheers, and that fired them up. He was even more of an exhibitionist than I was. His winks to the ladies in the crowd disgusted me, but made them swoon. He handed them out, like candy, to the girls—and women—in the stands. I imagined him sleeping with as many ladies as he could, seducing them, like he had me, without a care or concern for their hearts or bodies. But it was all a show. I realized before long that his flirting didn't leave the field, at least as far as I could tell. When the game was over he talked to the young boys in the crowd about following their dreams, and the old guys about their glory days. He didn't spend much time on the women who flocked to him. That wasn't the Cole I knew. I was cautious and still wanted to hate him but by the second week of home games he had my attention. I pushed him away when he tried to make small talk but I watched him closely, from a safe distance.