Catching Tatum

by Lucy H. Delaney

  “No, I don't. That's not in the rules anywhere.”

  “Actually, it is. I can't be with a guy that won't dance with me. Just dance. I don't care how goofy you are.”

  I'm not going to. I'm not your dad; you always wanted me to dance with you the way he did. I can't dance, I won't dance, and you have to accept that about me.”

  “You're not understanding me. I'm not going to go out with a guy who won't dance. It's not death—it’s a simple request.”

  “Well, then I guess we're not going out.”

  “What?! You'd really rather break up with me than dance with me?”

  “Ahhh! We're not even together! You're seeing another guy, too. Playing the field, remember? Your game, your rules. I've done everything you want me to do and you keep adding more and more to it. It's like when we were kids. Nothing is ever good enough for you.”

  “Oh, please, it's a dance. That's all.”

  “I don't want to. Period. The end ... And if you're going to hold it over my head now, the same way you did back then, I'm out. Have fun with your little Army guy. Go dance with him.”

  “He's Air Force!” I yelled, to which Cole slammed the door. He was impossible. I had every right to expect a guy to dance with me! It was a simple request and he turned it around like it was my problem. I hated him for it. He hurt my heart all over again and I hated him even more for that. He accused me of being the one that said nothing he did was good enough, but it was the exact opposite. I was asking for a dance, a simple, stupid dance! Wasn't I good enough for him to swallow his no-rhythm- pride and dance with me? Couldn't I, shouldn't I be loved enough by my man to deserve to be twirled around? Shouldn't I expect to have what my parents had? It wasn't too much to ask. It wasn't! I did not, I would not, shed one more tear over Cole.

  Brett consoled me when I got home, told me guys were jerks. I called Parker and he assured me Cole would come around, but neither of them had the magic words to heal my hurts. It was my mom who kissed my wounded heart and made it better when I went to see her later that night. She confessed she was worried about how things would play out with Cole. She was proud of me for sticking to my guns and said I was absolutely right to expect to be danced with ... if that's what I wanted. I knew I was right; I just had to hear it from someone else. But it didn't make facing Cole any easier after the fight.

  We went back to the way it had been at first, before he told me about Stacy. I avoided him, but this time, for the most part, he avoided me, too. He tried a couple times to wave or nod in my direction; I pretended like I didn't see him. I figured that was less rude than yelling at him. I didn't want to yell at him. I did think he was different, but I didn't want to be second runner up to his stubborn pride. What surprised me was how lonely I felt not talking to Cole. Parker and I could go days without talking and it didn't bother me. Probably part of it was because we didn't see each other every day; we had to make a point to get together, and when we were, words didn't flow the way they did between Cole and I. Silence was part of the package with Parker, not so with Cole. We were always texting, calling and talking to each other when mad, sad, happy, or any other time. The lack of conversation was worse than being mad at him. We saw each other every single day he wasn't on the road, but didn't speak. To be that close and not talk to him felt wrong. For two weeks we did that—seeing each other but not talking—and then he kissed me and things got real.

  CHAPTER 17

  IT WAS A SCORCHER that day. I had to be at the field early to get things ready and to show the volunteers where to go and what they would be doing. I couldn't stop sweating and there was no shade. When the fans started to roll in I greeted them and tried my best to remain cheerful even though all I wanted to do was hide out in the air-conditioned concession booth, and chomp on ice to cool myself.

  My favorite fans were the season ticket holders. There was one old guy, Don, who sat right behind my parents. He was always bringing people with him to the games and was the loudest one to holler at the umpire when he made a bad call. He used to play as a kid, until his dad had an accident and he had to quit the game to help around the house. He coached his kids’ games when they were little, and I'm pretty sure the Patriots didn't have a more devoted fan. When he came in that night he was overly excited about Cole. It was like a punch in the gut. The night before, Cole was on his game, throwing the ball like a rocket and helped to get five players out. He was on fire and Don couldn't say enough about how proud he was. Then out of nowhere, there he was, in the flesh. Don's eyes lit up and he let out a deep belly laugh as he grabbed Cole's outstretched hand in both of his. Cole and Don spent several minutes talking game while I welcomed other guests into the stands, but I felt his eyes on me.

  Cole finished up with Don. “It's good to see you. We'll try to give you a good show tonight,” he promised; then he walked back to me. For the longest time he simply stood beside me, in my space, breathing my air, smiling and greeting the fans with me. Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear.

  “It's going to be a great night tonight.”

  “Yep,” I said, smiling at a couple coming in the gate.

  “I'll bet you something.”

  “I don't bet and I'm not betting you anything.”

  “Awww, are you still mad?”

  “I'm not mad, Cole.” I said, handing a roster to the mother of a family of four young children.

  “You haven't talked to me in a week.”

  “Whatever. I've been busy.”

  “Mmmm hmmm. You've been mad. I know you.”

  “You don't know me.”

  “I do.” He looked at me and smiled, his dimples deep, his eyes playful. “And I bet you're gonna kiss me before this game is over.”

  “Oh, really! I think you're dreaming!”

  “We'll see. Have a good time in the stands, beautiful!” he said and patted my butt lightly as he walked away.

  The game started and went on like usual. The other team, the Mavericks, were giving us a run for our money. At the end of the third inning we always did a sing-along-song competition with the crowd. Greg, the other announcer, and I went down to the field, ready to get the fans in the stands fired up. As I made my way, I realized something different was going on. Cole came out of the dugout and took the mic from Greg.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, are you having a good time tonight?” He waited, like a real master of the people, and gave them enough time to cheer and let the hype almost fade before continuing. “It's time to do the sing along ... and I know this side ...” he said, pointing to his right, “has been kicking butt.” At that, the fans on his right rose into rapturous cheers. “But,” he said. “There's always a chance for a comeback.” He turned to his left and raised his arms up in the air. “Tonight just might be a comeback night. Are you guys ready for it?” he asked the left side, my side, and together we pointed our hands at them, and the fans responded rapturously.

  “We're going to do something a little different, though,” Cole said when the cheers subsided. “You guys willing to play along?” Both sections cheered.

  “All right, awesome,” he said, smiling at me, “because I'm going to need the biggest ... loudest ... cheers you got in you. You ready for this?!” They cheered and he hushed them. “So here's the deal ... I like this girl right here,” he said, pointing to me. I turned back and looked at him in shock. I was, without a doubt, an exhibitionist, but the unexpectedness of it threw me off. “I like her a lot. But the problem is ... all she wants to do is dance!” Right on cue, Don Henley's song blasted out of the speakers. “And, and,” Cole continued, the music fading after the one liner, “I might swing a fast bat, but this boy right here, doesn't dance. So I was thinking maybe you ...” he said, pointing to a little girl in the first row on my side, “and you,” he said, winking at a lady on the right side, “and all of you,” he called, gesturing to the whole crowd, “can help me dance, and sing, and see if maybe,” he said, smiling at me, “just maybe ... she'll give me a chance to come
back.”

  He was smiling, showing off for them, but his look told me he was serious, too. This was how he was going to dance for me? I wanted him to dance with me, but I had to give him credit for doing it. I glared at him, but all malice was gone and he knew it. He bounced his eyebrows up and down and smiled, and started to dance to the beat of the music. Then he had Greg take the mic. Cole grabbed my hand and spun me and twirled me in front of a crowd of 2,065 fans—I know because I helped to click them all in. He had rhythm after all and was a good leader.

  “I thought you said you didn't dance,” I said, unable to conceal my smile, especially when he dipped me to the right, which made their side cheer all the louder.

  “I didn't until you shut me out. While you've been avoiding me, I've been practicing my moves. Told you I had them,” he said, flinging me out to the left. I waved my hands to the people and they clapped and whooped.

  “I wasn't avoiding you,” I said on the comeback.

  “Call it what you want, you owe me now,” he said and shimmied a little too much like a stripper. My eyes got wide and the ladies in the stands went wild. He liked me. I knew it then and there, like I'd never known it all those years before. I held out for a kiss and I got the dance I always wanted. I knew if he was willing to go all goofy in front of his fans, he would take my hand in our kitchen and spin me around, too.

  When he pulled me close again, I gave him what he wanted, I pushed both his cheeks together tight in between my hands and gave him the tiniest peck on the lips I could. The fans went wild, but I barely heard them. It was supposed to be funny, but it was victory and it tasted sweet. As soon as our lips touched I knew I wanted more. Cole Jackson liked me, he really, really liked me, and he would do anything to prove it.

  He took the mic back from Greg. “That's what I'm talking about!” he said and told both sides this was the deciding chorus. “Right side first,” he yelled and held the mic their way.

  “All she wants to do is dance!” they bellowed.

  “Left side—make it good!”

  “All she wants to do is—all she wants to do is dance!” they screamed.

  “I don't know; I don't know. I'm gonna have to go with ...” He looked left and right, right then left, and pronounced the left side the champs, to which our little hometown stands bellowed in “yays” from the winners and “awwws” from the losers.

  As the entertainment ended and we walked back; me to the stands, him to the dugout, to knowing smiles and nods from his comrades, he looked at me and said, “Told you.”

  “Whatever.”

  “It's not over either,” he promised.

  “Oh really?” I smiled. “What else you got up your sleeve?”

  “You'll see!” And with that he jumped backward and turned to his teammates’ extended hands and knuckles. Game time again.

  Needless to say, the rest of the game was much better for me, and the Patriots won. It couldn't have been a better victory all around. After the stands cleared, I was cleaning up and Cole met me, true to his promise.

  “Hey,” he said, walking over like he was the champ, not me.

  “Hey, yourself!” I tried not to smile but I couldn't help it. “You got some nice moves.”

  “You like that “bow chica wow, wow!” he said, doing some more stripper moves. “Some of the guys helped me ... and your dad.”

  “My dad helped you with that?” I laughed.

  “No that's all me ... he helped me with the real stuff. I figured if you're the one for me I might as well make nice with your dad. You said he’s the best dancer you’ve ever known.”

  “He is.”

  “Until me?”

  “Um, no; he still is. Sorry, Charlie.”

  “Who's Charlie?” he asked, coming closer. “C'mere”

  “What?” I asked, taking his hand, and following him.

  “Just come here.” He led me to the door of the announcer's box and told me to wait while he ran up inside. In moments I knew. He barreled down the steps and ran us out to the field, practically pulling me behind him, to get to first base before the harmonica solo finished and Jack Johnson started singing “Better Together,” one of the most beautiful songs in the world. He twirled me into his arms, and we danced. The man who refused, said he didn't dance, had schemed, learned, and planned the most perfect first dance ever. We shuffled and owned first base, him leading; me following where his moves led us. The world disappeared. I owed him; he earned it. To hold back then would be wrong. For a moment I wasn't afraid that he would break my heart again. I felt safe and secure in his arms.

  “Well ... this was a surprise.”

  “Yeah, you were right. It's just a dance. I mean, it's not like you were asking me to give up baseball. Wanna know a secret?”

  “What?”

  “That was my first dance ...” He smiled.

  “Your first dance?”

  “First time. You popped my dancing cherry.”

  “Ha! I got you.” Then I thought about her.

  “You didn't go to dances with Stacy?”

  His eyes dulled. I didn't mean to ruin our moment.

  “No, she wanted to. Begged me like you did, only her way. You always got mad and shut me down and then got over it. She would whine and cry and mope for days. For senior prom she went in a group with her friends. I should have danced with her.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “For what—for the fact that I'm a prick?”

  “Were ... you danced with me.”

  “Only took, what, six years? Better late than never, I guess. So how'd I do?”

  “Over the top. Cole, you're something else when you put your mind to it.”

  “Yeah ... it's a gift.” He laughed, then got serious. “I'm going to kiss you now.”

  “If you didn't, I'd be a little disappointed.”

  Our bodies kept shuffling side to side. His hands, which had been holding mine, wrapped around my back and pulled me closer. His head dipped, my eyes closed. Even though it wasn't our first, it felt brand new. I'd kissed his face, tasted his lips thousands of times, in a year long past. I knew him, but I didn't. He was taller, stronger and, that night, smelled like a field of dirt and grass. But his lips, oh, his lips, were soft as ever. They covered mine and opened them with a strong, gentle force that left me feeling vulnerable. He was quick about it, reaching in with his tongue to find mine. My hands fell from his neck to his chest then wrapped around him. It was glorious. My first base was on his first base. Just like that, every single, stinking time, no matter how many rules, no matter how badly I wanted to be strong, a piece of my heart removed itself from my chest and floated into his hands, which had somehow, not surprisingly found their way into my hair.

  The good thing, I knew, was that it wasn't my whole heart. I was a stronger woman. The problem was the part I didn't give him. I kept a piece for me, which was fine, but another piece of it loved Justin Parker. I wasn't willing to let it go, not even for the best kiss ever. I wanted Parker as much as Cole. I didn't know how it was possible. The paradox confounded me. I'd never had feelings for two boys at once. I didn't know what it meant.

  I stood there in Cole's arms, reveling in our first real kiss in ages, and wondered what it meant for Parker and me. I couldn't leave him; his girl had left him and crushed him. He needed me, even if I was just a crutch. But Cole needed me, too. Wasn't I the same thing for him? I was a crutch. Both of them called me safe. Cole wanted to start over. He already said he felt like we were given a second chance and he wanted to try not to screw it up this time. Parker wasn't sure if he ever could be fully with me, but he had such patient love inside him, even though it was for her. I wanted that kind of love; I wanted him to have it for me. Who was I safe with?

  I wanted to believe the new Cole. I knew how hurt he was over Stacy. His guilt and grief and remorse oozed out of him; it had become part of him. He was truly changed, inside and out. I believed it, I really did, but—that was the problem—there was always a “but”
in the back of my head. But what if I gave him a second chance and he screwed me over again? But what if I gave him a second chance and he broke my heart worse this time? But what if we were meant to be and I had to let go of Parker? I didn't know if I could.

  I wanted Parker to love me the way he loved Haylee. He picked his day; if she wasn't back by then, he was moving on. I wanted him to move on with me. I wanted it now, not when her time was up, but I would wait if I had to. If we did wait and she didn't come back, what then? Then we would be haunted by “what if”— What if she came back after the date? Would he leave me?

  Standing on first base, I decided that I wasn't safe with either of them. They would both break my heart because I loved them both. I knew it. I knew it that summer night wrapped up in Cole's kisses; reveling in a victory that he thought was his. They would break my heart and I would let them. I handed them the pieces I worked so hard to protect. And they did. They both broke my heart. I could have stopped it right there with Cole but, instead, I pressed in to kiss him again.

  CHAPTER 18

  THE KISSES CAME FAST and freely after that with Cole; if it was all I was going to give him he would take as much as he could get.

  On one of the nights he was home he asked about second base. I told him it wasn't an option at the time because of Parker. “Oh, c'mon, Tatum. That guy's all wrapped up in his old girl. He'll never be over her.”

  “Will you ever be over Stacy?”

  “That's different. From what you've said he was a good boyfriend and tried everything to get her back and she still doesn't want him, but he still wants her.”

  “I know, it's heartbreaking.”

  “For you—what if she comes back?”

  “I know.”

  “Seriously,” he said, “think about it. What if she does? You and I both know he'll be gone. Is that when you'll be ready to commit to me?”

  “Look at you talking about commitment. I just got over being mad at you, don't ruin the moment. Parker or not, I can't think about going further. I'm not ready to put my heart in your hands again.” The truth was I couldn't risk giving him more because of him and because of Parker. “I need time. Give me that.”