The BoRe Blogger
Darkness starts to fall, and the rain isn’t letting up, continually pelting the top of my SUV. The sound is so soothing it lulled us to sleep. Daisy and I stay huddled together in the backseat. Her head is firmly planted in the crook of my neck and I’m staring out the window, wondering what kind of beast is going to come out once nightfall hits.
I am blown away by this shitty place. Not only does Bainbridge own this dump, he sent me here on a date thinking this would be romantic. If we weren’t locked in my car I’d fear for our lives. Come to think of it, I do fear for our lives. Something is almost certainly going to come out of the woods and eat us alive.
“Hey, babe, where’s your shirt?” I rub my hand up and down her arm, laughing because she now has goosebumps.
She brushes my hand way and snuggles deeper into my side. I’m going to be sore from sitting in this position, but it’s totally worth it. I lean my head back, close my eyes and wrap my arms around her a bit tighter. If she’s not ready to move, who am I to make her? When we’re together, she gets to live in a fantasy world where everything is okay and she’s not taking care of her grandfather. No one her age should have to do that, but he’s all she has. I admire her for her courage and for the love she has for him.
A deep howl causes me to open my eyes with a jolt. I sit up abruptly, scaring a sleeping Daisy.
“What was that?” she asks, groggily.
“Um… I’m not sure, but we should go.” I look down at her, clad in only her bra and panties. “Seriously, babe, where’s your shirt?”
Her head turns slowly, and she reaches her hand up, her finger pointing out the window.
“It’s outside?” I ask, confirming my fear.
She nods slowly. “Along with the food and wine.”
“Shit, and my picnic basket.” I’m proud of that basket, but I’ll buy another one. Her shirt, though, is another story. I turn slightly, enough to knock her off my lap and reach into the back of my SUV. I know I have spare shirts somewhere in the back and while it’ll be huge on her, it’s better than getting out at my house with her half naked. And it’s sure as hell better than getting out of this vehicle right now to go get the one she left outside.
“Please don’t think less of me, but I’m not going to run out there and get our stuff, so put this on.” I hand her one of my BoRe shirts and help her slip it on. As I suspected, it’s huge and looks like a dress on her. She partially stands and shimmies back into her shorts while I climb up front and turn the car on. I crank the heat, because even though it’s not cold, I’m chilled from thinking about what’s outside watching us.
“Shit,” Daisy says as she climbs up front, looking at her phone. “There’s no service here.” She moves her phone higher in the car, looking for a signal.
“What’s wrong?” I look behind me, trying to determine if I can back up to get out of here then remember how shitty the driveway is and know that I need to turn around. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. Oh I know why, I was too busy professing my love and getting busy in my backseat. This is a classic case of thinking with the wrong head.
“I… uh… I forgot to call the night nurse.”
I look at her questioningly, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. It seems odd that she wouldn’t arrange for a night nurse knowing that I have the day off and had planned for us to spend the day together. Is it because I didn’t ask about the night too? I can see the worry on her face, so there’s no point is making a big deal about it.
Once I get turned around and off the driveway, I’m driving faster than I should, but the thought of John being home alone without care worries me. It’s not like Daisy to forget and that worries me too. As soon as we hit the Interstate, I take her hand in mine. I need to touch her, especially when she’s this close.
“Your grandpa will be fine,” I tell her, trying to calm her nerves. She seems agitated, and that’s the last thing I want. I push the speed limit and weave in and out of traffic, watching my mirrors for the blue lights that could be riding my tail.
The moment we’re exiting, her leg starts to bounce. “We’re almost there, babe.”
“I know, thank you.”
She knows she doesn’t have to thank me; I’d do anything for her and her grandfather. Luck is on our side and we hit every green light possible and there’s very little traffic. Her seatbelt is off before I pull up along the street.
“Thanks for today,” she says as she places a peck on my cheek and is out the door before I know what’s happening. She runs through the rain, to the entrance and punches in her code before disappearing behind the door. She didn’t even look back and wave or anything. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll even see her later.
Driving the streets to my house, I’m trying to figure out how everything changed so fast. One minute we’re freaking out together about the noises outside and then she’s in full panic mode about her grandfather. What strikes me as odd is that she didn’t even call him. She could’ve called once we were on the road to make sure he’s okay and we wouldn’t have had to rush home. We could’ve even stopped to pick him up some dinner and watch a game together.
As soon as I pull up outside my house, I decide to call her. I need to make sure she’s okay, as well as her grandpa. Daisy’s phone rings… in my car. Her screen is glowing, the phone peeking out from under the seat. I hang up and reach down to pick it up.
Every sound around me stills.
All the blood rushes from my face.
My mouth goes dry.
My hand shakes as I hold her phone in my hand. It’s locked, but her notifications are lighting up her screen like the fourth of July.
I swallow hard and close my eyes, praying that when I open them again what I’m looking at won’t be what I think it is. Only it is. Tweet after tweet directed at @BoReRenBlog. As I try to read one, another one comes in and then another. These are tweets to her from other people. I may not be the smartest when it comes to Twitter, but I know what the notifications mean.
Everything I thought I knew about Daisy is a lie.
Everything that I hate about this blog, every complaint that I’ve made has all been for nothing because she’s the fucking blogger.
I slam my hand against my steering wheel repeatedly and bite the inside of my cheek hard. I will not cry over this dumb bitch. Pushing my shoulder against the car door, I step out into the rain. The weather is fucking perfect for my mood and I can only hope it continues to rain so I don’t have to leave my house tomorrow, because I plan to get fucking wasted tonight.
“Ethan,” she calls my name out over the rain. I turn slowly to see the girl who I professed my love to standing a few feet away, soaking wet. I look down at my hand, her phone still there and the notifications still coming in.
“I think you lost this.” I toss her phone at her, wanting to keep my distance.
“Let me explain.” She steps forward, her chest is heaving and she brushes her wet hair out of her face.
I shake my head. “I’m not sure there’s anything you can say that’s going to change things right now.”
“Yes there is,” she says, stepping closer. I put my hand out, letting her know I want her to stay back. The resolve on my temper is teetering and I can feel myself about to explode. I feel sorry for anything in my house because it’s about to be damaged. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I never thought we’d meet or even hit it off. The blog is a job from my sports journalism professor. You made it easy, at first, with the things you were doing. Once we started dating, I didn’t know what to do. I need the job, but I need you too.”
“You knew how I felt about the blog and you used me anyway. The first time we stopped talking you should’ve come clean. You should’ve fucking told me who the hell you are!” I growl in anger and frustration.
“I didn’t –”
“You didn’t what? Want to have to write about how you deceived me in your fucked up blog?” I tug at the ends of my hair to ke
ep from hitting something. I’m trying not to yell because the last thing I want to do is draw attention from the neighbors. I’m actually thankful it’s raining right now. The rain drowns out our voices and is keeping people inside.
I feel bile rising when I look at her. She stands there, a shell of the girl I thought I knew. It breaks me to think she used me to gain knowledge of my teammates, my friends. I try to recall any time I gave her any information. I can’t, but I let her into the clubhouse.
“I don’t know what you want from me? Do you finally want your quote? Post this: The Boston Renegades third baseman told me to go to hell.”
I instantly regret the words, but refuse to take them back. I look at her and feel nothing but hatred. “Go back to your apartment and write about how many times I adjust my cup and how Bainbridge’s marriage is falling apart. Go write about how fucking well I treated you, only for you to lie to my face day in and day out.”
“You have no right!” she yells. “This is my job and I need it!”
“All you had to do was be honest with me. All you had to do was give me a chance with the truth, but you didn’t.”
“What am I supposed to do now?”
I shake my head and start walking up my stairs. “Not my problem, Daisy. I don’t care what the fuck you do as long as you don’t do it around me.”
“I gave you everything,” she says, climbing the steps next to me. “You took everything away from me.” Under the porch light I can see her red eyes, letting me know she’s crying even though any tears she has are mixing with the rain.
I let her words sink in, allowing the rage to build. “Are you talking about your virginity?”
When she doesn’t answer I feel the rage burning deeper in the pit of my stomach. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You freely gave yourself to me so don’t act like I forced you into anything. Go home, Daisy.” I don’t give her a chance to respond before unlocking the door and stepping into my house. I slam it once I’m inside, locking it behind me. She stands on my porch, her shadow visible through the glass.
How could she ruin everything like that?
My lamp is the first thing to go. It flies through the air, slamming against the wall. The light bulb pops and breaks into a million pieces.
There’s a knock on my door. It’s her. Her dark figure looms on my porch. Unwilling to give up even though there is nothing left. I ignore her and walk into the kitchen, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a bottle of tequila.
The liquid burns as it travels down my throat. I stand there, drinking, until half the bottle is gone. With the lack of food in my system it doesn’t take any time for the alcohol to start working. My eyes blur, but that doesn’t limit me from throwing the bottle toward my front door. I hope she’s still standing there.
I hope she’s still there…
It’s been four weeks since shit went down with Daisy and I’m still not over it. I’m obsessed with everything she does and troll the web waiting for her to upload a new blog post. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but it’s something. She tried to call me once. Just once and gave up. Not that I blame her, she should give up. What she did was wrong on so many levels, not to mention the pain she’s caused me for no reason. She should’ve come clean the first time we went to dinner. Thinking back to that night, she freaking tweeted about me being with someone while we were together. I even tweeted her back. Who does this type of shit to people?
The All-Star game is tomorrow. I shouldn’t be going. I should’ve been replaced by now, but I’m a fan favorite so I’m packing my bags so I can get to the airport and fly to Cincinnati. Daisy and John are supposed to be there, along with my parents. We were supposed to have some time for all of us to spend together, but that is not going to happen.
I’m not that much of a dick to take this away from him. If it were just her, I would’ve canceled the trip, but John hasn’t done anything wrong and he deserves this. The car service will meet them at the airport when they land and take them to the hotel. They’ll be treated to an all-expenses paid trip, which is probably an experience of a lifetime for John.
I’m still cordial with him, but not Daisy. She’s been at every home game and for the first time in months I find myself looking forward to away games. Those are the nights that are easier because I don’t have to look at her or hear her voice. Those are the nights that I bat well. Those are the nights that I sleep longer than a few hours without getting up to check my Twitter app to see what she’s said, or to read her stupid blog. I hate that I actually want to read what she has to say. She’s yet to mention me, or the two of us breaking up.
Home games suck.
Homes games mean I have to see her because my eyes betray my wishes and seek her out against my will. My brain, however, can’t stand her. Those two vital organs are not communicating and it’s pissing me off. I won’t even talk about my heart because it’s so fucked up it’s not even functioning correctly. There’s a pain there that the whirlpool can’t fix and physical therapy can’t make go away.
To make matters worse, we lost to the fucking Yankees yesterday.
I finally understand why guys are so shut off with their emotions. It’s because their douche bag friends make fun of what they’re feeling. One hint of emotion and they’re asking you when your period is due. This is why guys need chick friends, even though they come with problems too. The biggest problem is usually the fact that you end up screwing each other, but that’s beside the point. The point is I need a chick friend right now and the only one I can talk to is three thousand miles away playing doctor and can’t drop her shit to tend to me. I’d never expect her to do that anyway.
The only highlight of the coming week is that my family will be with me. I’ll get to spend some quality time with my niece and she’s the one girl in my life that can make everything go away. To be a toddler right now would be heaven. I’d have no worries and everyone would love me because I’m fucking cute.
This flight is different from others. The team didn’t send us on our chartered plane so Singleton, Meyers and I flew commercial, but we made sure to fly first class. There is no way the three of us can sit together in a row of three. We all do too much man spreading. It’s odd flying without our usual flight attendants though. They already know what we like and what we drink.
Singleton is sitting next to me, beside the aisle. I’m trying not to listen to his conversation, but am forced to since I forgot my headphones. It’s not easy to zone out, even if I am seeing Daisy’s face in the clouds. I’m such an idiot for letting myself fall for her. I was better off just having one-night stands and my regular hook-ups with Sarah. Those are safe and no feelings are ever involved.
That’s exactly what Singleton is doing now. He’s trying to join the mile high club with this airline. I have no doubt he’ll get his membership wings before this flight is over and maybe that’s what I need; to adopt his carefree, I don’t give a fuck attitude. It seems to work for him most of the time.
The flight to Cincinnati is short, but walking through the airport is another challenge. I think this is why teams fly the players on commercial airlines – to build up the hype of All-Star weekend – and it’s working. There’s a massive amount of kids in baggage claim being accompanied by parents, and all carrying posters, balls, bats, hats and whatever else they’ve brought to have signed. Officials from the MLB are here to gather our belongings and take us to the hotel, but I can’t imagine we’re getting there any time soon.
News cameras shine bright lights on us as we sign the paraphernalia they brought and pose with the kids here. A lot of these guys won’t be at the game. It’s hard to get tickets and most of them are bought up by corporations. It’s annoying because the game should be about the fans and it’s not that way anymore.
The MLB reps finally step in and build a wall around the various players in the baggage terminal so we can get out of here and over to the hotel. My parents are there waiting, but I won’t see them un
til I get to the field. That’s when I’ll see Daisy too. She has a pass to every day at the park and I can’t imagine she’ll let John miss anything.
The madness at the hotel is as crazy as the airport, if not more so. People are lined up outside, snapping pictures with their cell phones and yelling out their phone numbers. I find it silly, actually, that they think we’re going to randomly remember a ten-digit number and dial it later. I know it’s done for attention but there are other ways you can become a slump buster if that’s your goal.
As soon as I step into the hotel, I immediately feel the void from Daisy not being with me. She was supposed to meet me here, and as I see all the other wives and girlfriends of the players in town, it makes me question myself on how I got so deep so fast. She’s just another girl – that’s what I keep telling myself, at least – just another girl who can be easily replaced.
I’m lost in my thoughts until I hear the screeching of a three-year old calling out my name. I bend down in time to scoop my littlest BoRe fan up into my arms and she wraps hers tightly around my neck. Shea is, without a doubt, the best medicine to cure a broken heart. Her innocence and views on the world around her are so pure and light-hearted. Just don’t take away her stuffed Boar. She’ll cut you deep if you touch that.
My mom squeezes into my side, knowing I’m not going to put Shea down until I have to and then barely steps away so I can hug my dad.
“Where’s Shana?”
“On the phone with Mike,” my mom says with a slight sigh. Red flags go up instantly and I make a note to ask her about it later. Mike has been gone an awfully long time and it’s not like he’s Special Forces so I’m not sure why he hasn’t come home yet.
“Unc, you play today?”
“I do. Shall we go to the ball park?”
Third Base (The Boys of Summer #1) Page 19
