“I ready, see,” she says, pointing to her BoRe shirt and hat. In true Shea fashion, she is decked out from head to toe in BoRe gear, including her socks.
“We’re going to meet you there,” Mom says, as she kisses me on the cheek and reaches for Shea. “We are going to do a little sightseeing before everything starts tonight and give you some time to spend with your girlfriend.” I don’t correct her, even though I know I should. This isn’t the time, and definitely not the place, considering reporters are lurking around.
I reluctantly hand Shea over and tell my parents I’ll see them later as I make my way to my room. And since I don’t care to run into my ex-girlfriend, I catch the first player shuttle available to the park; at least there I can hide.
The lights are on at the Great American Ball Park and the sea of red is all around. It’s a good thing it’s a color I like. The comradery is what makes this event fun and while we’re trying to win, we’re also easily impressed with how far the long ball can be hit.
I have no chance of winning, not with the likes of Albert Pujols in the line-up. The man is a freaking monster despite his age. I’ve heard a few of the wives refer to him as fine wine, although I’m pretty sure they’re not talking about his batting average. Singleton has a chance to win though, and I’d like to make it to the second round if possible.
Families are all sitting in the same section. It’s funny to watch the mothers of rival teams chat like they’re old pals from a knitting club. Tomorrow it will be American League vs National League – the line will be drawn in the sand. The winning league will have a home field advantage when it comes to the World Series. For the longest time the AL dominated the All-Star game, until recently when the NL started making a comeback.
Spotting my parents is easy because Shea is standing on my dad’s legs cheering and likely blocking the people behind them. I tried to get them front row seats, but I’m still a “nobody” and destined to stay that way unless I get my batting average under control. The only thing going for me right now is my defense. Don’t hit the ball my way if you’re planning on making it to first, because chances are it won’t happen.
Noticeably absent from their seats are Daisy and John. I’m trying not to let it piss me off but it does. I went out of my way to pay for their trip and she hasn’t even bothered to bring him. This is his one opportunity to see an All-Star game and she’s making him watch it from home.
It’s a good thing I left my phone in the clubhouse because right now I’d tweet her, not text, and ask her why she bailed like this. This week was about her grandfather, not us. If I was willing to put everything aside to make sure he had a good time, so should she. Hell, I’m not even the one who lied and built a mountain of deception. That’s all her. I’m just the one that doesn’t want to put up with her bullshit drama.
The second I have my bags I’m hailing a cab. Everything about this past month, and more importantly these past two days, has been complete bullshit. Daisy and John never showed up. They never checked into the hotel, used their airline tickets and certainly never claimed their seats next to my parents. You would think that I’ve at least earned a fucking phone call regarding the matter at hand, but no. It’s been radio silence from the blogger who is hell bent on being a bitch to me.
My leg bounces in the backseat of the cab while the driver prattles on about my stats and the All-Star game where I played two of the worst innings of my life. I was a fucking joke, sitting there wondering why the fuck I give a shit about this woman who clearly wants nothing to do with me. When I found out whom she was, I should’ve written her off instead of making sure she and her grandfather still had the things that I promised them.
I think that’s what pisses me off the most. I don’t want to look like the fucking bad guy here when that shouldn’t be the case. I would never take back something I’ve already offered, especially a gift like this. She is to blame, not me. John is dependent upon her and would’ve been there if he’d been given the choice.
The cabbie stops in front of her apartment and I throw a couple of twenties toward him. In hindsight, I should’ve gone home to drop my shit off but with my attitude being what it is right now, driving would not be in my best interest. The way Boston traffic is at this time of day, I’d likely have a major case of road rage and that wouldn’t be pretty.
I press Daisy’s buzzer and wait for her or John to answer. There’s a good chance she’s not here, but John should be home. I wait five, maybe ten seconds and press again before stepping back and looking up to the third floor to see if anyone is up there, even though she doesn’t have a window facing the street. The front door opens when a group of kids come out and I use this to my advantage and walk in. Even though I know the elevator is working, I take the steps – two at a time – until I reach her floor. The hall is quiet, which means that if I start pounding on her door, her neighbors will hear.
“Daisy?” I knock quietly and call out her name. I hear faint footsteps, but no there’s no sound of the television coming from her apartment. I can’t imagine John is out with one of his nurses, but who knows? Apparently I’ve been kept in the dark about a lot of stuff so that wouldn’t surprise me.
The deadbolts click and the door is opened as far as the chain will allow it. Daisy doesn’t look at me, instead keeping her eyes to the ground.
“Want to explain yourself?” I ask, my tone harsh and demanding.
Her head moves slowly, until her red-rimmed eyes are steady on mine. She’s been crying and for the life of me I can’t imagine why. It’s not like she was betrayed like I was.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it –”
“You’re sorry?” I cut her off, finding it hard to believe anything that comes out of her mouth. For all I know, when she heard the buzzer, she probably thought it was me and started cutting an onion.
“Hey, Robinson, three days,” a stout lady says as she walks by and yells at Daisy. I watch her walk to another apartment and yell the same thing before taking the stairs to the next floor. When I look back at Daisy, she has fresh tears streaming down her face.
“What is she talking about?”
“It’s nothing. What do you want?” she tries to act tough, but her voice is weak and doesn’t scare me.
“Well for starters I want to know where the hell you’ve been and what that lady is talking about.”
Daisy tries to crack a smile, but to no avail.
“Go home, Ethan. Just go home and pretend you never met me.” She tries to close the door, but I put my hand out to stop her. The door falls open, the chain giving way due to the wood being old. I shake my head and wonder who is going to fix that for her.
“What’s going on?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing, please go.”
“Where’s your grandpa? I want to talk to him.” I invite myself in, sidestepping her small frame and dropping my bags by the door. When I step into the small living room, he’s not there and there are a bunch of boxes stacked against the wall.
“You’re moving?” I ask her, or maybe the wall. It doesn’t matter because the question is rhetorical. “Why?” I ask, turning to face her. “And where’s John?”
When she doesn’t answer me, I go to her. As much as it pains me to admit this, I love this girl even though I don’t trust her. Her hand attempts to move a piece of paper out of my line of sight, but I’m too fast for her. I pick it up and read it and in an instant my heart is sitting in my stomach.
“When?” I ask, unable to read another word.
“Monday night. I was packing and he wanted to help. I told him to stay in his chair and I’d bring his clothes to him to pick out, but he didn’t listen. He got up and started walking down the hall. I tried to get him to go back to his chair, but he said he was fine so I let him help me pack. I went to the bathroom to grab my stuff and when I came back he was bent over the bed. I called 9-1-1, but he was already gone.”
I pull her into my arms without hesitation and let my o
wn tears fall. She’s left with no one. John was it for her and even though she knew he wouldn’t be around forever, I think she thought it’d be longer than it was.
“Daisy, I’m so sorry.”
She steps out of my grasp and wipes her tears, but I don’t bother to wipe mine. She needs to see that I care about her and her grandfather.
“Can I do anything for you?”
She shakes her head. “Just leave, please.”
“Daisy?” My voice trails off. Her eyes are sharp and to the point.
“Get out. You’ve done enough.” She steps away from me, putting her head down.
Her words shoot me straight through the heart, breaking off what little life I had left. I nod and brush past her, stopping only to pick up my bags and leave. I walk out her door without looking back. If ever there’s a relationship that’s over – it’s this one.
I decide to walk to my house. I’m far too agitated to get in the back of some cab and listen to the guy tell me his theory on why we suck or what I need to do to get better. Everyone is a fucking coach, player and personal life coach, even when they’re driving cars around for minimum wage.
Cars honk and women pull over asking if I need a ride home. I know I’m going to be on the front page of the paper tomorrow with some jacked up headline about how I can’t afford a car. One thing is for certain, I won’t be on the BoRe Blog because she’s not walking with me so her “source” can’t tell her anything.
As soon as I hit my block, I see a shadow sitting on my steps. For one brief moment, I think its Daisy and she’s here to apologize. Only it can’t be her because she would’ve seen me walking down the street and I highly doubt she can afford a cab right now. The closer I get, the easier it is to make out the features of the other woman I know so well – Sarah.
I pause at the bottom of my steps and look at her. “What are you doing here?” I ask, realizing that I’m more than happy to see her.
She shrugs. “Your mom called, said she thought you could use a friend. I had a break from classes so I thought I’d fly out and spend some time here, maybe look for a job or something.”
“I’m happy you’re here.” I climb the stairs and set my bag down next to her. I pull her into my arms and hold her, feeling my body sigh.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
No. Yes. Never because guys don’t do that type of shit. “I don’t know.”
“Come on,” she says, picking up her bag and standing by the door. I do the same, pulling out my keys and unlocking the door. Thankfully my maid has been here so the broken lamp and tequila bottle have long been cleaned up and my place no longer smells like the floor of a dive bar.
“I see you haven’t changed the place much.”
I shake my head. “The color suits me.” The grays and whites fit my personality to a T right now.
“Right.” Sarah takes her stuff down to the extra bedroom before returning to the living room. She goes to the kitchen, grabs two beers and comes to sit next to me. Like a pro, she twists both tops off and hands one to me.
“Spill,” she says and I do. I tell her about how Daisy is the blogger and how I’ve fallen for her but can’t trust her. I tell Sarah how much I love her and that I saw Daisy living in my house and being here when I come home from a long road trip. I talk about John and his love for baseball and how I brought him to the games only to find out that he died the night before they were supposed to leave for the All-Star game. I tell Sarah that Daisy is alone and that her family is gone and that I went there angry and left more heartbroken than ever because, despite being alone, she still doesn’t want me.
Sarah lets me talk all night while she holds my hand, comforting me when by all accounts she should be angry that I’ve chosen another woman over her.
“Are you ready?”
Sarah stands in the doorway to my bathroom, watching me fumble with my tie. She’s dressed in a knee-length black dress while I’m in a black suit with red dress shirt. Sarah used her connections at the hospital to find out which funeral home is in charge of John’s service, called them and found out the funeral details. I know I could’ve called Daisy to ask her, but my gut told me she wouldn’t answer.
“Almost.” I stare at myself in the mirror as I prepare for what is likely to be the most awkward event of my life. The Renegades sent a large spray of flowers for the service, as well as a donation to help fund Daisy’s last days of school. I didn’t ask for that, but am glad it happened. I also paid for next year’s tickets so Daisy doesn’t lose them. I don’t know if she’ll ever attend another game, but her seats will be there waiting for her regardless.
Sarah is still here, but leaving in two days to head back to Seattle and school. I’m going to miss having her around. Everything with her is easy and I wish things could be this way all the time. After our long talk the other night, I’m no clearer than I was before she got here. The only thing I can positively say is that Daisy and I happened at the wrong time in both of our lives.
“The car’s here,” Sarah says, breaking my reverie. I follow her out, opening the front door for her, and then the car door once we reach it. A few of the other guys will be there today, as well as the driver who was gracious enough to pick John up for the games. The service is a simple graveside ceremony according to the funeral director Sarah spoke with.
I look out of the black tinted windows, feeling like a piece of me is missing. At this point, I’m not sure how many pieces are left for Daisy to take. Over the past few days, things have been sort of a blur. I go to work, play the game and come home to find Sarah studying in my living room. We have a late dinner, talk and go to bed.
During each game, I’m looking behind the visitor dugout for Daisy, figuring she’d try to hold onto the recent memories of being here with her grandfather, but her seats remain empty. During one game, I freaked out when someone seat hopped and took hers. I had the usher remove them and send them back to their nosebleeds. I didn’t think it was right and clearly over stepped my position with the team, but I don’t care.
“We’re here,” Sarah says as she grabs my hand. I quickly let go, not wanting Daisy to see us holding hands. It means something different to me, but it won’t to Daisy. It doesn’t matter that we’re not together. She doesn’t need to think I’ve moved on. I haven’t and I don’t want to.
Sarah grabs the crook of my arm as we walk up the steep hill. My teammates, Kidd, Branch and Cross all follow behind me, along with Ryan Stone and his wife, Hadley Carter. I nod to Ryan, silently thanking him for attending. He didn’t know John and didn’t need to take time out of his day, or Hadley’s busy schedule, but he’s here to honor a life-long fan. That speaks volumes for our organization.
The Boston Renegades sit two rows behind Daisy. She doesn’t turn to see who is arriving; she keeps her focus on the casket in front of her. To the left stands the spray of flowers that the team sent with the words #1 Fan on the sash.
A few more people arrive, sitting in front of us and blocking my view of Daisy. When the minister arrives, he rests his hand on Daisy’s shoulder, making me wonder if this is the same man that presided over her parents and grandmother’s funerals when they passed. Do you keep someone like this in your contacts just in case?
The minister starts with words of wisdom and love, telling us that love is about forgiveness. Sarah pinches me, reminding me that she said the same thing the other night. I’d like to stand up and remind everyone it’s easy to say the word forgiveness but much harder to actually commit the act when something causes you so much pain. I want to go back to the day we met and have her tell me that she’s the damn blogger and let me make a decision whether or not to see her based off that. It’s easy to say now that I would because I’m in love with her, but that night at the burger place, maybe not.
I can honestly say, though, that she fascinated me enough the night I met her that I would’ve tried to find out what makes her tick. She’s had me on a string from the first time I saw her.
The minister asks if anyone would like to speak. I clear my throat and stand. As I walk by Daisy, I catch the slight intake of breath come from her. I offer her a smile, only to have her turn around and look behind her. When she faces forward, tears are streaming down her face - whether they’re fresh or not, I can’t tell. I should be sitting by her side through all of this. All she had to do was ask.
“I had the privilege of meeting John a few months ago and I’m sad to say I haven’t known him long enough. He was a true fan, not only of the game of baseball, but of my personal game. He had the ability to turn what I would consider a fair game into a good game, highlighting the hidden stats of my teammates and myself.
“My short time with John will not be for naught. I’ll take with me, and cherish, everything he taught me about life, love and baseball.”
I hesitate for a moment, seeking Daisy’s request to sit by her, but she still doesn’t make eye contact with me. Her head is down and her fingers fiddle with the tissue in her hands. When I sit down, Sarah reaches for my hand and I let her take it. I have nothing to lose at this point.
A few other people get up and speak, most of them older. They recount stories from Daisy’s childhood with her parents and her grandmother, and promise to be there for her. I want to stand up and ask who is going to open their house to her because she has to move now. Where does she have to go?
When the service is over and everyone is leaving, I remain seated. “I’ll meet you in the car,” I tell Sarah who kisses me on my cheek before she leaves, handing me the ball that I put in her purse earlier. I don’t want to cause any more pain for Daisy, but I have something for John.
I go to this casket and set the signed ball from the current roster on top of his casket. I don’t know if it’ll make it inside, but I hope so.
“It didn’t take you long to move on.”
Her voice catches me off guard. I breathe in deeply and remind myself that she’s hurting and it’s easy to assume that Sarah and I are together. I decide its best that I sit down next to her so she can hear me clearly without tuning me out.
Third Base (The Boys of Summer #1) Page 20
