Текст книги "Third Base"
Автор книги: Heidi McLaughlin
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
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 own 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.
“That’s Sarah, my ex. You know about her because I told you everything about our relationship. When you didn’t show up in Cincinnati my mom knew something was up and called her. She was sitting on my steps when I came back from your apartment.”
“Oh yes, she’s your road trip hook-up.”
“That’s not fair, Daisy. I know you’re hurting right now, but Sarah isn’t to blame and neither am I.”
“You went to her apartment in Seattle?” Her broken voice tears me up on the inside. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and turn my head so I’m looking at her.
“I don’t know why you’re bringing this up now, but yes, I did. You and I had stopped talking. I was pissed.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
I shake my head. “No, but we did some other stuff until I said your name and she walked out on me. I spent the rest of the night telling my ex that I was in love with this beautiful, smart and crazy girl with an adorable accent who knew how to put me in my place.”
A sob overtakes her body. I try to reach for her but she shies away. Instead I pull her hand into mine and sit back. This should’ve been my spot from the get-go, but she refuses to allow me back in.
“Daisy, I realize this may not be the best time, but I need to say this to you. I want to figure things out between us because I’m in love with you. If you don’t love me, let me know, but if you do and want us to have a future, you know where to find me.”
I stand up and kiss her on her forehead, lingering there as long as possible before I leave her to say a private goodbye to her grandfather.
EDavenport @TheRealEthanD – 1 hour
@BoReRenBlog I miss you
It’s been a month since I saw Daisy and I have a feeling that was my last time. Each home game, I walk out of the dugout looking for her, only to find her seats empty. They remain vacant during the game, diminishing any hope I have of ever seeing her again.
When I left her at the cemetery, I thought for sure she’d call or show up. I even left my door unlocked a few times hoping I’d come home from a road trip to find her living there. It’s been a letdown each and every time. I’ve tried calling her. For a while her phone went to voicemail after four or five rings until one day the call didn’t even go through. I don’t know if she changed her number because she’s sick of me calling or what.
The only thing that hasn’t changed is her blog. It’s still up and running, reminding us of just how poorly we’re doing this year. I’ve kept her secret from the team. I figured if she wants to tell everyone that she’s the BoRe Blogger, she can do that when she’s ready. It’s not my news to share.
We’re in the middle of a long home stand, ten games until we hit the road again. The Cleveland Indians are in town and after my last at bat, we’re leading three to nothing. I thought that after the funeral my batting average would continue to suffer, but it hasn’t. I’m currently batting .320, the highest in the American League, but not in the Majors. A couple of guys in the National League are still kicking my ass. Also kicking my ass is my nervous tick. It’s back with a vengeance since Daisy and I broke up. Who knew she was the cure and now that she’s gone, it’s something I have to continue to live with?
One thing I have learned from Daisy is that she was accurate in her assumptions. I spent hours pouring over her blog, reading the shit that she was writing only to find out most of it is true. Cooper Bailey is coming to Boston, and soon. No one knows what his position will be, as there’s still no word on what’s going on with Bainbridge.
Jasper Jacobson is currently up to bat. The rumors about him not being happy in Boston are true, which makes things a bit awkward in the clubhouse. He wants a trade, but Stone hasn’t done anything about it yet. There’s speculation that Jacobson might be involved with Bainbridge’s wife, but no one’s talking.
Jacobson is facing a full count and the fans are rallying behind him. We’re all standing in support. We need a win; after our last two games being losses, we need some happy. He swings and connects with the ball, sending the right fielder to the warning track. We lean back and pray as the right fielder jumps, missing the ball by an inch. We run out and meet him at home plate, slapping him on the back and trying to show him that we’re still his team despite everything going on with his personal life.
With no outs, all we have to do is add more runs. Bryce Mackenzie is up next with Travis Kidd on deck.
“Someone’s dogging ya,” Kidd says as he nods behind me. I can hear my name being called, but I don’t want to look because he’s likely up to something. The fact that my name is being called means nothing, since the kids are always trying to get us to sign things, give them a bat during the game or even look at them. It was a thrill when it happened to me so I know what it’s like to get attention from your favorite player, let alone any player.
“Just a fan, I’m assuming,” I say, shrugging him off and focusing on Mackenzie’s at bat.
He shakes his head and starts laughing. “A super fan,” he says, nodding behind me again. “You might want to turn around.”
“You might want to pay attention to the game. Mackenzie could hit a foul ball and smack you in the tallywacker.”
“Jesus Davenport, just turn the hell around.”
I roll my eyes and finally give in, but only halfheartedly. I look over my left shoulder and see no one calling me and over my right to find the same thing.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kidd swings the bat a few times before he stops because Mackenzie has a hit and is now on first base. “Turn all the way around, Davenport. Stop being a bitch.”
I do as he says and I’m met with a pair of green eyes that I have burnt into my memory. She’s sitting behind our dugout in the center seat. She stands and points to her shirt. The front of it says, “I’m sorry”. I can’t help the stupid ass grin that is plastered all over my face.
I lean forward, resting my hands on the edge of the dugout. “Are you busy after the game?”
“No,” Daisy says with a smile.
“You are now,” I say, not caring that I’m probably jumping the gun and assuming she wants to see me. It’s not a guess; I know she does. “Stay right there and I’ll come get you when the game is over.”
Before I know it, we’re on the Jumbo Tron with hearts all around our picture. She covers her face and I turn back to the game, only to turn around and wave my hat at the section she’s in. They roar with cheers and start chanting my name.
We win, nine to one. I had a few more base hits and some RBI’s to add to our run count. Every Renegade player had at least one base hit. It’s odd when that happens, but we take it and run with it when it does. As soon as I enter the clubhouse the reporters are there. They call my name and instead of going to them, they come over to me and shove their microphones into my face as soon as I sit down.
“Ethan, you made a pretty big display of affection today during the game. Do you care to tell us about your girlfriend?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, running my hand through my hair. “I’ve been in love with her for as long as I can remember. She means everything to me.” Suddenly their microphones are even more in my face.
“What’s her name?”
“Baseball!”
I wish I had a camera at this exact moment so I can capture their expressions as they all deadpan at my answer. They’re stupid if they think I’m going to say anything about Daisy. We have a long road ahead of us and the last thing we need is the media hounding us. I do enough stupid shit that brings us plenty of attention. We don’t need any more.
The reporters don’t like me much after that answer, not that I can blame them. Kidd punches me in the shoulder and winks at me.
“Gettin’ laid tonight?”
I start to undress, hoping that if I ignore him, he’ll go away but he doesn’t. It’s not in his nature to just let something like this be brushed under the rug. He elbows me and I make the mistake of looking at him. His tongue is doing things I can’t even describe to his cheek.
“Not gonna happen,” I say, bursting his bubble.
“Why not?”
“Because we have a lot of unresolved issues and jumping into the sack isn’t how you fix things.”
Kidd looks at me like I have two heads. “You’re a fucking pussy. You better turn in your man card. I think I’m embarrassed to know you.” He shakes his head and stalks off to the showers. It would be easy to be like him, but that’s not who I am. I tried to be the one-night stand guy and it wasn’t for me. Yeah, sex with no attachments is great, but sex with someone that you really care about is so worth it.
After I shower, I walk out of the clubhouse and back toward the dugout. The lights are still on and people are cleaning the stadium. Daisy still sits in the same spot she was in earlier, right where I asked her to stay. I sit down in the empty seat beside her and look out over the field.
“The reporters asked about you tonight. They asked me to tell them about my girlfriend.”
“What’d you tell them?”
“That I was in love with her.”
Her head turns and the light catches her eyes just right, making them sparkle.
“Oh yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah and they asked for her name. I told them her name is Baseball.”
Daisy’s lips morph into the biggest smile I’ve seen in a long time. “That’s the best answer ever.”
“I know,” I say, proud of myself for the quick thinking. “What are you doing here?”
“I got your tweet.”
I sent her a tweet before the game started, telling her that I missed her. It was a last ditch effort to reach her and to show her that I’m serious. I know I don’t owe her anything, but I feel something for her that I can’t let go. Call me a psycho stalker or a sociopath but I want to be with her, or at least have her in my life.
“I’m pretty good at tweeting.”
“Yes, you are,” she says.
We sit in silence, watching the grounds crew cover the field and preserve the infield for tomorrow’s game. They’ll be here first thing in the morning to get it ready. They’ll mow, edge and make sure everything is in place before they cover it up again for batting practice. It’s a tedious job, but they’re damn good at it.
“I don’t deserve to have you in my life.”
“I know,” I say, agreeing with her. Anyone else would’ve walked away, never looking back. But they’d be fools to walk away from someone like Daisy.
“I should’ve told you about my job when we first met.”
“Yes, you should have, but why don’t you tell me now?”
Daisy sighs, rubbing her hands over her bare thighs. It was ninety out today and the night air is the perfect temperature.
“When you arrived in Boston my professor thought it would be a good idea for someone in class to cover you. Sort of like a fan blog about you, but I had the idea to do the whole team. He gave the job to me because I have season tickets, or at least I did. He offered to pay me, plus I could do whatever I wanted with ad space. I needed the money so I took the job thinking I’d never meet you or any of the other guys.
“At first, you made it easy. The stupid things you were doing were tabloid fodder and I was having so much fun. Then you’d tweet me and I could tell you were getting pissed so I started writing about the other guys as well. Tips were coming in like crazy. I’d get tweets about who was in the bar hooking up, who’s cheating, what wife just spent an obscene amount at the store… the more I posted, the more hits I received which meant more ad traffic and that meant more money in my account and better food on our table.
“The first night we had dinner, someone in the restaurant tweeted me about you being on a date. I thought for sure you figured it out by the time I sat down, but you never said anything except for me to call your agent. Believe me, I have…he’s not very nice.”
I have to laugh at her last statement because it’s true: He’s a dick.
“The day you surprised me in the library I was uploading a new post. And when we fought, I saw it as an opportunity to escape what was coming.”
“What was that?” I ask.
“Heartache.”
She broke my heart.
“But I couldn’t stay away and it wasn’t because of some story, but because I was… still am… in love with you. I never used you, Ethan. I didn’t have to. There were enough people surrounding all of you that were willing to give up a story. Bainbridge’s wife is one of them. She emails me on a daily basis. It’s sad, really.” Her voice trails off and I start to question why I’m not angry with her now that she’s coming clean. This is the story I’ve been waiting for and I should be yelling, but I’m not.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. That is my biggest regret. After everything you’ve done and were doing for my grandpa… there were so many times I wanted to tell you, but I just couldn’t find the words.”
“That night in the car, when you said you forgot to call a night nurse, what was that about?”
“I had forgotten to cancel the post and freaked out. You would’ve wondered about all the notifications or asked me why I’m fiddling with my phone so much. I couldn’t turn my phone off because my grandpa might have called.”
I would’ve taken her phone away if she were messing with it while we were together. Our time was valuable and limited. The last thing we needed was interruptions.
“How did you know I went to Sarah’s in Seattle? You never posted about it.”
“Steve’s wife. She tells me everything.”
And Steve heard it in the clubhouse and told his wife? I’m not buying it.
“I don’t think Bainbridge would’ve told her.”
Daisy looks at me. “He didn’t. Jacobson did.”
“Interesting.”
“Honestly, Ethan, sometimes you have these blinders on. You need to take them off and look around. There’s a lot of shit going down in your clubhouse.”
I know she’s right, but sometimes you want to keep the blinders on so you don’t lose who you are, or start thinking about the shit your teammates are doing. Sometimes it’s better not to know.
“There are things I tweeted to you as a blogger, about you as the person I fell in love with. I’m trying to wrap my head around that. There are days when I think it’s no big deal, but other times it freaks me the fuck out.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t.”
I sigh and lean forward, looking at her from an angle.
“Where do we go from here, Daisy? What do you want?”
I know it’s an open-ended question and the answers could be endless. I have no doubt she’d ask for more time with her parents and grandparents if she could, or even world peace at this point. I hope she knows I’m asking about us and giving her the choice.
“What I want is you, if you’re willing to have me, flaws and all. Where we go? I don’t know, but I’m flexible.”
