My sister picked out some clothes for you. They’re downstairs in bags. And don’t argue with me about it. You needed clothes.
If you need anything, text me or call my sister. I’m leaving Camille’s number below. She’ll get to me if there’s an emergency.
Q
With a piece of tape, I stick it to the front of her open door instead of the counter so that she sees it right away, in hopes that it takes one more thing off her mind as soon as she gets up. I’m about to leave when I’m struck by the sight of her sleeping.
Long chestnut brown waves fan across the pillow, her pillowy lips parted as she breathes in and out. Usually, she’s like a little storm cloud, but right now, she looks like the calm before the storm.
Not wanting to be a creep, I back away and tiptoe down the hallway until I reach the stairs.
In the garage, I hop in my car and make my way to the stadium for today’s game with everything but baseball on my mind.
Inviting her to live with me was the right choice. It takes away a load of stress that neither she nor the baby needs right now, and it allows us to get to know each other better, while also allowing me to help whenever I’m needed. Which is what I’ve wanted this whole time.
I do need to be careful, though, because we’re attracted to each other, there’s no denying that. Hell, it’s how we ended up in this situation. But even more worrisome now is the emotional connection we’re forming.
Between our daily texts over the last month and when I spent the night when she was sick, I find myself feeling things that are more than what platonic friends feel.
The problem with that is that I can’t confuse a general liking for the mother of my child with romantic feelings. There’s too much at stake.
It’s with that reminder that I begin my routine for getting in the zone before game time. After seeing the team’s occupational therapist for my shoulder stretches, I retreat to the locker room.
With my headphones in, I skip my country playlist and opt for a different one. I search using the words heavy metal, and a playlist of the best heavy metal classics pops up. My finger presses the play button and I instantly reach for the side of my phone, turning down the volume.
Since Teagan likes it, I’ve been listening to it before games. I didn’t tell her last night that I’ve been listening to it because I don’twant to weird her out or anything. But I like listening to it as it gives me an insight into who she is.
Before I know it, Coach Tran enters the room and spins a single digit in the air. Everyone gets into motion from the simple action, finishing getting dressed and tying up laces. We all respect and love our coach, evident as we follow silent commands, even if he busts our balls half the time.
I tear my headphones off my head and place them in my bag, then reach for my glove instead. I’m about to head for the tunnel when I hear Ian’s voice. I spot him near the door that leads to the trainer’s room with his phone pressed to his ear, dressed to play even though he isn’t pitching today. It’s a requirement in the MLB, that on days when we don’t pitch, we still show up to games to support our team.
“Send me Clara’s address. I’ll stop by after the game,” Ian says as he crosses an arm over his chest.
I stop in my tracks and bend down, pretending to tie up my laces just so I can eavesdrop now that I know he’s talking to Teagan.
He rolls his eyes at whatever she says. “Okay, fine. But I’m seeing you by the end of this weekend, got it?”
I hate the tone he’s using with her when she just lost everything, but I let it go since I know Teagan’s hope is that we can be civil.
When I stand, we make eye contact, and this is where a pitcher usually says something encouraging to another pitcher.
But I know better than to expect that from Ian.
“Don’t blow it tonight,” he says coolly, crossing his arms under his chest, exactly like his sister does when she’s giving me shit.
“Such a team player.” I shake my head as I walk away.
“I do my job. That’s all that matters.” His words make me stop and turn to face him.
“And that’s why you’ll never take my spot.”
I know I’m supposed to find a way to make peace with him since we’ll be a family, but he also needs to grow up.
“I won’t have to take anything. It’ll be given with ease once they realize you’re of no use anymore.”
I don’t let him see that he’s pissing me off. It would only make him feel better about himself than he already does. So it takes everything in me to smirk at him as I say, “Keep dreaming, kid,” and walk away.
So much for making peace.
