The Dugout(106)

I quickly deleted his number from my phone and told myself never again. He’s out of my life. I mentally wished him luck in his pursuit to the big leagues and hope he finds peace, but I was done after that.

A few months later, I got a text from a random number. I had an inkling it was Carson and in a weak moment, I answered, just curious.

But when I didn’t get a text back, I shifted my thinking again . . . away from him. That was until the talk of the town is that the Brentwood-turned-Bobbie second baseman is rising through the ranks and claiming a starting position on the roster.

His handsome and matured face has been plastered across every promo piece in the city, commercials with his deep, excited voice asking fans to buy season tickets come on sporadically, and of course, all my students love talking about him. It’s as if he’s personally talking to them, especially Dennis. The kid won’t shut up about Carson Stone, and I really like Dennis—favorite student, remember—but every time he mentions Carson’s name, it makes me want to punt the little fucker in the jockstrap.

Needless to say, it’s been hard to escape the news that Carson Stone is back in town and that he’s the newest up-and-comer for the Bobbies with massive potential.

“It’s not like he’s going to see you at the game,” Shane says, pointing out the obvious. “He has more important things to focus on rather than impossibly trying to pick someone out in the stands.”

“I understand he won’t see me, but it’s seeing him, hearing everyone chant for him, it’s too . . . difficult.”

“Does that mean you’ll never go to another Bobbies game again?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous. It’s just . . . it’s his first start as a solid name on the roster. There’s going to be big fanfare around it. I don’t know if I can take it. It still seems too raw.” I pick at my bagel, my appetite depleted.

“So that’s a no?”

“Maybe.” I sigh and lean back in my chair. “Honestly, I knew there was a good chance he’d be back in Chicago soon, I just didn’t realize it was going to be this soon, you know? It doesn’t seem like that long ago when he broke me.”

“I’m not telling you how to mend your heart, but what I am saying is Opening Day is one of your favorite things, so don’t let him take that away from you. It might sting, but the sting might be worth it to finally get over the hurdle of pain.”

“I hate that you make sense.”

“How about a lot?” He winks. “Think about it. Jerry’s going to be in town, and he’s really looking forward to it. We both are. Just like old times.”

I pick at the cheese on my bagel and put a tiny bite in my mouth.

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”





“Cory, you really need to stop buying me dinner,” I huff into the phone. “I make money, I can afford things.”

“Yeah, well, Rian and Sean both told me about your depressed demeanor because of Stone’s reemergence in town, so I thought some of your favorite deep-dish pizza would cheer you up. Also, don’t forget I let you and the boys buy your plane tickets to the Bahamas over break, so I’m still making up from that.”

“You upgraded our seats to first class behind our backs.”

“I’m not even sorry about it.” He laughs into the phone. Honestly, he needs to find a girlfriend and stop spending money on us, not that I’m not grateful, but I want him to be happy. Then again, I guess spending it on us does make him happy. And taking us to the Bahamas for a week made him happy. We don’t get to do a lot of things together, because Cory lives in Baltimore and his schedule doesn’t allow for much, so when he asked if we would go on vacation, we jumped on it.

“Seriously though, how’s the girlfriend search? Anyone on the horizon?”

“Nah, don’t have time for that. No one wants to date a baseball player during the season.”

I laugh out loud, the sound vibrating in my chest. “You’re delusional. There are probably a million girls in Maryland alone waiting for you to look their way.”

“Yeah, and each of them with the wrong intention. I don’t want a girl who wants me because I play major league baseball. I want a girl who wants me for who I am.”

“So that means I’m in charge of setting you up again?”

“Find me a good one,” he jokes, just as there’s a knock on my door.

“Oh, delivery is here,” I say with excitement.

“I thought you didn’t want food from me. Now you’re all excited.”

“I just feel bad that you’re always buying me things.”

“It makes me happy, so deal with it,” he says as I dig through my wallet for a tip. “Now put me on FaceTime so I can see your face while you eat the pizza.”

I pause. “That’s really weird.”

“Nah, it’s not weird at all. Let me live vicariously through you.” Before I can stop him, he sends a FaceTime request and I reluctantly accept it. Sitting on his leather couch in a Storm shirt and black shorts, he waves like a moron at me. “There’s my girl. Still can’t get over the shoulder-length hair; it looks good, but matures you about ten years.”

“Wow, thanks for calling me old.” I set the phone on the console in the entryway and open the door, holding out the tip money. “Than—”