The Dugout(113)
It’s time.
On a deep breath, I take a step forward just as the lights of the field turn off. In a blink of an eye, the field went from lit with hope to dark and desolate. I quickly make my way over the hill to get a better view. As my eyes adjust, I search out any dark figures moving around but don’t see anything. Carson’s car from college is still parked in front of the field, but no one’s inside.
I take a few more steps forward, scanning the dim area, looking for any signs of Carson. And that’s when I spot him, hunched over on the bench in the dugout . . . our dugout.
Defeat in his shoulders, fingers threaded through his hair, tension coiled in his back. Instead of closing the space between us, I take a moment to observe him, to watch his genuine reaction to me not showing up.
Disappointment.
Sorrow.
Failure.
Regret.
And oddly, I feel the same emotions when it comes to us, regret being the biggest one. I regret not pushing him harder, not flying to him, not forcing him to break out of the emotionless shell he put himself in.
With him sitting in front of me, the opportunity to talk hanging between us, I take another step forward and another, realizing I’m not going to put myself in another situation where I regret my actions. I’m terrified, but I also need to hear what he has to say.
I step up next to the gate and swing it open, startling him to his feet, but when his eyes focus on me, relief washes over him like a fresh morning wave. His entire demeanor changes. His tension and sorrow is replaced with excitement and hope.
Softly he says, “You came.”
Staring at the ground, his gaze almost too strong for me, I say, “I almost didn’t.”
“I can understand that. I was horrible to you. Honestly, I didn’t think you were going to come and that was something I was going to have to live with, but you’re here now.”
“Terrified, but I’m here.”
He takes my hand in his and guides me to the bench where we both straddle the metal seat. “Tell me why you’re terrified.”
We’re about a foot and a half apart, his hand is still connected to mine and for a moment, I stare at the threading of our fingers, how it feels so easy, like his hand is the one I should be holding for the rest of my life.
Shane’s encouragement pops into my head and on a scared exhale, I say, “You broke my heart, Carson. I gave it to you and without a backward glance, you broke it. And the recovery hasn’t been easy. I’m still trying to get over the hump of what you said to me, of how you pushed me away.”
He nods somberly. “I understand.”
“I’ve never felt for somebody the way I felt for you.” Feel for you still. “I took a chance and opened my heart to you and you threw it back at me.” A small tear careens down my cheek. “I just wanted to be there for you.”
“You were, Milly.” He tugs on my hand, encouraging me to look up. “You were there for me and even though I didn’t respond, your voice and your words helped me through the hardest time of my life, and I should have told you that. I should have acted like a man, confronted the demons eating me alive, and said something.” He shakes his head in disappointment. “I should have talked to you. I should never have pushed you away.”
We sit there, silence stretching between us as regret clouds the air, tainting everything around us. The field seems dull, the dugout just an empty space that used to be full of memories, and even though there isn’t a cloud in sight, the stars don’t seem to be shining as bright as they usually do.
Gripping my hand tightly, he says, “Can I ask you something?” I glance up at him. “Do I have a chance at making things right with you? Of making you mine again?” A weight of a thousand anvils sits on top of my chest as I scramble for breath.
Making you mine . . .
Everything I wanted to hear the minute he walked away, and yet, my stomach rolls at the thought.
I honestly don’t know what to say. I know what my heart wants—he’s sitting in front of me—but my brain is reminding me of the pain and agony I endured because of this man, begging and pleading to whoever wanted to listen to encourage him to talk to me. This hesitation isn’t about me trying to hurt him either. I’m terrified. What we had was incredible, something I had no idea would exist for me. Yet in the hardest and darkest hours of his life, he didn’t want or need me. And that painful reality is what I don’t know what to do with.
He scoots closer and takes both of my hands in his. God, I’ve missed his touch. Holding firmly he says, “I understand what I’m asking of you, to consider giving me another chance when I broke our trust, ignored the extraordinary bond we had, and tarnished all the good times we once shared. But even during the time we were apart, I thought of you, Milly. I thought of you every goddamn day. I chastised myself for picturing your face before I went to bed, knowing I didn’t deserve that image. I berated my mind for always drawing an image of your beautiful face whenever I was in the cages. And with every night I had a weak moment and listened to your voicemails on replay, I punished myself the next day with arduous workouts in the weight room, trying to drill it into my brain to forget you.” He shakes his head as my pulse pounds so loud in my ears I can barely hear his voice. “But I could never shake you, no matter how hard I tried and with every day I ignored you, I hated myself even more, turning the darkest year of my life into a vicious cycle of self-hatred for not letting myself love you outwardly, but unconditionally loving you inwardly.”