Third Base (The Boys of Summer, #1)(66)
“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.