Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
A sense of homecoming threads through me, comfort that comes from the person who’s always been there for me, and I answer with a happy hello.
“Nice double,” he says as I head to the backfield.
“You saw the game?”
“Hello? Streaming. Ever heard of it?”
I smile as I climb the steps in the empty bleachers, then grab a seat. “You guys didn’t ever like to miss a game, did you?” I ask, stretching my legs out in front of me, sitting in the afternoon sun, the mountains in the distance.
“We watch most of your games, kid.” He clears his throat. “Now, my daily report. I’m waiting for it.”
Leaning back, getting comfortable, I give him my report as I’ve been doing every day since I’ve been here. I tell him about the hitters, the pitchers, the coaches, the skipper. About the fans and the guys. About Sullivan, Crosby, Chance.
I leave Declan out. But that’s okay. There are plenty of other things to talk about.
“And what about you? How’s all your running going? Ready for the Bay City marathon?”
There’s a pause before he answers. “Doctor says I might need knee surgery.”
I sit up straighter. This is the first time he’s mentioned anything. “Yikes. What’s that all about?”
“Apparently, two marathons a year is a lot on a body. Especially an old one like mine,” he says.
“You’re not that old.”
“‘Not that old’ is easy to say when you’re as young as you are.”
“When will you have it?”
“Not sure,” he says.
“I want to be there.”
“You do baseball. You let me take care of my knee.”
“Pops, I want to support you. Just let me know when it’s going to be. Try to schedule it when I’m in town,” I say, halfway to begging.
He laughs. “When? In between your home games? You’re going to be busy the second you get back here. You’ll be on the road. And I am going to be okay. Trust me.”
I swallow roughly, wishing I could help him out. “But—”
“But your grandma will be here. I’ll be fine.”
“Does insurance cover it?”
“Probably, but it’s insurance. Who knows? I’ll look into it.”
“What about PT? Do you need PT afterward?”
“Kid, I just saw the orthopedic surgeon the other day.”
I sit up straighter, resting my elbows on my knees. “Let me pay for the PT. Insurance doesn’t always cover that. I want to.”
“You’re so damn stubborn.”
“I wonder where I got that from,” I deadpan.
“Your mom,” he says with a laugh, then clears his throat. “By the way, I saw her recently. She said she wants to come to Opening Day when you’re playing in San Francisco.”
I cross my fingers. “We don’t even know for sure I’ll make the roster.”
He scoffs. “I have faith.”
“And I appreciate it,” I say, and though I don’t want to assume I’ll make it, things look good so far.
He takes a beat, then adds, “And she wants to come with Frank.”
It’s like I’ve been sucker-punched. “Is she with him again?”
“Seems she is,” my grandpa says with a sigh.
“Guess she can’t stay away from that guy. I haven’t seen him since the end of high school. Haven’t seen her in a while either.” My gut twists again, but this time there’s no confusion—my parents always have that effect on me. “And she wants to come to my games? Now that I’m this close to the majors?” I say, frustration lacing my tone. “She didn’t come to any minor league games.”
He sighs. “She’s complicated.”
“I know.”
“So is your dad.”
“Did he ask for tickets too?”
“No, but he’s pretty busy with Cammi,” he says, and I guess that’s wife number three or girlfriend number twenty. Hell if I know. I stopped trying to count.
My throat tightens, and images of Mom and Dad flitting in and out of my life, Mom singing in clubs, Dad trying to play guitar, flashes before me. My mom is barely thirty-eight years old, same as my dad. They’re not together. They haven’t been in years. Both have dated plenty since they split. Mostly jerks. The only one I ever got along with was Frank, the guy my mom was briefly married to when I was in high school. Till he opened his big mouth about me.
But I don’t want to deal with them today. With a painful wince, and a promise to myself, I let go of the knot of emotions the people who gave me DNA stir up in me.
“Tell Grams I love her, okay?”
“I will, kid. Anything else interesting happening at spring training?”
The back of my neck pricks. My senses trip.
Part of me wants to tell him. Part of me wants to sit down at the table with him and my grandma and have a chat. Talk to them openly, like I did when I was in high school. They were the next ones I told after Reese. They were so damn cute. My grandfather said, “When you meet some guy who steals your heart, I want an introduction so I can make sure he’s good enough for you.”