The Shortstop, page 11
He stands to open the drawer we’re discussing, pulls out his jockstrap, and shrugs indifferently. “Nope. It was because I tossed my cookies minutes before game time. I couldn’t get to that trashcan quick enough. So, I know exactly what you’re going through. Those bastards,” he says with a smirk. “I made their initiation prank easy. The next day when I got in for practice, my locker was filled from floor to ceiling with cookies.” He swirls the strap of his jockstrap on a rigid finger, completely unaffected by his embarrassing initiation to the team. Each rookie is welcomed in one way or another. I haven’t a clue what they’ll do to me. I’ve heard stories of some really humiliating pranks.
“Sounds like you got off easy,” I admit.
“Yeah, it could have been worse. I did have to get all those cookies out of here. I scored some points with the press when I donated them all to a children’s hospital.”
“My mind has been too busy worrying about the game to concentrate on what they’ll do to me.”
Jeff offers a bemused smile, clearly hiding what he knows. “We’ll see.”
Great.
Just before he walks away, I remember to say, “Hey, thank Ava for me. She’s been so great to Annie. We both really appreciate it.”
“I will. Ava is very fond of Annie. She’s probably going to call her when we leave for Detroit. That first away series can be difficult to get through alone. Once we get back, we’ll have to make plans to all go out.”
“Sounds great.” That’s just what Annie needs to distract her during my first away series. Jeff’s wife is sweet and kind, very similar to Annie in personality. With Daphne still in Baltimore, Annie could use a friend who understands what she’s going through.
Feeling a touch better after talking to Jeff, I start to get ready for the game. My brand-spanking-new uniform hangs majestically in my locker. Yankees pinstripes. I can’t stop staring at it. As the locker room begins to fill with the rest of the team, the noise level rises and rises. I quickly become the focus of attention as they all get their rocks off by picking on the new guy. It’s all done good-naturedly and it’s a good distraction.
Just as I’m adjusting my hat, I receive a text from Annie that she’s on her way down. We aren’t allowed visitors in the locker room. I try my best to sneak out unnoticed, but that doesn’t work very well.
“Where ya going, rookie?” one of them calls out as I saunter toward the door.
Knowing better than to answer, I flip them off on my way out. They all laugh at my expense. Jeff is the one who told me to leave an access pass for Annie at will call. On debut night, it’s customary for the rookie to have his significant other come down to the tunnel to see him in uniform for the first time. There’s a small alcove in the tunnel that’s been dubbed “the hard-on nook” because of what occurs in there. They claim it makes them play better if they get all worked up and sexually frustrated. Of course, that’s not what they tell their girls.
Once out in the hall, I commit to memory every detail of the tunnel.
I’ve seen this tunnel in so many pictures. I can’t even count how many of my heroes walked this hall before each game. The blue and white cinderblock walls, the green concrete floor, even the legendary sign that hangs from the ceiling—“I want to thank the Good Lord for making me a Yankee” Joe DiMaggio, October 1941—all overwhelm me with nostalgia.
If asked, I’m not sure I could successfully put into words exactly what I’m feeling as I stand rooted to this spot in full uniform.
Chuck and Annie appear to the right. Her hand covers her mouth when she sees me. From a distance, I can tell she’s fighting back tears. I’m fighting my own tears as she gets closer and closer.
“Quint,” she says my name with so much emotion it comes out as a whisper.
She takes the last few steps in a sprint, running right into my arms. Over her shoulder, I see Chuck wink and smile before walking away to give us some privacy. The tunnel is empty except for Annie and me. I know it’s only a matter of time before the guys come out to bust my chops. I quickly pull her into “the hard-on nook” to collect on my good-luck kiss.
We manage to go at it for several long minutes before intruders break our moment. Laughter filters toward us down the tunnel. Annie blushes profusely, and I smile at her shyness. “Ignore them. They do it to all the rookies.”
I quickly kiss her one last time before pulling her out of the alcove. “I gotta go.”
“Can I take a picture of you?” she asks tentatively.
I summon Chuck and ask him to take one of us together. He takes a few and retreats once again. Overwhelmed with emotion, I engulf her in my arms, holding her close.
“I love you, Q,” she says into my chest.
“I love you, too.”
When my voice cracks, she notices and smiles warmly. Her small hands hold my face as she stares into my eyes. “I am so happy for you. Please enjoy every second out there. This is what you’ve worked for your whole life. This uniform is who you are to the core, a Yankee. Make me proud.” After a few more kisses and words of encouragement, she gives me another fierce hug and follows Chuck out of the tunnel.
A lump forms in my throat as I watch her walk away. Pulling in a deep breath, I walk over to the DiMaggio sign, kiss my fingertips, and hit the bottom corner, sending it swinging back and forth above my head.
“Wish me luck, Joltin’ Joe,” I murmur before heading back into the locker room with a huge smile on my face. Just as Annie said, I’m going to enjoy every second of this night.
It’s a hot, muggy night in the Bronx. The starless sky makes the stadium lights look even brighter. It’s sold out. Although it’s not unusual for a weeknight game to be, I’ve been told it’s because of my debut.
I have my place of honor along with my teammates in front of our dugout. I’m completely overwhelmed as my eyes rake over the stadium in all its glory. The pristinely manicured outfield looks more like a plush carpet than grass. The iconic white fence façade running along the upper deck causes emotions to swell within me. I can practically see the ghosts of legends past standing in their positions of honor on the field. From where I stand, I try to focus on the faces in the crowd. Emotions swell within me from seeing all the young boys and girls standing beside their parents. Their small hands hold their baseball snack of choice or some even clutch a new souvenir. I remember vividly coming to a Yankees game with my dad and anxiously waiting for the anthem to end so they would start playing. I found the song boring and stupid. The memory of me standing while irritably shaking my leg makes me smile.
With my hat over my heart, the national anthem is having the same effect on me now as it did then. I’m doing everything in my power to keep still. My fidgeting amuses a few of my teammates as they glance my way with knowing smiles on their faces. They get it. They understand that every cell in my body is jumping with excitement. Every muscle coiled and ready to perform. I just want to get out there and play my first game.
The instant the last lyrics are sung, my heart jumps in my chest as applause erupts from the stands. This is it. It’s time to show them what I’ve got.
We all trot out to our positions. Our first baseman alternates throwing warm-up drills between the infielders. In the few seconds in between my ground balls, I quickly scan the section my family and friends are sitting in. Each time I do, I catch a glimpse of Annie’s eyes trained right on me. Just as she would years ago, she sits in her seat, clutching her hands as if she’s praying and smiling. When I wink, her smile widens instantly.
The view from shortstop is pretty fucking amazing. I seriously can’t believe I’m here. Saying a quick prayer as the first batter takes his place at the plate, I force myself into play mode.
The nervous jitters I was plagued with earlier are now gone. I knew I’d get over them once I got out here. Being on this field is second nature to me. Batter by batter, I study each one individually. The way they stand, the way they swing their bats, and mostly the way they stare at the pitcher. A few routine plays, a few foul balls, and a pop-up to left field marks the top of the first.
As anxious as I was to play the field, that doesn’t compare to how anxious I am to get at bat. I’m third in the lineup and I cannot fucking wait. Our leadoff batter cracks one up the middle, landing him on first. The second one hits a fly to center field. I’m up, with one out and one man on.
I can feel every set of eyes on me as I take the plate. Sticking to my superstitious routine, I tap the plate with my bat three times, and I glance to where Annie is standing. My eyes can’t find her that quickly in the crowd, but I know she’s watching me. So is the pitcher, with a smile on his face. It could be a welcome smile, but my gut tells me he wants to make an example of the rookie. My returning smile spurs him on. He alternates his glance between the first base runner and me. Moving at a snail’s pace, he studies his signals, taking his time before nodding at his catcher.
The first pitch is right down the middle. I never take the first pitch. I rarely take the second. Number three turns out to be low and outside. I love playing this mind game, making him wonder if I’ll go for the next pitch or simply sit back and watch it sail by. I can tell the next is a good one the second it leaves his glove. The ball reaches me, and I use every muscle I have behind the swing. The wood vibrates violently in my hands as I make contact, and in slow motion, I watch the ball arch and land in deep left field. I’m fast for my height and easily slide into second with time to spare. Thunderous applause fills the stadium while I stand and brush myself off.
Because of me, it’s now one-nothing…not bad for my first time at bat.
Inning by inning, I play my ass off for my new team. By the top of the ninth, it’s not exhaustion I feel after playing for hours but more like utter satisfaction. I played a clean game. I’m proud of myself.
The last out is made, ending the game with a win over the Royals. One by one, my teammates and coaches whack my ass when I get to the dugout. Pride swells within me to the point where I feel I could self-combust.
“They want you, kid,” my coach says, thumbing toward the crowd. It’s only then I realize they’re chanting, “We want Quint! We want Quint!”
“For real?” I ask, shocked to my core.
“For real. Get your ass out there and tip your hat.”
“Holy shit,” I mumble as I climb the dugout steps and step out onto the field. The cheering is deafening. It’s their way of welcoming me to their town. Like so many of my favorite players often do, I lift my hat in an appreciative gesture to thank them. I make sure to acknowledge the entire stadium, slowly turning my body in a complete circle. Finding Annie, I throw her a huge smile and a kiss before ducking back into the dugout.
There isn’t a fucking drug on earth that could duplicate the high I’m feeling.
Chapter Fourteen
Annie
“Oh my God! He played amazing,” I squeal so loud that the surrounding four rows of seats all turn toward me. I can’t contain my excitement when the crowd starts chanting his name. I can’t hide my pride when he appears from the dugout to acknowledge and thank them. Just before he retreats, he spots me while grinning from ear to ear and blows me a kiss. If any of the fans in our section didn’t know who I was prior, they sure as hell do now.
I’m so amped up that I can’t stop my body from trembling. Mr. Lawson has tears in his eyes as he hugs his wife. My parents couldn’t look prouder if he were their son. Daphne and Billy both pull me into a hug to congratulate me.
“I did nothing. This was all him,” I admit with a shrug. His performance in the sport he loves more than life is what has him in a Yankees uniform. His dad may have guided him, I may have supported him more than any person he knows, but the responsible party is Quint himself.
Like a ballerina who knows her dance and performs it to perfection—that is how Quint plays this game. Every move he makes is synchronized, reactive. The music that moves him comes in the form of the loud crack of a bat when it makes contact with a ball…or the hissing of air as a ball shoots toward him. He makes it look artistic and choreographed. Watching my man play baseball is awe-inspiring…and hot as hell.
I told him I would wait for him after the game. We all decided to go back to the hotel for a quick, celebratory drink. It’s late, and it’s a work night for Q. Our parents are leaving in the morning, Daphne and Billy are as well. I’m the lucky one who gets to stay and watch him continue this amazing journey tomorrow as he plays his first doubleheader. The day after, the team is heading for Detroit. It’s his first away series, and he’s excited to travel as a Yankee. I have him all to myself for a few hours tonight and tomorrow morning.
That’s how it will be with us. Stealing pockets of time in between practices, games, traveling, media attention, charity functions…the list goes on and on. I’m perfectly fine with the dynamics. This is what makes him happy. His happiness fuels mine.
I think I’m in a better place. The anxiety I was feeling when we got here has calmed. I decided to tackle one day at a time. I have a new purpose. I may be delusional, but I might have figured out what I want to do…for now at least.
Spending the day with Daphne was just what I needed. Quint knows me so well. Her antics distracted me enough to realize everything I was worrying about will be handled. She talked me through my options. The way she tackles my problems makes me feel stupid for succumbing to them. With every “why” she has a “how.” By the end of the day, the uncertainty I held regarding my continuing education, or even what I was going to do with my life, no longer stressed me out. Once I cleared my mind, an idea for a novel suddenly came to me. I probably had so much cluttering my head that the moment I came to peace with my role in Quint’s life, it made room for other opportunities to present themselves.
Last night as he slept peacefully beside me, I furiously wrote several dozen pages of notes that poured out of my mind. Once I had a storyline, the characters began speaking to me, and I couldn’t turn them off, nor did I want to. I woke this morning tired from lack of sleep, but mostly excited about my new project.
When he travels, I’ll write. When he practices or plays, I’ll plan a wedding. When I’m ready, I’ll go back to school…maybe. If not, it doesn’t matter.
It all makes sense now. Daphne’s right. I’m young, and it’s time I learned to go with the flow.
Quint texts me the gate number where I should meet him. It’s at the back of the stadium near the players’ entrance. He’s leaning up against a wall, back in his street clothes and waiting for me.
Just as I did in the tunnel, I take off toward him in a sprint. He catches me midair and twirls me round and round.
“You played amazing!”
“Thanks, baby,” he says when he sets me down. “I can’t even tell you how it felt to be out there. I’m completely at a loss for words.”
“I get it. Like I said before, just enjoy every second of it,” I say with a smile.
His returning smile is so pure and loving, it overwhelms me. Instantly, I throw my arms around him in a gripping hug. We stand in a tight embrace for what seems like hours. His teammates wave as they walk by; otherwise they don’t interrupt our moment.
He kisses me softly. I can feel his fingers trembling as he holds my face. When he pulls his lips away, he leans his forehead against mine and says, “Thank you for being here.”
“Q, there is no other place I’d rather be.” I lift up to kiss him once more before adding, “Ready to go? You must be exhausted.”
“It hasn’t hit me yet. I’m pretty jacked up right now.” He takes my hand to lead me out to the parking lot. “I called a cab. He should be here.”
A small mob lines the outer gate where our cab sits waiting for us. Quint looks around, wondering who they’re waiting for. Most of his teammates are still inside. The few that left are already gone.
“Q, I think they’re here for you.”
“No way.”
The closer we get, the more obvious it is that they are standing here waiting for the newest Yankee. “Holy shit,” he mumbles as we walk toward them.
“I’m surprised the press aren’t out here,” I say what I’m thinking.
“They were all inside. I had to give statements. Me. Can you imagine? That means I’ll be all over the news tonight…again.”
“Babe, you’re famous now.”
He smiles and waves when we exit the gate. A few hand him baseballs to sign; others ask for a picture. I stand a few feet away, letting him have his moment with his fans. It’s just another memory I’ll never forget. When he turns to look down at me, the look on his face is priceless. Needing to capture it, I click a few pictures on my phone. With all his accomplishments, it’s moments like this that bring my guy down to his humble knees.
Three games into his new career and so far, so good.
I’ve lived at that stadium for the past two days. I feel like my ass will be permanently shaped like a stadium seat. The next six games are away, and he’ll be gone for a week. We’ve never been apart that long…ever. I sent him off this morning with a whole lot of loving to keep him happy while he’s gone. That’s wishful thinking on my part.
His sex-bank reserve is usually only a few hours or so. He claimed he’d survive as long as we tried to squeeze in Skype sex once a day. He had the balls to ask me to sit naked at the laptop, waiting for his call.
He’s only been gone an hour, and it already feels like weeks before I’ll see him again. As promised, Ava is meeting me for lunch today. Tomorrow she is joining the Realtor and me when I start apartment hunting.
Ava and Jeff are good people. Quint said he’s very fond of Jeff. Being a rookie as well has caused the two to bond. He did confess he’s glad Quint took the newbie title. All locker-room pranks are now focused on Quint. That’ll be the drill until a new rookie joins the team. From what he’s told me, they’ve been ruthless. The day after his starting game, he walked in to his cubicle completely covered with inflated condoms. He said there were thousands. He couldn’t imagine who’d be stupid enough to blow those fuckers up.
“Sounds like you got off easy,” I admit.
“Yeah, it could have been worse. I did have to get all those cookies out of here. I scored some points with the press when I donated them all to a children’s hospital.”
“My mind has been too busy worrying about the game to concentrate on what they’ll do to me.”
Jeff offers a bemused smile, clearly hiding what he knows. “We’ll see.”
Great.
Just before he walks away, I remember to say, “Hey, thank Ava for me. She’s been so great to Annie. We both really appreciate it.”
“I will. Ava is very fond of Annie. She’s probably going to call her when we leave for Detroit. That first away series can be difficult to get through alone. Once we get back, we’ll have to make plans to all go out.”
“Sounds great.” That’s just what Annie needs to distract her during my first away series. Jeff’s wife is sweet and kind, very similar to Annie in personality. With Daphne still in Baltimore, Annie could use a friend who understands what she’s going through.
Feeling a touch better after talking to Jeff, I start to get ready for the game. My brand-spanking-new uniform hangs majestically in my locker. Yankees pinstripes. I can’t stop staring at it. As the locker room begins to fill with the rest of the team, the noise level rises and rises. I quickly become the focus of attention as they all get their rocks off by picking on the new guy. It’s all done good-naturedly and it’s a good distraction.
Just as I’m adjusting my hat, I receive a text from Annie that she’s on her way down. We aren’t allowed visitors in the locker room. I try my best to sneak out unnoticed, but that doesn’t work very well.
“Where ya going, rookie?” one of them calls out as I saunter toward the door.
Knowing better than to answer, I flip them off on my way out. They all laugh at my expense. Jeff is the one who told me to leave an access pass for Annie at will call. On debut night, it’s customary for the rookie to have his significant other come down to the tunnel to see him in uniform for the first time. There’s a small alcove in the tunnel that’s been dubbed “the hard-on nook” because of what occurs in there. They claim it makes them play better if they get all worked up and sexually frustrated. Of course, that’s not what they tell their girls.
Once out in the hall, I commit to memory every detail of the tunnel.
I’ve seen this tunnel in so many pictures. I can’t even count how many of my heroes walked this hall before each game. The blue and white cinderblock walls, the green concrete floor, even the legendary sign that hangs from the ceiling—“I want to thank the Good Lord for making me a Yankee” Joe DiMaggio, October 1941—all overwhelm me with nostalgia.
If asked, I’m not sure I could successfully put into words exactly what I’m feeling as I stand rooted to this spot in full uniform.
Chuck and Annie appear to the right. Her hand covers her mouth when she sees me. From a distance, I can tell she’s fighting back tears. I’m fighting my own tears as she gets closer and closer.
“Quint,” she says my name with so much emotion it comes out as a whisper.
She takes the last few steps in a sprint, running right into my arms. Over her shoulder, I see Chuck wink and smile before walking away to give us some privacy. The tunnel is empty except for Annie and me. I know it’s only a matter of time before the guys come out to bust my chops. I quickly pull her into “the hard-on nook” to collect on my good-luck kiss.
We manage to go at it for several long minutes before intruders break our moment. Laughter filters toward us down the tunnel. Annie blushes profusely, and I smile at her shyness. “Ignore them. They do it to all the rookies.”
I quickly kiss her one last time before pulling her out of the alcove. “I gotta go.”
“Can I take a picture of you?” she asks tentatively.
I summon Chuck and ask him to take one of us together. He takes a few and retreats once again. Overwhelmed with emotion, I engulf her in my arms, holding her close.
“I love you, Q,” she says into my chest.
“I love you, too.”
When my voice cracks, she notices and smiles warmly. Her small hands hold my face as she stares into my eyes. “I am so happy for you. Please enjoy every second out there. This is what you’ve worked for your whole life. This uniform is who you are to the core, a Yankee. Make me proud.” After a few more kisses and words of encouragement, she gives me another fierce hug and follows Chuck out of the tunnel.
A lump forms in my throat as I watch her walk away. Pulling in a deep breath, I walk over to the DiMaggio sign, kiss my fingertips, and hit the bottom corner, sending it swinging back and forth above my head.
“Wish me luck, Joltin’ Joe,” I murmur before heading back into the locker room with a huge smile on my face. Just as Annie said, I’m going to enjoy every second of this night.
It’s a hot, muggy night in the Bronx. The starless sky makes the stadium lights look even brighter. It’s sold out. Although it’s not unusual for a weeknight game to be, I’ve been told it’s because of my debut.
I have my place of honor along with my teammates in front of our dugout. I’m completely overwhelmed as my eyes rake over the stadium in all its glory. The pristinely manicured outfield looks more like a plush carpet than grass. The iconic white fence façade running along the upper deck causes emotions to swell within me. I can practically see the ghosts of legends past standing in their positions of honor on the field. From where I stand, I try to focus on the faces in the crowd. Emotions swell within me from seeing all the young boys and girls standing beside their parents. Their small hands hold their baseball snack of choice or some even clutch a new souvenir. I remember vividly coming to a Yankees game with my dad and anxiously waiting for the anthem to end so they would start playing. I found the song boring and stupid. The memory of me standing while irritably shaking my leg makes me smile.
With my hat over my heart, the national anthem is having the same effect on me now as it did then. I’m doing everything in my power to keep still. My fidgeting amuses a few of my teammates as they glance my way with knowing smiles on their faces. They get it. They understand that every cell in my body is jumping with excitement. Every muscle coiled and ready to perform. I just want to get out there and play my first game.
The instant the last lyrics are sung, my heart jumps in my chest as applause erupts from the stands. This is it. It’s time to show them what I’ve got.
We all trot out to our positions. Our first baseman alternates throwing warm-up drills between the infielders. In the few seconds in between my ground balls, I quickly scan the section my family and friends are sitting in. Each time I do, I catch a glimpse of Annie’s eyes trained right on me. Just as she would years ago, she sits in her seat, clutching her hands as if she’s praying and smiling. When I wink, her smile widens instantly.
The view from shortstop is pretty fucking amazing. I seriously can’t believe I’m here. Saying a quick prayer as the first batter takes his place at the plate, I force myself into play mode.
The nervous jitters I was plagued with earlier are now gone. I knew I’d get over them once I got out here. Being on this field is second nature to me. Batter by batter, I study each one individually. The way they stand, the way they swing their bats, and mostly the way they stare at the pitcher. A few routine plays, a few foul balls, and a pop-up to left field marks the top of the first.
As anxious as I was to play the field, that doesn’t compare to how anxious I am to get at bat. I’m third in the lineup and I cannot fucking wait. Our leadoff batter cracks one up the middle, landing him on first. The second one hits a fly to center field. I’m up, with one out and one man on.
I can feel every set of eyes on me as I take the plate. Sticking to my superstitious routine, I tap the plate with my bat three times, and I glance to where Annie is standing. My eyes can’t find her that quickly in the crowd, but I know she’s watching me. So is the pitcher, with a smile on his face. It could be a welcome smile, but my gut tells me he wants to make an example of the rookie. My returning smile spurs him on. He alternates his glance between the first base runner and me. Moving at a snail’s pace, he studies his signals, taking his time before nodding at his catcher.
The first pitch is right down the middle. I never take the first pitch. I rarely take the second. Number three turns out to be low and outside. I love playing this mind game, making him wonder if I’ll go for the next pitch or simply sit back and watch it sail by. I can tell the next is a good one the second it leaves his glove. The ball reaches me, and I use every muscle I have behind the swing. The wood vibrates violently in my hands as I make contact, and in slow motion, I watch the ball arch and land in deep left field. I’m fast for my height and easily slide into second with time to spare. Thunderous applause fills the stadium while I stand and brush myself off.
Because of me, it’s now one-nothing…not bad for my first time at bat.
Inning by inning, I play my ass off for my new team. By the top of the ninth, it’s not exhaustion I feel after playing for hours but more like utter satisfaction. I played a clean game. I’m proud of myself.
The last out is made, ending the game with a win over the Royals. One by one, my teammates and coaches whack my ass when I get to the dugout. Pride swells within me to the point where I feel I could self-combust.
“They want you, kid,” my coach says, thumbing toward the crowd. It’s only then I realize they’re chanting, “We want Quint! We want Quint!”
“For real?” I ask, shocked to my core.
“For real. Get your ass out there and tip your hat.”
“Holy shit,” I mumble as I climb the dugout steps and step out onto the field. The cheering is deafening. It’s their way of welcoming me to their town. Like so many of my favorite players often do, I lift my hat in an appreciative gesture to thank them. I make sure to acknowledge the entire stadium, slowly turning my body in a complete circle. Finding Annie, I throw her a huge smile and a kiss before ducking back into the dugout.
There isn’t a fucking drug on earth that could duplicate the high I’m feeling.
Chapter Fourteen
Annie
“Oh my God! He played amazing,” I squeal so loud that the surrounding four rows of seats all turn toward me. I can’t contain my excitement when the crowd starts chanting his name. I can’t hide my pride when he appears from the dugout to acknowledge and thank them. Just before he retreats, he spots me while grinning from ear to ear and blows me a kiss. If any of the fans in our section didn’t know who I was prior, they sure as hell do now.
I’m so amped up that I can’t stop my body from trembling. Mr. Lawson has tears in his eyes as he hugs his wife. My parents couldn’t look prouder if he were their son. Daphne and Billy both pull me into a hug to congratulate me.
“I did nothing. This was all him,” I admit with a shrug. His performance in the sport he loves more than life is what has him in a Yankees uniform. His dad may have guided him, I may have supported him more than any person he knows, but the responsible party is Quint himself.
Like a ballerina who knows her dance and performs it to perfection—that is how Quint plays this game. Every move he makes is synchronized, reactive. The music that moves him comes in the form of the loud crack of a bat when it makes contact with a ball…or the hissing of air as a ball shoots toward him. He makes it look artistic and choreographed. Watching my man play baseball is awe-inspiring…and hot as hell.
I told him I would wait for him after the game. We all decided to go back to the hotel for a quick, celebratory drink. It’s late, and it’s a work night for Q. Our parents are leaving in the morning, Daphne and Billy are as well. I’m the lucky one who gets to stay and watch him continue this amazing journey tomorrow as he plays his first doubleheader. The day after, the team is heading for Detroit. It’s his first away series, and he’s excited to travel as a Yankee. I have him all to myself for a few hours tonight and tomorrow morning.
That’s how it will be with us. Stealing pockets of time in between practices, games, traveling, media attention, charity functions…the list goes on and on. I’m perfectly fine with the dynamics. This is what makes him happy. His happiness fuels mine.
I think I’m in a better place. The anxiety I was feeling when we got here has calmed. I decided to tackle one day at a time. I have a new purpose. I may be delusional, but I might have figured out what I want to do…for now at least.
Spending the day with Daphne was just what I needed. Quint knows me so well. Her antics distracted me enough to realize everything I was worrying about will be handled. She talked me through my options. The way she tackles my problems makes me feel stupid for succumbing to them. With every “why” she has a “how.” By the end of the day, the uncertainty I held regarding my continuing education, or even what I was going to do with my life, no longer stressed me out. Once I cleared my mind, an idea for a novel suddenly came to me. I probably had so much cluttering my head that the moment I came to peace with my role in Quint’s life, it made room for other opportunities to present themselves.
Last night as he slept peacefully beside me, I furiously wrote several dozen pages of notes that poured out of my mind. Once I had a storyline, the characters began speaking to me, and I couldn’t turn them off, nor did I want to. I woke this morning tired from lack of sleep, but mostly excited about my new project.
When he travels, I’ll write. When he practices or plays, I’ll plan a wedding. When I’m ready, I’ll go back to school…maybe. If not, it doesn’t matter.
It all makes sense now. Daphne’s right. I’m young, and it’s time I learned to go with the flow.
Quint texts me the gate number where I should meet him. It’s at the back of the stadium near the players’ entrance. He’s leaning up against a wall, back in his street clothes and waiting for me.
Just as I did in the tunnel, I take off toward him in a sprint. He catches me midair and twirls me round and round.
“You played amazing!”
“Thanks, baby,” he says when he sets me down. “I can’t even tell you how it felt to be out there. I’m completely at a loss for words.”
“I get it. Like I said before, just enjoy every second of it,” I say with a smile.
His returning smile is so pure and loving, it overwhelms me. Instantly, I throw my arms around him in a gripping hug. We stand in a tight embrace for what seems like hours. His teammates wave as they walk by; otherwise they don’t interrupt our moment.
He kisses me softly. I can feel his fingers trembling as he holds my face. When he pulls his lips away, he leans his forehead against mine and says, “Thank you for being here.”
“Q, there is no other place I’d rather be.” I lift up to kiss him once more before adding, “Ready to go? You must be exhausted.”
“It hasn’t hit me yet. I’m pretty jacked up right now.” He takes my hand to lead me out to the parking lot. “I called a cab. He should be here.”
A small mob lines the outer gate where our cab sits waiting for us. Quint looks around, wondering who they’re waiting for. Most of his teammates are still inside. The few that left are already gone.
“Q, I think they’re here for you.”
“No way.”
The closer we get, the more obvious it is that they are standing here waiting for the newest Yankee. “Holy shit,” he mumbles as we walk toward them.
“I’m surprised the press aren’t out here,” I say what I’m thinking.
“They were all inside. I had to give statements. Me. Can you imagine? That means I’ll be all over the news tonight…again.”
“Babe, you’re famous now.”
He smiles and waves when we exit the gate. A few hand him baseballs to sign; others ask for a picture. I stand a few feet away, letting him have his moment with his fans. It’s just another memory I’ll never forget. When he turns to look down at me, the look on his face is priceless. Needing to capture it, I click a few pictures on my phone. With all his accomplishments, it’s moments like this that bring my guy down to his humble knees.
Three games into his new career and so far, so good.
I’ve lived at that stadium for the past two days. I feel like my ass will be permanently shaped like a stadium seat. The next six games are away, and he’ll be gone for a week. We’ve never been apart that long…ever. I sent him off this morning with a whole lot of loving to keep him happy while he’s gone. That’s wishful thinking on my part.
His sex-bank reserve is usually only a few hours or so. He claimed he’d survive as long as we tried to squeeze in Skype sex once a day. He had the balls to ask me to sit naked at the laptop, waiting for his call.
He’s only been gone an hour, and it already feels like weeks before I’ll see him again. As promised, Ava is meeting me for lunch today. Tomorrow she is joining the Realtor and me when I start apartment hunting.
Ava and Jeff are good people. Quint said he’s very fond of Jeff. Being a rookie as well has caused the two to bond. He did confess he’s glad Quint took the newbie title. All locker-room pranks are now focused on Quint. That’ll be the drill until a new rookie joins the team. From what he’s told me, they’ve been ruthless. The day after his starting game, he walked in to his cubicle completely covered with inflated condoms. He said there were thousands. He couldn’t imagine who’d be stupid enough to blow those fuckers up.
