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He yanks me back in, this time for a hug. It’s a long embrace where we just hold each other and enjoy the beauty of this moment, of knowing how we feel about each other, of having the freedom to speak it out loud.
“So…I guess I’m not staying in Cedar Point, then,” he says, chuckling slightly, his chest rumbling against mine.
I shake my head. “No. You’re not.” I step back and look at him again. “I hope you know if I thought, for even a second, it was what you really wanted, I would support you.”
Bishop nods. “Yeah. I know.” He lets out a long sigh. “But you’re right. It’s not what I want. Not right now, at least.”
“So…what do you want?”
“You.”
I grin. “Well, that’s a given. But what else do you want?”
He thinks it over for a second, glancing around the room. “I honestly haven’t thought about it. I mean, my goal was always to make it to the draft, but…I don’t think I ever thought about what would happen next.”
“Well, then why don’t we sit down and talk about it.”
He laughs. “You wanna sit down and talk about baseball with me?”
I shrug. “It’s important to you. I want to hear everything you want to share. Besides, it’s not just about baseball. We’re going to talk about the future, and I have every intention of being there for that.”
At that, Bishop smiles, and I know everything is going to be okay.
We spend the next few days talking about what Bishop wants going forward. At Cedar Cider. At The Mitch. On his couch. In bed.
I remember us talking very lightly about his future when we were in high school, and it was always vague, broad, sweeping statements about college ball and the draft. When you’re a kid trying to figure out what’s to come, it makes sense that you don’t have a lot of specifics. You don’t know all the possibilities. You don’t know enough to know what to dream about.
Now, a few years later, Bishop and I have sufficient life experience to be more specific. This also has the unintended but surprisingly lovely effect of prompting us to talk about us in the future as well: the fact that we see ourselves being together forever, our willingness to do whatever it takes to make things work.
But the most surprising part—which isn’t at all surprising, actually—is when Bishop flips the conversation, forcing me to talk about my future, too.
“Your dreams are just as important,” he says as we sit side by side at The Mitch, sipping beers. “If this is a future plan, it can’t just be mine. It needs to be ours.”
I’ve never swooned so hard.
“How long could it take for Richard to find you a new team?”
We’re lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling in my bedroom in a post-coital haze. After his declaration about my dreams at The Mitch, I got the check and dragged him right home to show him my appreciation. With how appreciative I was, let’s just say I’m glad Leah is out tonight on another date with Roy.
Earlier today, Bishop called his agent and talked for about an hour, letting him know exactly what he wanted and what he was willing to do to get it. It was sexy, listening to that conversation.
Now, having finally talked everything through, he’s just playing the waiting game until a spot opens up on a roster, until a team wants him, or until there’s an open tryout somewhere that fits his criteria.
“I mean, it could be tomorrow, or it could never happen,” he says, squeezing my hand. “That’s the thing with chasing this dream. You never know when a break might come.”
I turn on my side, propping my head up on one hand and using my other to stroke gently along his abs. The muscles bunch and shift as I touch him, and I smile softly.
“I meant what I said yesterday,” I tell him, turning to look him in the eye. “I’m with you, no matter what. And I promise never to pull away again.”
Bishop surprises me then, shaking his head. “You can’t promise that, Gabi.”
My brow furrows. “Why not?”
“Because we can’t promise we won’t ever revert to old habits, you know?” He turns on his side as well and rests a hand on my hip. “Sometimes you’ll pull away. That’s just part of who you are. But I can promise I’ll do what I know I’m good at, which is chasing you down until we figure things out.”
I chuckle and roll my eyes. “You make it sound like you’re always fixing things and I’m always screwing it up.”
Bishop shakes his head again. “No way. I have plenty of my own shit. Like…” He pauses for a second. “You’re really good about thinking things all the way through, and I’m too quick to make rash decisions. You know?”
