Tessa Hastings
I let Ruthie pick. I'll give you one guess.
"Hey, good game, man." Mack slaps me on the shoulder as I step off the bus.
I wince, hanging onto the straps of my backpack. "The Oilers came strong, I'll give them that."
Mack shakes his head, and I step aside to let Ruiz step off. "If you ask me, we should've had 'em."
The game runs through my mind, and he's probably right, but I shrug anyway, my body too beat to do much more. "Eh, tomorrow's another day."
My response earns a surprised look from my can-never-hide-what-he's-feeling infield coach. "Well, would you look at that? Sunshine's back, is he?"
I bark out a laugh, rolling my eyes. “You’re losing it, Gramps.” I glance at my phone. “He never left.”
Now it's Mack's turn to look toward the sky. "Tell that to your face—I've seen your frown more in these past few weeks than I did in the last decade."
His words rush through me, only deepening the ache in my muscles, and I exhale. He's right.
I run my tongue over my top teeth and stare down at my sneakers. "I know," I say simply. "But I'm feeling better now. Working my way back."
These last few days, I’ve been trying—actually trying—to pull myself out of the fog. Somewhere along the way, I got so scared of things ending that I forgot to enjoy them while they were still happening. I know the fear will come in waves—big feelings always do—but I’m trying to be the guy I usually am when I’m not spiraling about how this time next year I’ll have a teenager and no baseball at all. The happy-go-lucky, grateful guy who doesn't let the bad stick long.
And who doesn't let the fear of something ending—or someone leaving—ruin the good he still has.
"Well," Mack says, squeezing my shoulder. "I'm glad you're back."
"Yeah," I chuckle, my voice tired. "There's only room for one crotchety old man on this team."
He shoots me a glare, and I clap him on the back. "I'll see ya later."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he grumbles as I head toward the hotel.
I enter through the sliding doors, the fluorescent lighting like a shock to the system. It's times like these—in that post-travel, post-game recovery—when reality hits. The realization that I'm not the same twenty-something that I used to be. Despite all I still bring to the table, there's a certain level of honesty that added years bring. Muscles I once took for granted now ache after nine innings. A body that used to recover with an ice bath and a handful of beers now begs for sleep.
It's all part of the process—of growing old. Of retirement. And it's all part of the temptation to fall back into that darkness that the change and fear of the future bring.
Cutting through the lobby, I head down the long side hallway. With each door that I pass—the banquet hall, the meeting rooms, the gym—my weariness fades, leaving in its place a cocktail of anticipationand nerves. I can't wait to see Ruthie. I'm thrilled to sit down and relax for the night before I have to get up again and do it all again tomorrow.
But I'm also seeing her.
Having Tessa in the stands hit differently than I expected. I knew I'd be happy to have Ruthie there again considering it's been a handful of games since she's been able to come watch. But something about seeing Tessa next to her… rattled me.
All of Ruthie's nannies have seen me play. It's part of their job—to bring Ruthie to games and look out for her while she's there. And yet, seeing Tess today filled me with a kind of nervous energy I haven’t felt in years. A good anxiety—the kind that wakes you up, keeps you on your toes… makes you feel alive. An energy that made me want to show off. To impress.
I didn’t realize how much I missed that feeling.
But now I want to feel it again.
And that's the problem.
When I first saw her Gators player shirt, the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. My stomach lurched at the thought of her wearing someone else's name on her back. I felt primal, possessive, green with an envy the same color as the cotton she was wearing. It took everything in me not to crawl up in those stands and rip it off, which is generally frowned upon in most Major League stadiums.
When she turned around, and I saw it was blank—empty, clean of anyone's name, including my own—it hit me. It doesn't matter that she's awakened something in me I thought was gone. That she's made it so curiosity and intrigue have replaced repression for the first time in… I don't even know how long.
Tessa is my Ruthie’s nanny—one she loves and that I've struggled to find.
And worse than that… she's taken.
