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“I know you do, but I want to help. You just cuddle with our girl and I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay. Have a good game.”
“Thanks, babe.” We end the call, and the urge to race out of the stadium and rush to them is strong. So damn strong I grip my phone in my hand, a war waging inside me. I know it’s just a sore throat, but she’s never been sick, not since I came in the picture and… I don’t really know. I just feel like they need me.
“You good?” Drew asks.
“Paisley is sick, sore throat and a bit of a temperature. They’re not coming.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah,” I say, still gripping my phone. Resting my elbows on my knees, I stare down at my cleats. How do the guys with families deal with this shit? My phone vibrates in my hand. Lifting my head to see who it is, I smile when I see Larissa’s name.
Larissa: We’re okay here, Easton. You focus on the game.
Larissa: Kick some Badger ass.
Larissa: We’ll be watching you on TV.
She knows me well enough to know I was thinking of saying fuck the game to go to them. It sounds ridiculous even to me. It’s a sore throat. She knew what I needed to hear.
Me: Mind reader?
Larissa: Easton reader.
Me: Ha ha. See you soon, baby.
Larissa: We’ll be here.
Stashing my phone in my locker, I finished getting suited up for the game. The sooner it starts, the sooner it ends and I can get to my girls. That’s something I never thought I would feel when it came to baseball. Baseball has been my life since I was a kid. Meeting Larissa and Paisley changed my perspective on life. I make a great living and I’ve invested well. I’m set for life. I love the sport, but I love them more.
I freeze.
I love them.
Love her. I told Paisley I loved her since she’s a cute kid and is hard not to love, but it’s more than just she’s cute. I love her. It’s that I want to be the man she depends on. I want to be the father figure in her life. And her mom, Larissa, I just want her. My heart wants her. My soul wants her. Every part of me wants her.
I love my girls.
Paisley is out cold before the game even starts. I’ve recorded it even though I watched. Maybe she and East can watch it together later. I know he’s been teaching her about the positions and the rules of the game. Her attention span is short, but that doesn’t seem to deter him.
Once the game ends, I fold the two loads of laundry I washed, dried, and then ignored as I didn’t want to miss a glimpse of East. I’m just finishing putting away the final load when I hear his soft knock at the door. With a glance at the couch to see P is still sound asleep, I rush to the door to let him in.
I’m shocked at what I find. Easton Monroe, starting first baseman for the Tennessee Blaze, is on my front porch. Sure, he’s my Easton too, but right now, he’s in his dusty, dirty uniform, holding a grocery bag in each hand.
“Hey,” I say, stepping back so he can come in.
“How is she?”
“Sleeping. I need to wake her in just a few to give her some more medicine for the fever.”
“Do we take her to the emergency room?” he asks.
I fight back my smile at his concern. He’s so ridiculously sweet. “No, I’ll call to get her in with her pediatrician tomorrow. As long as the medicine keeps her fever down, we should be good. It will also help with the pain.”
“I bought everything I thought she might want. If I forgot something, I can go back out.”
“How about a shower? You could have done that at the stadium you know?”
