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I looked down at our hands. I’d never been any good at asking people for favors. And even though I trusted Donal…it was an awfully big ask. “Would you be willing to?”
“Of course, I would. I think it’s a great idea. We should do it.”
“It would need to be a day game.” In addition to the sundowning effect that made evenings and nighttime much more challenging for Alzheimer’s patients, they hadn’t installed lights at Wrigley Field until 1988, so all the games my father had seen in his youth would have been played in the daytime.
“Definitely.” Donal’s thumb rubbed over my knuckles. “A night game at Wrigley would probably confuse him even more. Hell, they still confuse me.”
I smiled faintly. And then I said the part that was probably going to be a dealbreaker. “A weekday would be better.”
“Sure,” he agreed absently. “Less of a crowd than on the weekend.”
Hesitating, I slid a sideways look at him. “It means you’d have to take a whole afternoon off work.”
“I know.” He was staring across the room at his desk. Probably regretting his offer and trying to figure out how to back out of it gracefully.
“You really don’t have to do it. I know it’s a lot to ask.”
He turned his head, his gaze locking on mine. “No it’s not.”
“I know how busy you are.”
“This is important. I’ll make the time.” He looked like he meant it, and I really wanted to believe him.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I hate to impose on you like this.”
“It’s not an imposition to be there for you.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “The whole point of having a boyfriend is so you’ll have someone to do stuff like this for you.”
“And here I was thinking regular sex was the big draw.”
He smiled against my fingers. “That’s simply an added bonus.”
“Are you really sure you don’t mind?” I couldn’t seem to shake the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. “You really don’t have to say yes.”
“I’ve got your back,” he answered with no hesitation. “Always.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
DONAL
I watched Tess unpack a bag she’d just finished packing with the things she was bringing to the ballpark. Sunscreen. Antibacterial hand wipes. A light blanket. The three Cubs hats I’d picked up for us. A water bottle with a straw for her father.
It was the eve of the big day. We were taking her dad to Wrigley tomorrow. She’d gotten permission to check him out of the facility at noon, purchased special wheelchair-accessible tickets for the three of us in the field box behind home plate, and an usher was meeting us at the gate to help us get to our seats.
Now she stood at the dining table, muttering to herself as she surveyed the contents of the bag she’d just unpacked. Then she put everything right back into the bag where it had been a moment ago. It was the third time I’d watched her go through this ritual, and I decided it was time for an intervention.
“That’s enough of that.” I drew her away from the table before she could undo her work again. “You’ve got every contingency covered.”
“But—”
I cut her off by pressing a finger to her lips as I gave her my most intimidating eyebrow raise. “No buts. You’ve done enough fussing for tonight.”
She let out an irritated sigh in protest, but didn’t argue the point further, which I considered a win.
My hands smoothed down her neck and over her shoulders. If her muscles got any tenser, they were going to snap her spine like chalk. “Turn around.”
Reluctantly, she let me spin her. When my thumbs dug into her rhomboid muscles, she let out a low, satisfying moan.
“You need to relax, or you’re going to give yourself a tension headache.”
