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When he goes up to bat for the first time, I can’t even watch. He makes it two steps toward the plate and I stare down at my feet, relying on the sounds of the stadium, the chants and squeals of excitement, the booming voice of the announcer over the loudspeaker telling me what’s going on.
Harper takes my hand and tugs. “He’s batting, Tate. Your boy!”
“He’s not my boy,” I admonish.
She frowns. “But I thought…”
STRIKE ONE.
My heart drops.
I squeeze Harper’s hand tighter.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no.” Harper’s antsy on her feet, watching Grant prepare to take his next swing.
STRIKE TWO.
Oh god.
“GO GRANT!” Harper screams with every fiber of her being. He had to hear it.
Then the stadium holds its breath as Grant’s bat cracks against the ball.
“It’s going, going, GONE!”
Before I realize what I’m doing, Harper and I are screaming and jumping around, going wild like everyone else.
“HOME RUN FROM GRANT NAVARRO,” the announcer declares, stretching his last name out in that fantastic way they must learn in announcer school.
“He’s the best! Right after my dad!”
I laugh and shake my head, but it’s true. He’s really something.
The game ends up being one of the best I’ve seen in a while. Dustin gets a home run in the ninth inning that sends two guys home, clinching the win for us. The stadium erupts again. Daphne merely shrugs as if she’s thinking, What? Like it’s hard?
After the game, we head down to the field to congratulate Luke and the guys, but I purposefully keep my distance from Grant. He’s at work right now. I don’t want to distract him from his job. Per usual, he’s getting a lot of attention. He gets tugged in front of a camera for a postgame interview alongside Luke, then another with Dustin. When he wraps up the last one, he props his hands on his hips and turns to search the crowd of faces like he’s hoping, hoping, hoping… He looks relieved when his eyes land on me. Warmth blankets me as I smile tentatively, unsure of what else to do. He freezes for a moment, then he looks me over. It’s not malicious or cruel, but it’s also not friendly or welcoming. It’s like he can’t even help himself; his drawn-out inspection of me feels innate. He wants to see how I’m doing. I want to walk up to him so badly I feel a physical tug in his direction that’s almost painful to resist. He nods, keeping his expression aloof, and he hesitates for a moment—a glorious moment—before he turns in the opposite direction, heading toward the locker room.
I almost keel over as something finally shakes free in that moment, likely the last shred of control I thought I had. Realization first began to grow when Grant and I sat on that park bench together. Longing and despair have poured over me like rain, helping to feed all the complicated feelings I’ve been fighting tooth and nail to stamp out. I didn’t want to end up here: exposed, raw, needy, scared…hopelessly, miserably, endlessly…in love.
Every choice in my life has always been carefully measured and assessed, and I foolishly thought I could do that with love too. I thought I had the power to conquer it, and then it showed me.
Resist all you want, it said. We’ll win in the end.
The team leaves the next day for a three-game series against Seattle. From there, they go to Los Angeles. I don’t see Grant again until the following Sunday, when our group is at a neighborhood bar, having a drink. The weather’s nice so we’ve claimed a table outside. We’ve been here for an hour already. I’m on my second glass of wine. Nick’s on my left, sandwiched between Daphne and me. Josh and Sophia are across the table. For the better part of twenty minutes, we’ve been scrolling through Nick’s Raya account, arguing over the pros and cons of a particular blonde woman like our lives depend on it. Then Josh looks up and waves at someone behind me. I glance over my shoulder and my heart swells as Dustin and Grant walk up the sidewalk to join us. I wasn’t sure if they’d come tonight, and I wasn’t gutsy enough to outright ask.
There’s a vacant seat beside me and I push it out for Grant, but he doesn’t take it. He loops around the table without so much as a blink in my direction and claims the seat by Sophia. It’s as far away from me as he can possibly get while still sitting at the same table.
Subtle.
Dustin at least greets me with a side hug. Grant doesn’t bother. Is this how it’s going to be between us? So awkward he can’t even look at me?
No. Not if I can help it.
I pick up my wine glass and sip, then sip some more. Everyone’s relaxed, talking and laughing, and I’m staring at the dwindling contents of my glass as they disappear down my throat.
