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She’s trying so hard to remain stoic, my strong, brave girl, but she’s fighting a losing battle. So am I, a battle of wills, because all I want is to touch her, to hold her, and when her shoulders start to shake, I can’t resist anymore. Closing the distance between us, I cup her cheeks the way I have so many times before, except this time, I don’t have to hold back. “I love you, Sunday. I love our kids. I love this family so much more than I have ever loved baseball.”
Wide, bleary eyes blink rapidly. “You love me.”
“You have no idea how much.”
And with that, Sunday bursts into tears.
53
SUNDAY
There’san enormous glass of water and two small white pills sitting on my nightstand.
Blinking bleary, crusty eyes, I struggle upright, wincing as my boobs scream in protest. I don’t have to look to know they’re swollen and leaking; I know I slept through a feeding—or several, maybe, since I have no idea what time it is. Because instead of my usual nighttime post-baby routine, I received a surprise speech. Because I cried so hard for so long, I passed out without thinking of the consequences, without setting an alarm two hours from whenever I go to sleep like I usually do.
Because Cass said he loved me.
He quit his job, he filled a journal with pretty words and spewed even more to my face, and he said he loved me.
Helovesme.
He leaves water and Tylenol on my nightstand because he loves me. He tucked me into bed last night without complaint because he loves me. He’s sitting in the rocking chair in the nursery, bottle-feeding our daughter because he loves me.
I knew I’d find him here even before I got up to check, and when I’m proven correct, I just stand in the hall. Peer through the ajar door. Watch him coo and croon and hold October so sweetly, just like he held me last night while I sobbed.
His journal feels like a freaking brick in my hand, weighing me down, urging me to sink to the floor and flip through its pages some more but I don’t. I don’t need to. I know exactly what it says; I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
He loves me.
When I push open the door, he doesn't look up, like he knew I was there all along. “Morning.”
Throat incredibly dry, I rasp, “Mornin’.”
Still slowly rocking, he lazily gestures me over. When I oblige, he wraps his fingers around my wrist and tugs until I’m seated on his thigh, leaning against his chest opposite October, both of us gazing at our girl.
“You okay?”
I nod.
“I’m sorry.”
Dragging my eyes from October, I frown at his clenched jaw. “For what?”
“I pushed too hard. You weren’t ready.”
“Cass.”
“I should’ve—”
“Stop.”
“But—”
“No.” Straightening to look in the eye, I shake my head. “You got your monologue, I get mine.”
Lips pressed together tightly, Cass crooks a brow. “Go on.”
With a deep, fortifying breath, I do. “You say you don’t know when you fell in love with me, but I know exactly when I fell in love with you. You put dried lemons in a bouquet of flowers and I was so fucking gone, Cass, even back then.
