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I’m pretty sure my jaw was dusting dirt when our eyes met, and when she laughed, I couldn’t help but do the same. She was laughing so hard that her shoulders rocked her long waves all around her—so much fucking hair. And those freckles, bridged on her nose and sprinkled on her cheeks, were getting more pronounced, as they did when the summer sun was out. Whit hated them. My thought was always that they were a part of her.
She never tried to be beautiful—hell, she did her best to hide her beauty In fact, she was picked on, and just a week before that night, she was told she’d be holding her V-card forever by Sadie, a girl who liked me. Whit made me promise not to touch her, and I assured Whit that her nasty ass wasn’t my type. I also remember telling her to hold tight to her innocence because whoever got to love her was going to be the luckiest prick on the planet.
It was at Danny’s party that she told me she wanted it to be me.
When I told her no fucking way, her smile fell. She was the one who had picked up my smile and turned it right side up so many times, and the fact that I’d done that to her, well, it damn near broke me.
She was wearing those cutoff shorts, a baggy tee, the freckles, and all that fucking hair was down. She stomped her foot and crossed her arms. “So, I’m gonna go to college a virgin because you can’t do with me what you’ve done with countless others?” I started to object, but she held up her hand, stopping me. “I’d never let you go out of here like that.”
“We’re best friends, Whit.”
“And that’s why.” She stopped and shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll just ask?—”
I cut her off right then. “I don’t want to hear what undeserving piece of shit you’re going to ask to bust your cherry?—”
“And I’ll never tell,” she huffed and began to walk away.
Instinct kicked in, and I grabbed her hand to stop her. She turned and looked up at me, soft eyes full of anger when they caught mine. They changed right in front of me as she quirked her brows in challenge.
“Say please.”
Her face screwed up. “What?”
“Say please.”
“Fine, please.”
“Let’s go then.”
In the back of my old truck, on a dirt road far enough away from everyone but close enough to see the fire and still hear the music, we awkwardly undressed ourselves.
When I leaned in to kiss her, she pulled back. “Just the sex part.”
To say that night is etched in my memory because it was awesome would be a lie. It was quite the opposite. She gave me the condom she’d brought, making it obvious that this was planned, but she was pissed when I tried to joke about it. It was a wonder I even stayed hard with how she lay there, stiff as a board.
“You need to relax, or it’s going to hurt.”
“Pope, just do it already.”
“Say ple?—”
“Seriously?”
I nodded once.
“Please.”
Things changed after that. We texted once a week for the first couple of months, then just once a month, and then birthdays. Then, Mom got sick. Whit was in nursing school. She noticed Mom had a cough that lingered. Whit was the one who insisted she go to the doctor. The diagnosis: stage four lung cancer. She never smoked, ever.
I flew home anytime I had more than a day off. When I wasn’t there, Whit, Danny, and my aunt stepped up in a big way. The day I got the call that the treatments were no longer working and that hospice was being called in, I left the team to be with her.
That was when I realized Whit and Danny were together.
The Mets took me back, but I played two more years in the minors, and I just finished my first season with them. I haven’t been home since Mom passed, and that was three years ago.
When I woke up this morning, I was in a foul mood. I blame Mallory and Turner for sending me on that trip down memory lane, but the truth is, I’ve been putting off things I need to face. It’s the offseason. I have no real plans until the exhibition game in Vegas.
There are no more excuses for not going back to Walton to take care of what I left behind.
