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I glanced down at my hands, now relaxed on my thighs. “Or I could listen to what you love about baseball so much,” I said. “And the hands?”
“Physical touch can work as grounding too, but only if it’s someone you trust. I took a chance that you trusted me. Also, you could do the motions yourself.” She reached for my hand again, applying a gentle pressure to that same muscle between my thumb and forefinger. “This pressure point helps relieve stress and anxiety, which are fuel for anger.” She released me, and I did my best not to immediately reach for her hand again. “Grounding can help with panic attacks too,” she continued. “Do you ever have those?”
“I’ve had them,” I said. “But it’s been years.” I shook my head. “When I get like…like I just did, it’s different.”
“I get it,” she said. “Our emotional response system is complex, but we can figure out what you need most. From what I just saw, I know you’re fully capable of beating these outbursts that are taking control of your life.”
“I’m not so sure,” I admitted.
“I am,” she said, unwavering confidence in her tone. “The more time we spend together, the more we’ll learn together. Deep breaths. You have everything you need to figure this out, and if you need extra help, there is better living through medicine.”
I nodded. “I’ve explored the idea of medication before, but we’ve stayed away from it mostly because the anger isn’t omnipresent in my life.”
“That’s understandable,” she said. “And we’ll get there. We just have to take this one step at a time.”
“I can do that,” I said, feeling for the first time in my life that I actually could. With her. “Alex—”
The crowd roared as the singer for the national anthem was announced and took the field, stealing whatever I’d been about to say right out of my mouth.
Which was probably a good thing, since I was feeling so out of control when it came to her. My anger management coach. The one person in the world who seemed totally on my side right now, with an understanding of who I was like she could read my mind.
It was as unnerving as it was addictive, with an extra dash of hope.
She made me feel like I wasn’t broken.
And I’d felt broken for longer than I’ve ever admitted to anyone, even my inner circle.
After the national anthem ended and the game started, we stood and clapped for our team, Alexandra glancing up at me with pure excitement in her eyes.
“Thank you so much for bringing me here,” she said.
“Anytime,” I said. “Even if it’s not a session,” I continued, leaning down to speak into her ear so she could hear me over the crowd. “You want to come, you say the word and a seat is yours.”
Our eyes locked, hers widening slightly as she tried to determine if I was serious or not.
I was beyond serious. If it got her to look at me like that? I’d buy or sell anything, including my soul.
Holy shit. When did I start spouting poetry?
“I might hold you to that,” Alexandra said, her smile soft and endearing.
Need surged through my veins, blending with the hope pulsing beneath my skin.
“I look forward to it.”
Three hours and two home runs later, the Hurricanes won against the Blue Jays, and Maddox had graciously signed every piece of merchandise any of the kids waiting near the locker room hallway put in front of him.
The stadium slowly emptied of all the fans, and that beautiful quiet hush that fell over every completed game settled over the arena.
“That was amazing,” Alexandra said. “Even the booers had a good time.”
“A win can put anyone in a good mood,” I said, nodding toward the now empty field. “They did good.”
“You picked a good team,” she said, walking slowly across the aisle and down the few sets of stairs to lean against the railing that edged the field. “I’ve never been this close before.” She turned, leaning her back against the railing to look up at me.
I headed down the stairs, stopping in front of her.
“I guess you don’t know what that’s like,” she said, her eyes never straying from mine. “Are you able to still appreciate this?” she asked, with no hint of arrogance or accusation in her voice.
I glanced over her, my eyes trailing across the now empty field and the stadium seating behind it. I took a deep breath, inhaling through my nose all the scents that were signature to baseball, and let it fill me in the way it always had before.
“Yes,” I answered honestly. “Naturally, being an owner comes with its perks,” I said, motioning to the empty stadium around us. “But I’ve been a fan of the game since I was a little kid. Just like you said earlier, there’s something infinitely nostalgic about the game. It’s like a calling. You either love it or you don’t. Either have it in your blood or you don’t. I have it in my blood. Being an owner doesn’t change that. The fans hating me right now doesn’t change that. Every day I’m able to watch those players take the field, I appreciate it.”
