Jake just pitched his first game at
college level, and he killed it.
I can’t keep the stupid grin off my
face as I walk out of the field early, beating the rush of the crowd. Of course
his family is here, his parents and Julie have all-access passes, so they’re
going to wait for him just outside the locker rooms.
I’ll be waiting outside the stadium,
along with all the other supporters, because I want to see his face when he
walks out and sees all the fans he’s just made.
When I get to the exit, a small
crowd has already formed. I take up position behind the barriers and wait.
“Hey!” the boy next to me yells. He
can’t be more than eight. “You have an all-access pass?” he says, disbelieving.
His dad next to him laughs, giving
me a sorry look.
I smile, but before I can say
anything, the boy gasps. “Holy Moly,” he says, “you’re Jake Andrew’s girl!”
Great.
During winter break ESPN came out to
his parents house and did a story on him, how he got eyed at a young age, his
move to Australia, etc. He didn’t mind them taking footage of him, his old
school, and his hometown, but he wasn’t really up for the interview. I told him
that he should do it, that it was major exposure for him. He said he’d only do
it if I were in it, too. I agreed. Only because I figured they wouldn’t ask me
anything. It was Jake’s story after all. I was wrong. The questions were minor
but still enough to have me a nervous wreck. Jake smirked silently next to me
the entire time.
So, because of that one ESPN story,
I’d been getting recognized. Mainly around campus, but also by the huge
baseball fans around town. This kid must be one of them.
He then proceeds to tell me every
statistic he knows about Jake. By the time he’s out of information, the crowd
has grown, the media is waiting and the atmosphere is electric.
He’s the first to walk out when the
doors burst open. There’s a scowl on his face, but it changes the instant he
hears the crowd’s roar and his name being chanted. At first it’s shock, and
then it’s elation.
My heart swells, and I’m on the
verge of crying. But it’s the good kind. Because if anyone deserves this kind
of worship, it’s Jake Andrews.
The crowd gets louder as the flashes
from cameras blinds him. There are reporters ready, with a microphones under
his nose. I see his eyes dart around the crowd. I could wave to get his
attention. I could shout his name. But I’d just be another fan amongst fans. So
I do nothing but watch him. He lifts a finger to the media and turns his back,
swinging his gear bag, hanging off his shoulder, behind him. He walks to the
fans that have every item imaginable ready to sign. He declines the girls that
ask him to sign body parts. “No skin,” I see him mouth, before moving to the
next person.
After fifteen minutes of signing, he
makes his way back to the media. He answers their questions but I can see he’s
distracted—his eyes still roaming the crowd.
I wait.
And then finally, our eyes lock.
He pauses mid sentence, a huge grin
taking over his face. He shakes his head slowly, drops his bag, and starts
towards me. The media part for him, as if he’s a god. Because right here, right
now, he kind of is.
The cameras follow him, but he
doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look away. He just walks slowly, and casually until
he’s right on the other side of the barrier.
I bite my lip to stop the huge smile
forming.
And we stand there, staring at each
other, grinning like idiots.
I love him.
“What are you doing?” he says,
shaking his head.
I shrug, “Being your number one fan.”
He laughs. Then grabs me by my
waists and lifts me up in the air and over the barrier. I squeal from the
sudden movement, my hands gripping his shoulders. The crowd cheer as he
chuckles, slowly loosening his hold on me. But he doesn’t let me touch the
ground. Instead, his arms goes around my waist, and he holds me so my face is
just above his.
“I love you, you know that?” he
shouts over the sound of the crowd.
I flip his cap backwards and lean
down to kiss him.
I don’t even care about the camera
flashes. I don’t care about the crowd. Because I do know. I know that he
loves me. “I love you, too,” I say when I pull back. “So much more than a lot.”
He lowers me to the ground and holds
my head against his chest. I wrap my arms around him, and glance at our
surroundings.
My heart constricts, a lump forms in
my throat, and tears well in my eyes. But I blink them away and shut out the
emotions.
Because today is Jake’s day. It’s
day we’ll remember forever. A day worth celebrating.
It’s not a day to think about my
dad.
And how much he would have loved to
be here.
“I should probably finish with the
interviews.” He pulls away and grips my hand, bringing me with him.
I let him.
When we get back to his spot, he
continues answering questions. I half hide behind his arm. I tune out the
questions, most are basic, some game related, some not, I’ve heard them all
before.
But then one interviewer asks a question
that makes Jake’s entire body tense. I look up at him, but his gaze is
somewhere in the distance. His jaw clenched.
“Jake?” the reporters asks, getting
his attention again. “Have you dedicated your first game to anyone in
particular?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly, nodding his
head. He positions me so I’m next to him and his arm is around my shoulders, “I
guess I’d want to dedicate it to an old fan of mine. Someone that followed me
from my high school days . . . and uh . . .” He pauses to take a breath.
I look up at him confused.
He kisses my once on the temple, and
the camera’s start flashing.
“His name’s Kevin Jones. And even
though I never got to meet him . . . I know he sure as shit would’ve loved to
have been here today. And even if my girl wasn’t his daughter, I know that he
would have been.”
She hasn’t said a word since we got
in the car. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have mentioned her dad. I hear her sniff
and glance over at her. She wipes away a tear.
I pull the car over into a hidden
dirt road that opens up to a clearing. I park and face her.
And
wait.
Because I don’t know if this is one
of those situations where she just needs some time before she opens up, or if
it’s something else.
Eventually, the silence gets so loud
that I need to say something. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out.
Her head whips to face me, “What?
Why?”
“For bringing up your dad, I’m
sorry,” I repeat.
“Jake . . .” she breathes out. She
unbuckles her belt and moves closer to me, doing the same to mine. ‘Why would
you be sorry for talking about my dad?”
“Because you’re crying right now,
and it’s my fault.”
“Baby,” she says sympathetically. I
don’t know why she’s like that to me. I’m the asshole that made her cry. “I’m
not crying because you mentioned him. I mean, not really. Okay, I am. But it’s
good tears.”
“Good tears?” I ask, incredulously.
She nods, and then looks away. “Why
did you think of him, though?”
Shit.
I was hoping she wouldn’t ask.
I must’ve been quiet for too long,
because she says my name to get my attention. “You’re going to think I’m crazy,”
I tell her.
She rolls her eyes.
“Fine.” I bring her legs up so
they’re over mine and we’re as close as we can possible be. “It’s hard to explain.
It’s just . . .” I think about my next words. “The second I stood on the mound,
I felt him there.”
She gasps, her eyes wide, but glazed
over. “What do you mean?” she whispers.
I shrug. “I don’t know, I just . . .
I could just sense him . . . watching me out there.”
“And?” she asks, waiting for me to
continue.
“And . . . I don’t know . . . I
think it was his way of saying it was okay, you know? You and me—that he
approved—”
Her giggle cuts me off.
“What?” I ask her, happy that she’s
not crying anymore.
“Jake, there was never a doubt he
would have approved. He loved you.”
I roll my eyes, “He loved the
baseball player me. He didn’t know me as a person, Kayla.” I face the
windshield.
“Either way, Jake, he would have
loved you.”
It’s quiet for a moment, both of us
thinking, but she’s the first to speak. “Do you think about it often? I mean,
do you worry that he wouldn’t like—or approve of you—or something?”
I face her. “Well, yeah. Of course I
do, Kayla. I mean, if you think about it—every decision I make, the things we
plan, the way I am with you, all of that—I have to think about everything
twice. Once for me and once for him. And I have to hope that whatever I’m doing
is good enough, you know? Because he’s not around to kick my ass if it’s not.”
She’s frantically wiping away tears
now. “Wow,” she slowly says.
Then she sits up straight, and
composes herself. “Jake, there’s absolutely no question in this entire world
that you’re doing everything right. And if you knew him, then you’d know
how much he would have loved you. They all would have.”
I shrug, but don't make eye contact.
“Maybe.”
She barely ever talks about them.
Not to me anyway. I know she meets up with James occasionally, and I’ve slowly
learnt to deal with it. Maybe she talks to him about them. Maybe he’s the one
she cries to when she misses them. Maybe she thinks I won’t get it. Or that I
don’t want to try.
“Baby.” I face her, “Just because I
didn’t get to know them when they were alive, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want
to get to know them now.”
“You want me to tell you about them?”
she asks, surprised. Why the hell would she be surprised?
I nod. “I more than a lot want you
to tell me about them.”
A small smile begins to spread, but
quickly consumes her entire face. ”When?” She’s excited, and it’s so
fucking cute.
“Right now!” I tell her.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything! Anything. All of it. I
want to know it all.”
If possible, her grin gets even
wider.
We end up lying in the bed of his
truck. His mom had packed blankets and other emergency supplies behind his
seat. He didn’t even know about it until I told him.
For the next three hours, I tell him
everything.
Him on his back, with me on my side,
half on top of him, his arms wrapped around me.
He listens intently to everything I
say and asks questions. We laugh together, and he let’s me cry. And right now,
with me in his arms, in our own little world, I introduce him to my family.
My family—who would have more than a
lot loved him.
“You don’t need to worry, Jake.”
“What do you mean?” he says, moving
the hair out of my face.
“About whether or not they would
have loved you. They would have. And I do.”
He looks into my eyes and smiles, “I
love you, Kayla.”
“I more than a lot love you,” I
respond.
Then in a goofy, mocking tone, he
says, “I so much more than a lot love you.”
We both laugh.
He shakes his head, “How the hell
did we even come up with that?”
“I don’t know.” I laugh harder.
When we settle down, he positions me
so I’m on top of him. And we start kissing. It only takes minutes before the
kissing turns into groping under each other’s clothes. “Babe,” he says, “let me
take you home and make you mine.” He nibbles on my shoulder.
I glance around, we’re in the middle
of nowhere, and it’s so dark, you can’t see past a few feet from the truck. I
look back at him, “Or you could make me yours right here?”
He grimaces.
What the hell?
“Yeah . . .” He sucks in a breath
with a hiss. “I was thinking that, but I feel kind of weird. Like, your dad’s
watching.”
My face must show how I feel,
because he laughs.
“Ew,” I spit out. Then the mental
image of my dad actually watching us makes me say it again, only louder. “EW!”
He chuckles and moves me off him. We
pack away all the blankets and he jumps down off them truck bed, then turns to
help me down. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead. “I’m glad we
did this,” he says.
I am too.
Then a kid's voice breaks the
silence. “Dude!” he yells from somewhere out in the darkness. It scares the
shit out of both of us, “What the fuck!” he continues. He must be young because
his voice hasn’t even broken yet.
Jake and I freeze. We look around us
but it’s pitch black.
“What the hell?” I whisper, looking
at Jake in shock. He protectively hides my body behind his. Because really, I
need be afraid of a prepubescent boy.
“What are you doing you little punk?”
Jake yells into the air.
“Hey! Fuck you!” the kid yells.
And we can’t help but laugh under
our breaths.
“Yeah!” another kid pipes up. “Fuck
you!” he repeats his friend’s words.
Then the first kid speaks, “We’ve
been sitting here for three fucking hours waiting for you guys to screw, and
you couldn’t even close the deal!”
Jake turns to me, a shocked
expression on his face, but he can’t contain the chuckle that escapes. “Get out
here, you assholes!” he yells.
“Oh yeah,” the kid replies
sarcastically, “like we’re going to listen to you, Mr.
Hotshot-can’t-score-a-homerun.”
I can’t help but laugh. There’s no
way these kids are more than twelve, and the shit they’re coming up with is
frickin' hilarious.
The kid continues, “If I had a hot
piece of ass like that, I’d be boning her right now!”
I snort the same time Jake guffaws, “Hear
that baby?” he says quietly, facing me, “You’re a hot piece of ass.”
I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
Then he faces the woods again, “You
punks got a three second head start before I come after you!”
“Oh yeah! You’re going to have to
find us first!”
Jake pulls out his keys and presses
the remote start up for his truck. The roar of the engine echoes in the air,
the same time his headlights illuminate our surroundings.
“Oh fuck!” we hear, followed by, “Shit!
RUN!”
“I can’t believe that just happened,”
Jake says, laughing quietly. He opens my door and waits for me to be seated. “I
need to take you home now . . . and what was it?” He pauses for dramatic
effect. “Oh yeah. I need to close the deal, score a homerun, and bone my
hot piece of ass.”
I throw my head back in laughter, “Yes!”
I exaggerate, fist pumping the air. “I’m so turned on right now.”
Once he’s in his seat, he faces me.
And all traces of laughter is gone.
He takes my hand in his, and kisses my palm. “Thank you, Kayla,” he says,
before lifting his eyes to meet mine. There’s that same Jake intensity in them
that I’ve gotten used to.
“What for?”
“For sharing them with me, and
letting me love them the way you do.” He shrugs and take a huge breath. “And
for helping me understand that it’s okay. That when the time comes and I
ask you to marry me—that I won’t have to worry. Because I really think he’d be
okay with it. You and me, I mean. I think he’d even like it. More than a lot.”
