“And rules are good. Because I want this. Don’t you?”
I set down my food on the coffee table. Curl a hand around his head. Tug him close. “Yes. I want to prove myself to you.”
Grant shakes his head. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Deck. This is for us. You said you were nervous about starting up. So, let’s not define this thing. Let’s not make long-term promises. Let’s just . . . be. Day by day, whatever that looks like.”
I smile from deep within my soul. “I want all that, but can we maybe, possibly, pretty please make plans to see each other in May? Because I might die if we don’t.”
Grant cracks up. “I see that’s going to be an issue for us. Death from sex camel-ing. Let’s not let that happen. I will give you the whole cock treatment.”
I press my palms together and raise my gaze heavenward. “Thank you for the whole cock.”
We compare our schedules right then. He leaves for spring training in Phoenix in a few more days, since pitchers and catchers report first. I’ll head to Tampa in a week, but I’ll still see Carla via Zoom, I tell Grant when he asks.
When spring training ends, the regular season begins. Our schedules are packed, as they usually are.
“I have one day off in April,” I say heavily.
“Same,” he mourns. “But not the same one.”
We don’t have any games in the same city, even, and the Comets don’t play the Cougars till July. But I spot an opening.
I point to the May schedule for the Comets, then the same month for the Cougars. “Do you see what I see?” I wiggle a brow. “Los Angeles. Then Seattle.”
“Oh yes,” Grant says, with a dirty growl. “You’ve got a day off between playing the Bandits and the Storm Chasers. And I have a day off too.”
“And what do you know? It’s the same day. Want to invite me over that Thursday before I go to Seattle? I can make a pitstop in San Francisco for the night. If you invite me, I bet I’ll say yes.”
“Spend the night with me on that day,” he says, pointing to the calendar.
“Done.”
We don’t even attempt to figure out what happens after May, and that’s the point.
Even though I suspect we both know that beyond May is the real challenge—navigating a long-distance relationship with our jobs. But we don’t try to tonight. Tonight is for this long overdue reunion.
“I’ll miss you before then. But that’s okay,” Grant says, chin up. “You’re going to focus on Carla and keep up all this good work. That’s what I want you to do. I don’t want to mess up your recovery, as you call it. It’s a good thing we can’t see each other. And we’re not going to make plans beyond that because that will distract you from your therapy.”
I growl like I’m mad at him, even though he’s hit the nail on the head. “You’re right.”
“‘Course I am. Catchers always know best. Did you know catchers are the smartest guys on the team?” he says, with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Or the cockiest.”
“Because we work the hardest.”
“Like I said.”
Grant grabs my thigh, gripping it with an affectionate squeeze. “Listen, Deck. What I’m saying is this: I’m not going to let you backslide by giving you too much access to my fine ass.”
“Thanks for depriving me of my favorite thing,” I grumble.
“It’s all for a good cause.”
Indeed, it is. The good cause of a second chance.
When we plow through half the food, we go back to his bedroom, change the sheets, and turn on the fireplace.
We return to each other, doing some of our favorite things, then we kiss till the stars wink off in the sky. I’m not sure if it’s the fire or us that’s warming me up from the inside of my soul.
In the morning, I wake to an insistent buzzing on my phone.
31
Declan
The text blares at me.
* * *
Dad: You’re here!
* * *
I cringe.
* * *
Dad: I saw some pictures from the event Thursday night! Guess what?
* * *
I wince—because I can guess. But I don’t even have to type a response because he’s already writing back.
* * *
Dad: I’m in the city too. Are you still here? Have you gone back to NY yet? I’m at the diner we used to go to off Fillmore Street right now. If you’re around, want to join me for a cup of coffee?
* * *
I groan, rubbing my hand down my face.
Grant stirs, slowly opening his eyes. My heart stutters as my fantastic reality registers. I’m in bed with Grant, waking up with him the day after. All those times in Arizona, we never woke up together. The view of him next to me in bed with sunlight streaming through the window, this glimpse of his sleepy face, his wild, messy hair, his lazy early-morning smile.
But it disappears when his eyes drift down to my phone in my hands. “What’s up?” he asks, propping up on his elbow.
I brace myself. “My dad is in the city.”
“Oh.” It comes out like it weighs ten tons.
I set a hand on his arm. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not going to go see him.”
“Okay,” he says, but he sounds tentative.
“I promise. I’m just writing back to him. That’s all. I’m here with you,” I reassure him.
Grant rubs his eyes, yawning. “What does he want, though?”
I sit up. “He wants to see me.”
He takes a deep breath. “Do you want to see him?”
“I want to see you,” I say.
Grant arches a brow. “But do you think you should see him? Is that important for your therapy work? Do you think it would help you?”
“Maybe. I guess it’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I admit. I’ve been weighing that since I saw the first note a few minutes ago.
Grant sits up too. “I researched alcoholism.”
I blink, surprised. “You did?”
“When you first told me about your dad. I wanted to understand your situation, and I read how addiction affects family members. And then later on too, after the World Series, I did some more research. I wanted to know how to support you if . . .”
He doesn’t finish the thought.
He doesn’t have to.
If we got back together.
“Thank you.”
“He’s always going to be your dad,” Grant says. “I want to understand what you’re going through so I can help you.”
“But I don’t have to just jump when he says he wants to see me.”
Grant glances at the time. It’s nine. “True. But I’m not actually waking up this early. I’m going back to sleep—it’s a matter of principle in the off-season.” He reaches for my arm, rubs his hand softly down my skin. “If you want to see your dad, go see him right now.”