Jesus. She thinks I don’t want to be with her?
I scoffed, practically choking on the air around me, “I want you so damn much that I can’t bear the thought of doing anything to hurt you. Thinking about you resenting me somewhere down the line because of my job fucking kills me. I want you. But I don’t want you to give up everything in order to be with me.”
Her eyes started to well up, and I watched as she sucked in a breath and looked away, trying to regain her composure.
“Good answer,” she turned to face me, her voice cracking as a single tear fell.
“Don’t cry.” I wiped away the lone tear from her cheek, and she closed her eyes the second my hand touched her skin.
“I’m not.” She breathed in and out a few more times, her eyes still closed, and I wondered what kind of pep talk she was giving herself and not sharing with me. “I don’t want us to end,” she admitted before adjusting her position and scooting up straighter, her long, dark hair spilling all around her shoulders.
“I don’t either.”
“It shouldn’t be this hard to stay together.”
“I know,” I agreed because it seemed really fucking unfair. Instead of focusing on that, I nudged her back on topic. “You said you wanted all the facts before you decided. So, what do you want to know?”
“Everything.” She shrugged.
I nodded and let out a short chuckle. “Okay. It might be easier if you asked questions.”
“I’m not really sure what to ask. I mean, you’re the one who’s so convinced we can’t stay together. Why don’t you tell me why?”
Damn. She’d put me on the spot, and I deserved it.
“It’s like I said that one night at dinner. My entire life will revolve around the game. We basically play nine months out of the year. Longer, if we make it into the playoffs. And pitchers and catchers report before everyone else for spring training. Baseball will be my priority. It’ll be my job. I’ll have three to four days off a month. A month, Danika. And sometimes, we’ll spend that day traveling, so it’s not really a day off at all.”
Her mouth had fallen open by this point, and she looked at me like everything I had said sounded crazy. “When does the season start?”
“For me, in February.”
“Right, ’cause you’re a catcher. And you report first,” she said, repeating facts back to me and storing them in her head for later, I assumed. “And when does it end?”
“October, depending on playoffs.”
I watched as she counted the months on her fingers, stopping at nine, just like I’d said. “What happens between October and February? You have all those months off to do whatever you want?”
“Technically, yes. It’s called the off-season. But I still have to stay in shape and work out and hit during that time. My head will still be in baseball mode even though I’m not playing.”
She swallowed. “But you can go on vacation during those months? And you would be around for Thanksgiving and Christmas?”
“Vacations, yes. And I would be around for those holidays. New Year’s too. But that’s it. I’d miss the rest. Your birthday. Our anniversary. Any celebrations with friends.”
“And what about when you travel during the season? How many games are away?”
“Anywhere from ten to seventeen usually.”
“So, almost half the month.” She sounded sad, and it killed me. But she needed to know the reality of what I was signing up for.
“Yeah.”
“What else?” she said point-blank. “What else is there? Groupies? Girls hitting on you?”
“Always. But you’d never have to worry about that,” I tried to reassure her, knowing that I was not the kind of guy to fuck around, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon.
I’d learned a lot from my parents’ relationship, and that was one thing I never wanted to go through. They had told me how devastating it was, from both of their perspectives, and it had always stuck with me.
She smiled, and it lit up the whole fucking truck. “I don’t even worry about that now, and I probably should.”
I reached out and touched her hand. “No, you shouldn’t. After everything my parents went through, I’d never put you through that.”
Her face pulled together in confusion. “Your dad cheated on your mom?”
I nodded. “It’s a long story.”
“I would have never guessed that. Not ever. They’re so in love.”
“I know. They recovered nicely,” I said with a grin.
“They did. Okay, so one, you’ll never be home.” She put up a single finger before adding another. “Two, you’ll miss a bunch of shit. And three, girls will hit on you constantly. What else am I missing?”
“This is serious, Danika. You can list things off like they’re not a big deal, but when it’s your life every single day, it’s not the same. Shit gets old. Your life will revolve around my schedule. You’ll get sick of it. Me always being gone. And if I have a bad game or I’m in a hitting slump, I might be a dick to you. I won’t mean to be, but my performance on the field will affect everything else. And if I get traded, I’ll have to leave immediately. There are no guarantees or stability. My life will not be my own. And yours wouldn’t be either.” I hadn’t meant to raise my voice, but it was essential that Danika understood the magnitude of what I was telling her.
Being with a professional athlete definitely had its perks, but it still wasn’t easy. My mom had always reminded me, growing up, that it took a certain kind of girl to handle that lifestyle. Danika could, I knew that, but that didn’t mean she wanted to.
She brushed her hair behind her ear and pulled on the lobe.
“It’s a lot to take in,” she finally admitted, and I was both relieved and irritated.
She was giving me exactly what I’d pushed her for—understanding. But now that I’d dumped all the facts into her lap, I realized that I wanted to hear her say that they didn’t matter, that nothing mattered more than us figuring it out and being together. I was being a complete fucking hypocrite, and I knew it. But knowing that still didn’t change the way I felt.
“It is. I know. You should take some time to think about if it’s what you want or not,” I told her even though I hated thinking about giving her up.
Each time my instincts to fight for her flared to life, I tamped them down, reminding myself that having her hate me somewhere down the road wouldn’t be worth it. If she chose me and chose us, it had to be her decision, and she had to be okay, knowing all that she’d be giving up for it. I was basically asking her to choose this lifestyle or walk away from us altogether.
“For someone who’s never had a girlfriend before, you’re pretty good at being a boyfriend.”
I coughed and slapped my chest. “I didn’t say I’d never had a girlfriend before.” Her head reared back in surprise, and I answered before she could ask, “It was in high school. I haven’t had one since.”
“Oh. Yeah, of course. Anyway …” She waved it off like we didn’t need to even discuss that again. “I need you to know that I do want to be with you, but you’ve given me a lot to think about and consider. I think taking some time to figure it all out would be best,” she said, and I felt my heart deflate inside my chest like a balloon losing its air.