“Malakai, focus,” Isaiah calls out from behind me.
The stadium is packed for this September afternoon game that holds our playoff hopes in its hands. We have the opportunity to clinch tonight, and I just walked in a run on the last at-bat.
God, they’re going to ream me on the post-game recaps later, but I don’t give a shit. All those times I told Miller that pressure was a privilege, that it was an honor to live up to expectations, make me feel like a fraud. Because I’m not living up to anything.
With my cleats dug into the dirt, Travis calls my pitch, giving me a four-seam fastball. I nod, straightening to align my fingers over the ball in my glove before looking over my shoulder to check for runners, but when I do, all I see are the bases I ran with her just last week.
When I was happy. When she was happy. When she was mine.
I shake off the image and run through my pitch, using my entire body to throw the ball before letting it leave my fingers. It soars right over the plate, right at the height the batter needs to send it flying into left field.
Which is exactly what he does, hitting a grand slam and changing the score to 5-0 before I’ve even gotten an out in this third inning.
Fuck.
The crowd boos. Loudly. Deafening, and I don’t think it has anything to do with our opponents and everything to do with me.
Travis begins his jaunt to the mound, but Isaiah shakes him off, coming in from his position instead.
We both hold our gloves over our mouths to speak.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Does it seem like I’m fucking okay, Isaiah?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Terrible question.”
My entire fucking life fell apart seven days ago, and it wasn’t due to a lack of love or wanting each other. It was simply because we were headed on two different paths that only crossed for a short two months.
Before my brother can ask anything else, Monty leaves the dugout, headed straight for me.
“God-fucking-dammit,” I curse into my glove.
I couldn’t tell you the last time I was pulled this early from a game. I played like shit in my previous start this week, but I made it a full five innings before the relief pitchers took over. Third inning is fucking embarrassing, and for the first time in weeks, I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life.
Nothing makes sense without her. The team staff is taking turns watching Max until the season is over, but what am I going to do next year or the year after that? Hire some random person who will never care about my son the way she did? Why am I even doing this? Because I love it? Well, we don’t always get to have the things we love now, do we?
Monty nods my brother away, and Isaiah gives me an encouraging swat with his glove before heading back to his spot between second and third base.
Monty exhales, holding his jersey over his mouth so he can speak without the cameras picking up on what he’s saying. “I gotta pull you, Ace.”
I don’t argue. I don’t complain. I simply agree.
“You’ve got to find a way through this,” he continues.
“Yeah, sorry, I’ll get working on that.” My tone is entirely dry and Monty shoots me a warning glance, reminding me I’m not the only one having a hard time.
While I’m bitching and complaining about missing his daughter, he’s also heartbroken over not seeing her every day.
“Sorry,” I add more sincerely.
Monty’s brown eyes search mine. “Go home. Go get Max and head home. You don’t need to stay for the rest of the game or the press. Go take care of yourself and your son.”
While standing in the center of the field with forty-one thousand fans watching me, my eyes begin to burn, my throat growing tight because I don’t know how to take care of myself anymore.
I’m a shell of a human these days, barely showering or eating, only getting out of bed for Max. Having someone else to take care of while your heart is breaking is an odd relief. You want to wallow in self-pity but can’t because someone else is relying on you.
But someone else is always relying on me, so that’s nothing new.
“Pick up the damn phone and call her, Kai. It might help you.”
I shake my head, swallowing back the knot in my throat. “I’ll be fine. She’s got more important things going on right now that she doesn’t need to be distracted hearing how fucked up I am.”
He watches me for a moment, then gives me one single nod of his head, my cue to take off.
I do just that. Jogging off the field, through the dugout to the clubhouse to grab my keys. I swing by the training room to pick up Max and find Kennedy playing with him on the floor. She volunteered to watch him for me tonight.
“Hey, Ace,” she says as cautiously as possible. “How are you holding up?”
I groan. “Please don’t pity me like everyone else. I can’t handle another person looking at me like I’m about to break.”
“Sorry, you’re right. You got pulled in the third inning? Ouch. Hate to break it to you, Ace, but I only work on the body. I’ve got nothing for a bruised ego.”
A huff of a laugh escapes me. “Thank you.” Max walks himself over to me, hands up for me to hold him. “And thanks for watching him.”
With that I turn to leave, only to stop in the doorway, looking at Kennedy over my shoulder. “Have you heard from her?”
Her face falls, so much pity that I asked her not to give me. “A couple of times, yes. I’ve texted to check in, but I don’t get a response until it’s the middle of the night. Then by the time I write back, she’s asleep. She’s busy.”
She’s busy. I know she’s busy. I hate that she’s busy.
“Thanks again for watching him.”
Once in my truck, I drive away from the field, taking us home, all while trying to ignore the overwhelming, burning desire to pick up my phone and call her just to hear her voice one more time.
I get Max’s dinner together for him, not worrying about myself because, as I’ve said, I’ve barely eaten this week. We do bath time and I get him cozy in pajamas.
“Max, can you pick out a book to read before bedtime?” I ask, taking a seat on his floor.
He makes his way over to his little bookshelf, picking a big colorful book about insects before dropping to the carpeted ground. He settles himself between my legs, his head resting back on my stomach.
Though most of the day, I feel like I’ll never be okay again, I know I will be. I’ll have to be for him and that gives me a spark of hope.
“Bug,” he says, pointing to a cartoon caterpillar on the pages.
“Yeah, that is a bug. Do you know who else is a bug?” I ask him, tickling his side. “You’re a bug!”
He giggles, folding himself over my hand that’s tickling his ribs and it’s the best sound I’ve heard all week. My smile is the most genuine one I’ve worn in that same amount of time.
Max stands to his feet, turning to face me, meeting me eye to eye. His little hands find my face, running over my cheeks, sliding along my scruff.
He outlines my eyes with a single finger, and I close them so he can. “Dadda, sad,” he says, and my eyes shoot open at that.
His face is so concerned, far more concerned than any seventeen-month-old should be.
But I’m also not going to lie to him.
“Yeah,” I exhale. “Daddy is sad, but it’s okay to be sad.” Wrapping my hand around his back, I help him keep his feet so he can look at me. “It just means we love someone so much that we miss them. That’s a good thing.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, not really understanding everything I’m saying.
“We’ve got each other, Max. You and me.” I pull him into my chest, holding him. “Do you know how much I love you?”
“Yeah,” he says again and this time I can’t help but chuckle.
“Do you know how much Miller loves you? I know she’s missing you as much as we’re missing her. You’re so loved, Bug, by so many people. I don’t want you to forget that.”