But I wasn’t unhappy. I loved my life, my team. I had spent so much time in pinstripes that it felt like my skin. And leaving Tobey, shaving the Grant off the end of my name … I would be leaving the Yankees too. Forever. Tears pricked the edges of my eyes at just the thought of it.
Stupid to feel such attachment to an organization. But the Yankees weren’t just an organization. They were a life force, etched in tradition and history, fortunes, fates and days made on the backs of some of the greatest bats to ever swing in this country. I wasn’t just divorcing Tobey. I was cutting out half of my heart and giving the remainder to Chase.
99
Are you still fucking him?
Tobey was still awake when I climbed the stairs, my turn of our knob quiet, but my heart jumped at the sight of him, sitting by the fire, his shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the television. I thought it had been long enough, the hour late, his drinks at dinner heavy, but I was wrong. He clicked off the television and stood, the room suddenly darkened, the flicker of the fire painting his face red, his features half in shadow.
He said nothing, just pulled at my shirt, up and over my head. Then my sports bra. I was taken back to that hotel room, my back against the door, Chase’s breath heavy. I opened my eyes and willed it away, meeting Tobey’s eyes, his hands quick on their pull at my pants, and he gave me one long kiss before he stepped to the bathroom.
The shower started, a steady patter of drops against tile.
Steam floated off the spray, my hands helping him as he undressed.
The loosening of his tie—pulling the silk slowly through the knot.
The unbuttoning of his shirt—pushing it off, my eyes floating over the tattoo on his shoulder, the initials of our unborn son, the letters curling through an orchid bloom. I swallowed a lump of emotion and pulled at the thick leather of his belt, his hands brushing over my breasts, gentle and soft, as I undid the top of his dress pants and pushed them down.
In the shower, his hands ran over my hair, pulling out the elastic. The froth of bubbles, soap on his palms, slick against my skin. He stood behind me, the sting of water everywhere, our slick bodies constantly touching, brushing. We kissed under the spray, it dripping in my eyes, in our mouths, our touch growing stronger, frantic. I gripped him, and he bit at my lip. He turned me, tilting me forward, his hand brushing over me, fingers sliding in me, and I moaned when he pushed inside, half a cry of pleasure, half one of pain.
I cried in that shower. I held on to the stone wall, his hands settling on my waist, gripping me there, my face turned sideways, cheek pressed against the rough cut of granite, and silently sobbed, every thrust an invasion, not just of my body, but of my heart. He fucked me, and I remembered so much. So many times he was wonderful. So many times he was sweet. So many minute moments that made me love him. I didn’t fall, but I grew in love with this man. This man who fucked me in his shower and mistook my cries for pleasure. The one who turned me around, lifting me up, his kiss missing the salt of my tears, the pour of water from overhead erasing all evidence, his cock pushing back in, my legs around his waist, his hands holding me up, our movement slow and beautiful.
Slow and beautiful.
Heart breaking. Of mine as much as his.
And he never knew. He bit out a cry as he finished, thrusting deep inside of me, my nails tightening against his skin, my hands shaking as he lowered my feet to the ground, his final kiss soft and sweet, his thank you almost lost in the sound of the water.
I didn’t look at him as I dried off. I didn’t speak as I crawled into bed. I waited until the sound of his snores drifted across the room, and then I let myself cry.
I emailed Chase back in the middle of the night, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, my butt on the bare floor, my back against the foot of the bed, the flames of our fire flickering before me, the phone heavy in my hand as I pressed SEND and dropped it to the floor beside me.
No. not anymore.
100
World Series: Game 1
It was us against the Cubs, the Series starting in New York, and would finish here, in our stadium. My last games in pinstripes.