Page 29 of Sideline Play

“Why, what?”

Why are you single? Why are you so patient? Why me? Why now?

There are a million whys I could ask, each of their answers words I would covet from him. Instead, I keep things safe, a sinking feeling of disappointment over not being able to follow through on the smallest of steps with him.

“Why Gatlinburg?”

I can see it in the way he looks at me, he knows. He has that same assessing, calculating stare with me that he wears when behind the plate. The one that has him peeling back the layers of the opposing team, ferreting out their tells and weaknesses, allowing him to successfully cut runners off the moment they decide to go for the steal. I’ve never been studied so closely by anyone in my life, and it makes me squirm and sympathizewith every player who has ever stood opposite him. Because Remington Tate knows. He knows I’m hiding something. That there’s something more keeping me so firmly planted at the crossroads.

Whatever he senses or reads from me though is enough. His easy smile comes back out as he leans against the counter opposite me, arms crossed over his chest. For the time being, I’m safe. The unwashable smudge inside me is still hidden.

“My ma used to take me on vacation here,” he answers, looking almost wistful as he remembers. “She loved the mountains and being outdoors. Always said she wanted to move out here one day. That she felt closer to God surrounded by all the untouched beauty.

“Mind you, we didn’t come often. Four, maybe five, times growing up. Even a cabin with only a pullout sofa for a bedroom and a twin air mattress we picked up from GoodWill was a luxury for us. While I never went without a meal and always had everything I required, even for baseball, money was uncomfortably tight until I was drafted. But for the few days every three or so years we would be here, it was magical. As exciting to me as any kid seeing Disney World. And I loved how free Ma looked while here.

“So, when I got called up from the Minors and started making Major League money, I bought this house. Well, the cabin she used to rent for us and its land. It was supposed to be for her…”

Jiggling the foot that’s crossed over his ankle, he looks past me and out to the deck and mountains beyond.

“I should have had the demolition and rebuild begin right away, but I thought we’d have time. Instead I got her out of that trailer, paid off her debt, helped her get enrolled in college like she always wanted, finished my psychology degree like I promised and then, I don’t know…”

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he sighs and confesses, “My biggest, probably only, regret in life was thinking we had time. When she died, I swore I would never wait to go after what I wanted again. That I would never, ever make the same mistake of putting something off thinking I would have time for it later. She wasn’t even 41… she should’ve had another 30, 40, 50 years of life to live. I don’t want to bank on having those years because I might not.”

Seeing his eyes turn to blood shot glass, I don’t even think. I jump down from the counter and step right into his space, wrapping my arms around him, my nose runny and tears rolling from my cheeks onto his chest.

I can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose my dad. Like Remington, my entire life has always been just the two of us. An entire world shrunk down to just two people until the inevitable circle of life rotates through and that world shrinks even more to just one.

Curling forward so his chin rests on my head, his arms a welcome cage around my back as he pulls me in, trying to melt me into him, Remi continues, “The day she died, she wouldn’t let me call the hospice nurse. I was so angry because I felt like she was giving up. So fuckin’ desperate to make her stay with me, I tried bargaining with her, tellin’ her she had to keep fightin’ and let me make the call because who else would live in this stupid house.”

Feeling the catch of his breath through my skin and the weight of his rushing sigh move through my hair, I hold on tighter. The raw pain that still pulses within him palpable, the ache echoing within myself. I want to fuse myself to him, burrow inside, and get as close as possible. Close enough so he doesn’t feel alone any more. So the grief and regret are no longer crushing. Find my way so deep inside him that I can sure up hisfoundation and provide the support he needs when things feel as though they’re crumbling.

Silence hangs around us. Thick and heavy as the numbers of the timer tick down. But as the minutes pass, it slowly recedes. Each of his shuddering breaths blowing it away until all that’s left are his lips lingering along my crown and his fingers counting each vertebrae from the nape of neck down to the top of my hips.

Uncurling from me as he clears his throat, Remington turns me to lean against him, his arms wrapping over mine and bringing both to cross over my stomach.

“And as if I was missing the most obvious answer in the world,” he starts again, his voice a bit raspier, “she told me, ‘Your wife, silly. You’re gonna build that house and have it waitin’ for the day you meet the woman who makes you think of her first and baseball second. It’ll be where you raise your babies and make your own memories as precious as the ones I have with you. Now promise me she’ll be the only one you bring home and I’ll let you call the nurse.’

“So I did, and honestly at the time I was too focused on trying to get her help and hadn’t really meant it as deeply as I should’ve. It took me 30 seconds, a minute tops, to retrieve my phone. I was dialing the nurse on the way back and in that time away from her… she’d passed. So that’s why Gatlinburg.”

Pressing a soft kiss to my temple, he whispers, “And that’s the why for any other questions you have. Because when I got injured,youwere what was on my mind and how my time with you is what I am most afraid of losing if I can’t return to the game.” Letting me go as the timer for the cupcakes goes off, he finishes, “So take all the time you need to be sure, Scarlet, because this won’t be a one time thing. This isn’t something convenient for me or a fling that’ll only last until I’m cleared for training. This, you, us—there’s nothing more important tome than that. I don’t mind waiting, and unless you tell me otherwise, I’ll be here reminding you of that as often as you need me to.” Pulling the cupcakes free with little baseball hot pads, he looks down at them as he tries not to laugh, setting them on the cooling rack.

“What’s wrong with them?” I ask, peeking round him to find them short and stumpy and not at all as tall and fluffy as when he does it.

“My guess,” he says far too smugly, “you got distracted and didn’t sift the flour mixture as many times as you should have.”

Curling my lips in as I blush, I nod several times before busting out in laughter.

“Yeah that… that sounds about right.”

Opening the fridge, he tosses several sticks of butter onto the counter and just as casually answers my earlier question, “And no Scar, I’m not wearing boxers,” walking without his cane down the hall and toward the room he’s staying in until I deem stairs safe once more.

Following suit, I pick up Winnie who's been staring with the saddest eyes at the fridge where the dough for her cookies has been chilling, cooing, “Looks like you and I have a lot to talk about, sweet girl. I mean, what am I supposed to do with all that?” At her whining huff as I heft her up the stairs, I respond, “I know, right? Only a man would confess something like that and then throw out that he isn't wearing any underwear as if he didn’t just completely knock my world off axis.”

Setting her down in Remington’s room, she skids across the wood floors to her dog bed as I fall back onto his massive bed. Wrapping up with the faux fur throw blanket that appeared at the foot of the bed one day after I gushed over it in the store while Remington and I ran errands, I gaze out the floor to ceiling windows that showcase an unobstructed view of the mountains.

Could I do it? Am I even capable of it? His touch has never been anything more than welcome, but can I accept more? Or would it terrify me? And realistically, how far could things go if I can’t? How long would he try before leaving?

“Winnie,” I sigh, my eyes growing heavy despite it not yet being noon, “what am I gonna do?”

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