Page 18 of Endgame

My parents were always my greatest cheerleaders, and Ican still remember the quietest moment witnessing how deep their love truly ran for each other.

I was on break for the summer, it was early in the morning, and the sunrise was barely casting upon the dock overlooking the lake in the backyard. Mom and Dad were usually still sleeping at that time, not having to be at work until later in the morning. I crept softly down the stairs on my way to steal one of Mom’s homemade muffins and photograph the lake. I didn’t make it that far because soft music was coming from the kitchen. My plan took a pause as I peered around the staircase corner to see what was going on.

Dad had his large teddy bear arms wrapped so carefully around Mom’s back. Her height reached his chest perfectly, and her head turned slightly as she pillowed into him. Dad’s eyes were closed as he swayed soothingly with her in his arms. It was such an intimate moment, leaving me feeling like an intruder on such a gentle and precious love act between them.

They were never ones for public affection. Instead, their love for each other was steady and quiet—a love that knew no bounds—and they chose each other daily.

I’ve always believed the private moments between lovers give the heart the comfort it craves.

Without wanting to be heard, I lifted my camera to get the perfect angled view and snapped a photo of them.

To this day, I can't gather my emotions enough to look back at it.

I know it will feel like beinghome,and that seems like such a foreign place now. So it sits in a metal box on its own, waiting for me to be ready one day.

Until then, I’ll photograph the love of strangers in hopes of one day someone else catching the steady moments between me and the one my heart chooses.

Part of the reason this job offer has been throwing my thoughts off-axis is because, well, it’s sports. Not that I have anything against photography for sports marketing, but it’s not been my niche. Couples, family, lifestyle—that’s my comfort zone.

I was raised in a home where evening ball games were always on. My dad’s eyes were glued to the television screen as he cheered every player on like he was in the stands full of adrenaline.

Maybe that's why I’m hesitant to accept it.

Or perhaps it’s knowing a certainpitcherI just met will be nearby, making me unable to focus on what I was hired to do.

I can’t be thinking about him. He’s off-limits. Just because he was kind enough to help me out, that wasn’t him offering me a one-way ticket to Pound Town.

If anything, my darkness likely scared him away.

But I’ll admit, he was nice to look at.

It’s for the best.

I am better off engaging with a cold white wall than attempting to be remotely close to Callaway Hayes.

On the plus side, working at the baseball fields with Navy sounds like one hell of a time. The pros and cons are unequally measured; I'm being a little bitch inside my head.

Shut it down, Dakota.

Do it for your future.

I’m having a difficult time believing I’m deserving of good things.

After everything that happened with my parents, the guilt was too much.

Something as simple as brushing my teeth felt like a task too big.

All the same, I need to work. A stable income and a steadyschedule will do good for my mental health. At least, I hope so.

I can still recallthe conversation with the Striker’s general manager, Jack Leggins, and the offer of a lifetime.

“Dakota Foster? This is Jack Leggins, manager of the Atlanta Striker’s Baseball League. How are you today, ma’am?”

His Southern accent is strong. I know exactly who Jack is. He’s hard to miss. He’s young, tall, and a gentleman at that. Not to mention strikingly handsome.

“This is Dakota. I’m doing great, Mr. Leggins. I won’t lie, though, and say I’m not confused about how you got my number and why you would be calling me.”

I can hear his light-hearted chuckle.

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