Page 75 of The Perfect Love

I nod. “Got it.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry I turned my phone off and worried you. I appreciate that you were worried. That you came to check on me.”

“I’ll always come check on you, and if you need me, don’t ever hesitate to call me. I’m happy to be here for you, even if it’s just to sit in the silence.”

She takes a sip of her drink. “I did a lot of that today.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m doing better now. I had a moment today where something triggered me, and it hit me so hard I was overwhelmed, almost had a panic attack, went a little catatonic, and it took a call with my therapist to get me out of that space. Then I desperately needed a shower, and… here we are.”

“Can I help? Do you want to talk about… whatever it is?”

Slowly, she shakes her head. “Not yet. It’s heavy, and while I don’t doubt you’d listen and handle it well, I don’t want that heaviness hanging over us yet. I want us to enjoy getting to know each other better and letting this grow.”

“I understand that.”

She takes a deep breath, then looks at me, eyes serious. “That said, I’m grateful that you’re always open to me talking about anything, and I want you to know it goes both ways.”

“I appreciate that. And… fuck, I got a little scared when you didn’t respond to any of my texts. I could say that it’s just because I was worried about you, but there’s more to it than that. You’ve become an important part of my life, and I’m scared to lose that. Lose you. And it’s terrifying to admit just how crushed I’d be if this ends.”

She’s trying and failing to bite back a smile. “Good to know. I don’t want this to end either. As usual, you’re adorable. And your vulnerability means a lot to me. It makes me feel safer to be open with you. But I actually said all that for a different reason.”

Oh.

“Rae and I were talking today,” she continues. “And she mentioned Aaron having surgery, and then the huge impact baseball had on his life, and the rest of the guys too—includingyou. She didn’t tell me anything more, but she alluded to something happening with baseball for you. Anyway, you don’t have to tell me about any of it right now if you don’t want to, but it’s important to me that you know I’m here if you do.”

Fuuuuck.

That’s so not where I saw this conversation going.

“Like I said, you don’t have to talk about it,” she says, when I don’t answer.

“No, I… I’m ready to talk about it. Ready for you to know. Part of me wanted to tell you sooner. It was actually hard not telling you about baseball sometimes, but…” I blow out a breath.

“It’s okay,” she says gently, but I shake my head.

“The only reason I didn’t tell you sooner—well, I guess there are kind of two reasons, but they go together—is that I liked getting to know you without you knowing about that part of me. Baseball has always been a part of my life—a big part—but lately it’s been a sad part too, and it’s been something I’ve struggled with. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago when I played with the guys that I felt okay about it again. And I realize I’m telling you all this backward.”

“You can tell me in whatever order you want.” Her voice is gentle and encouraging.

“My dad is why I love baseball. He instilled that love in me. It was something we did together and shared. Like every little kid who loved a sport, I dreamed of going pro, but for a while thought it was a pipe dream. But I had a great coach in high school, and I was recruited by a couple of schools, but Syracuse was by far the biggest. I still wasn’t sure where it would lead me, but my coach there saw something in me, and he was working with me to get me on track for the draft this year. Until winter break last year when I went snowboarding with my best friend Nick, bounced off a few trees, and ended my baseball career—at least as a player.”

She sets her mug down and moves closer. “Oh my gosh. Wow. That must’ve been terrifying. And awful. I’m so sorry.”

“It was.”

She rests her hand over mine, lazily running her finger in circles over the top.

“Anyway, it sucked, and I had a long recovery. You should probably know that I still struggle physically sometimes. If I do too much, I end up in a lot of pain, particularly in my leg, hip, and lower back. Which is why I can’t play at any serious level anymore. It’s been hard feeling like I left the game behind, and maybe a piece of my dad too. But then I spent a few hours playing with the guys at the stadium, and it made a big difference for me. I realized I haven’t lost it. I’m just gaining a new perspective as I transition to more of a coaching and behind-the-scenes role.”

There’s intensity in her gaze as she looks at me. “I’m glad you found another way to hold on to it. I admit, I don’t fully understand that kind of connection. I loved volleyball, but not at that level.”

“I’m sure there’s something similar for you. Like your family’s campground. If you could never go there again, it would suck, right?”

She takes a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s part of me—like going home.”

“That’s exactly how I feel about baseball. But knowing I can still honor that without playing has helped me.”

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