Page 4 of Making the Play

There are a couple of young, hotshot players in our club itching to take my place if I don’t come back strong. No way in hell do I want to be Wally Pipped at thirty years of age. Pipp was a Yankee and the first on his team to lead the American League in home runs, only to be replaced by Lou Gehrig for something minor, and we all know how that turned out.

So, if I have to give up some privacy to a social media manager to keep in good standing with the team, I’ll do it. Because no matter what it takes or the sacrifices I have to deal with, I’ll make sure I repair any damage to my name and remain the major league’s favorite center fielder.

*

A few hourslater I’m sitting on the hardwood floor playing sock tug-of-war with Sammy. She’s fun and terrifying at the same time. My sweet, mellow puppy has decided to show her true colors now that she’s here to stay. She’s feisty. Energetic. And she’s got sharp little teeth. I found this out when she decided to nip at my sock-covered toes until the sock slid off my foot. Victory looked damn cute so I gave her my other sock, too. She’s no match for my strength, of course, but I let her win our battles over and over again. When I glance out the floor-to-ceiling window toward the ocean, I’m surprised to see only soft glowing light. Sammy’s taken my mind off my troubles for longer than I thought.

I laugh when she tugs the sock out of my hold and falls to the side, her big paws getting in the way of her balance. She shakes the sock vigorously back and forth and looks at me like this is the best game ever and she’s eager to play all night.

Then she stops. And takes a shit.

I drop my head into my hand. The latest poop from the life of Finn Auprince?

Puppy: 1

Professional baseball player: 0

Chapter Two

#CursesLikeChickensComeHomeToRoost

Chloe

This is it.The curse has finally been broken.

I don’t even try to contain my smile as I run up the stairs to my boyfriend Leo’s apartment. Jittery excitement, the kind you feel right before riding a roller coaster or jumping into the glorious, but cold ocean, has me catching my breath when I reach the second floor. Leo’s just returned from a business trip and texted me to come right over. The original idea was he’d pick me up for dinner, but he had a change in plans, he’d written, which leads me to believe he’s got something special up his sleeve at his place.

Today is our one-year anniversary.

Twelve months of happy and the kind of contentment I thought I might never find. It’s the longest I’ve been with a guy. The longest I’ve been in love. I fought it at first, but Leo’s height, his handsome face, his sense of humor, made it impossible not to fall for him. That he fell first helped.

I run my sweaty palms down my navy polo dress. I’ve paired it with my pewter Vans. This is as spruced up as I get, my athletic style one of the things Leo loves about me. My hair is down, peach lip gloss applied, legs shaved and moisturized. If I’ve read all the signs right, tonight isn’t just a dinner date.

Given the time difference between here and London, we haven’t had much of a chance to connect while he’s been away, but before he left I got the distinct vibe he was ready to go from calling me girlfriend to calling me fiancée. The idea makes me so unbelievably relieved—and happy—that I’ve tried not to think about it too hard. I don’t want to jinx it. We haven’t talked about tying the knot specifically, though marriage is something we both want. Kids, too. Leo is amazing with his nieces and nephews. It’s another thing I love about him. He has a big family, something I really enjoy.

I pause outside his door. Since my mom passed away twelve years ago, it’s been just my dad and me, thick as thieves. We’d been close before she died, but her absence strengthened our bond even more. Back then I hadn’t wanted to let Dad out of my sight, terrified he’d leave me, too, so he took me on the road with him during baseball season, homeschooling me when he wasn’t on the field to umpire. I may not be able to ramble off all the U.S. presidents’ names without an assist (history was my least favorite subject), but I can list every major league baseball team, their division, and the name of their stadium with exceptional ease.

My chest tightens. For eight months out of the year, Dad’s whole life revolves around calling balls and strikes and his recent diagnosis worries me. His being alone when I move out of the house worries me.

Of course, I’d think about that right now. We talk through any big decisions. Not that my saying yes to Leo’s proposal is up for discussion. But knowing Dad likes Leo makes this a moment I can act on with confidence.

Normally, I’d let myself in to Leo’s, but not this time. I don’t want to ruin the surprise. I knock twice, in time to the quick beating of my heart.

Leo opens the door wide, his height filling the space. “Hi, Chloe. Thanks for coming over.”

Chloe.Not babe. Or baby, as he is apt to call me. Especially after his business trips. His tone is also flat, dutiful, not at all cheerful. A funny feeling invades my stomach because more things are noticeably absent: a kiss, a lifting off my feet, a God-I-missed-you smile. I take a step back. This is not what I’d envisioned for the past hour. This is all wrong.

“Hi,” I say automatically. Robotically. Some sixth sense tells me to stay cool and distant. To not grab him and kiss away the sickening vibe he’s carrying. This is just some weird form of jetlag. But then my gaze snags on a flash of color behind him. He isn’t alone.

“Chloe.” My name has never sounded so hurtful.

Our eyes meet again, and this time I notice my boyfriend isn’t happy to see me. He’s shamefaced.

“Please come in.”

I can’t. I physically can’t. My feet are stuck. If I step over the threshold, my world as I know it will change, and I don’t want it to change. Not. Again.

Leo takes my hand. He brings me inside. He closes the door. A beautiful girl with dark hair and dark eyes, dressed like she stepped out of a fashion magazine, stands up from the couch.

---