Third Base (The Boys of Summer 1)

I look at her questioningly, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. It seems odd that she wouldn’t arrange for a night nurse knowing that I have the day off and had planned for us to spend the day together. Is it because I didn’t ask about the night too? I can see the worry on her face, so there’s no point is making a big deal about it.

Once I get turned around and off the driveway, I’m driving faster than I should, but the thought of John being home alone without care worries me. It’s not like Daisy to forget and that worries me too. As soon as we hit the Interstate, I take her hand in mine. I need to touch her, especially when she’s this close.

“Your grandpa will be fine,” I tell her, trying to calm her nerves. She seems agitated, and that’s the last thing I want. I push the speed limit and weave in and out of traffic, watching my mirrors for the blue lights that could be riding my tail.

The moment we’re exiting, her leg starts to bounce. “We’re almost there, babe.”

“I know, thank you.”

She knows she doesn’t have to thank me; I’d do anything for her and her grandfather. Luck is on our side and we hit every green light possible and there’s very little traffic. Her seatbelt is off before I pull up along the street.

“Thanks for today,” she says as she places a peck on my cheek and is out the door before I know what’s happening. She runs through the rain, to the entrance and punches in her code before disappearing behind the door. She didn’t even look back and wave or anything. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll even see her later.

Driving the streets to my house, I’m trying to figure out how everything changed so fast. One minute we’re freaking out together about the noises outside and then she’s in full panic mode about her grandfather. What strikes me as odd is that she didn’t even call him. She could’ve called once we were on the road to make sure he’s okay and we wouldn’t have had to rush home. We could’ve even stopped to pick him up some dinner and watch a game together.

As soon as I pull up outside my house, I decide to call her. I need to make sure she’s okay, as well as her grandpa. Daisy’s phone rings… in my car. Her screen is glowing, the phone peeking out from under the seat. I hang up and reach down to pick it up.

Every sound around me stills.

All the blood rushes from my face.

My mouth goes dry.

My hand shakes as I hold her phone in my hand. It’s locked, but her notifications are lighting up her screen like the fourth of July.

I swallow hard and close my eyes, praying that when I open them again what I’m looking at won’t be what I think it is. Only it is. Tweet after tweet directed at @BoReRenBlog. As I try to read one, another one comes in and then another. These are tweets to her from other people. I may not be the smartest when it comes to Twitter, but I know what the notifications mean.

Everything I thought I knew about Daisy is a lie.

Everything that I hate about this blog, every complaint that I’ve made has all been for nothing because she’s the fucking blogger.

I slam my hand against my steering wheel repeatedly and bite the inside of my cheek hard. I will not cry over this dumb bitch. Pushing my shoulder against the car door, I step out into the rain. The weather is fucking perfect for my mood and I can only hope it continues to rain so I don’t have to leave my house tomorrow, because I plan to get fucking wasted tonight.

“Ethan,” she calls my name out over the rain. I turn slowly to see the girl who I professed my love to standing a few feet away, soaking wet. I look down at my hand, her phone still there and the notifications still coming in.

“I think you lost this.” I toss her phone at her, wanting to keep my distance.

“Let me explain.” She steps forward, her chest is heaving and she brushes her wet hair out of her face.

I shake my head. “I’m not sure there’s anything you can say that’s going to change things right now.”

“Yes there is,” she says, stepping closer. I put my hand out, letting her know I want her to stay back. The resolve on my temper is teetering and I can feel myself about to explode. I feel sorry for anything in my house because it’s about to be damaged. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I never thought we’d meet or even hit it off. The blog is a job from my sports journalism professor. You made it easy, at first, with the things you were doing. Once we started dating, I didn’t know what to do. I need the job, but I need you too.”

“You knew how I felt about the blog and you used me anyway. The first time we stopped talking you should’ve come clean. You should’ve fucking told me who the hell you are!” I growl in anger and frustration.

“I didn’t –”

“You didn’t what? Want to have to write about how you deceived me in your fucked up blog?” I tug at the ends of my hair to ke

ep from hitting something. I’m trying not to yell because the last thing I want to do is draw attention from the neighbors. I’m actually thankful it’s raining right now. The rain drowns out our voices and is keeping people inside.

I feel bile rising when I look at her. She stands there, a shell of the girl I thought I knew. It breaks me to think she used me to gain knowledge of my teammates, my friends. I try to recall any time I gave her any information. I can’t, but I let her into the clubhouse.

“I don’t know what you want from me? Do you finally want your quote? Post this: The Boston Renegades third baseman told me to go to hell.”

I instantly regret the words, but refuse to take them back. I look at her and feel nothing but hatred. “Go back to your apartment and write about how many times I adjust my cup and how Bainbridge’s marriage is falling apart. Go write about how fucking well I treated you, only for you to lie to my face day in and day out.”

“You have no right!” she yells. “This is my job and I need it!”