Third Base (The Boys of Summer 1)

My mom squeezes into my side, knowing I’m not going to put Shea down until I have to and then barely steps away so I can hug my dad.

“Where’s Shana?”

“On the phone with Mike,” my mom says with a slight sigh. Red flags go up instantly and I make a note to ask her about it later. Mike has been gone an awfully long time and it’s not like he’s Special Forces so I’m not sure why he hasn’t come home yet.

“Unc, you play today?”

“I do. Shall we go to the ball park?”

“I ready, see,” she says, pointing to her BoRe shirt and hat. In true Shea fashion, she is decked out from head to toe in BoRe gear, including her socks.

“We’re going to meet you there,” Mom says, as she kisses me on the cheek and reaches for Shea. “We are going to do a little sightseeing before everything starts tonight and give you some time to spend with your girlfriend.” I don’t correct her, even though I know I should. This isn’t the time, and definitely not the place, considering reporters are lurking around.

I reluctantly hand Shea over and tell my parents I’ll see them later as I make my way to my room. And since I don’t care to run into my ex-girlfriend, I catch the first player shuttle available to the park; at least there I can hide.

The lights are on at the Great American Ball Park and the sea of red is all around. It’s a good thing it’s a color I like. The comradery is what makes this event fun and while we’re trying to win, we’re also easily impressed with how far the long ball can be hit.

I have no chance of winning, not with the likes of Albert Pujols in the line-up. The man is a freaking monster despite his age. I’ve heard a few of the wives refer to him as fine wine, although I’m pretty sure they’re not talking about his batting average. Singleton has a chance to win though, and I’d like to make it to the second round if possible.

Families are all sitting in the same section. It’s funny to watch the mothers of rival teams chat like they’re old pals from a knitting club. Tomorrow it will be American League vs National League – the line will be drawn in the sand. The winning league will have a home field advantage when it comes to the World Series. For the longest time the AL dominated the All-Star game, until recently when the NL started making a comeback.

Spotting my parents is easy because Shea is standing on my dad’s legs cheering and likely blocking the people behind them. I tried to get them front row seats, but I’m still a “nobody” and destined to stay that way unless I get my batting average under control. The only thing going for me right now is my defense. Don’t hit the ball my way if you’re planning on making it to first, because chances are it won’t happen.

Noticeably absent from their seats are Daisy and John. I’m trying not to let it piss me off but it does. I went out of my way to pay for their trip and she hasn’t even bothered to bring him. This is his one opportunity to see an All-Star game and she’s making him watch it from home.

It’s a good thing I left my phone in the clubhouse because right now I’d tweet her, not text, and ask her why she bailed like this. This week was about her grandfather, not us. If I was willing to put everything aside to make sure he had a good time, so should she. Hell, I’m not even the one who lied and built a mountain of deception. That’s all her. I’m just the one that doesn’t want to put up with her bullshit drama.

The second I have my bags I’m hailing a cab. Everything about this past month, and more importantly these past two days, has been complete bullshit. Daisy and John never showed up. They never checked into the hotel, used their airline tickets and certainly never claimed their seats next to my parents. You would think that I’ve at least earned a fucking phone call regarding the matter at hand, but no. It’s been radio silence from the blogger who is hell bent on being a bitch to me.

My leg bounces in the backseat of the cab while the driver prattles on about my stats and the All-Star game where I played two of the worst innings of my life. I was a fucking joke, sitting there wondering why the fuck I give a shit about this woman who clearly wants nothing to do with me. When I found out whom she was, I should’ve written her off instead of making sure she and her grandfather still had the things that I promised them.

I think that’s what pisses me off the most. I don’t want to look like the fucking bad guy here when that shouldn’t be the case. I would never take back something I’ve already offered, especially a gift like this. She is to blame, not me. John is dependent upon her and would’ve been there if he’d been given the choice.

The cabbie stops in front of her apartment and I throw a couple of twenties toward him. In hindsight, I should’ve gone home to drop my shit off but with my attitude being what it is right now, driving would not be in my best interest. The way Boston traffic is at this time of day, I’d likely have a major case of road rage and that wouldn’t be pretty.

I press Daisy’s buzzer and wait for her or John to answer. There’s a good chance she’s not here, but John should be home. I wait five, maybe ten seconds and press again before stepping back and looking up to the third floor to see if anyone is up there, even though she doesn’t have a window facing the street. The front door opens when a group of kids come out and I use this to my advantage and walk in. Even though I know the elevator is working, I take the steps – two at a time – until I reach her floor. The hall is quiet, which means that if I start pounding on her door, her neighbors will hear.

“Daisy?” I knock quietly and call out her name. I hear faint footsteps, but no there’s no sound of the television coming from her apartment. I can’t imagine John is out with one of his nurses, but who knows? Apparently I’ve been kept in the dark about a lot of stuff so that wouldn’t surprise me.

The deadbolts click and the door is opened as far as the chain will allow it. Daisy doesn’t look at me, instead keeping her eyes to the ground.

“Want to explain yourself?” I ask, my tone harsh and demanding.

Her head moves slowly, until her red-rimmed eyes are steady on mine. She’s been crying and for the life of me I can’t imagine why. It’s not like she was betrayed like I was.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it –”

“You’re sorry?” I cut her off, finding it hard to believe anything that comes out of her mouth. For all I know, when she heard the buzzer, she probably thought it was me and started cutting an onion.

“Hey, Robinson, three days,” a stout lady says as she walks by and yells at Daisy. I watch her walk to another apartment and yell the same thing before taking the stairs to the next floor. When I look back at Daisy, she has fresh tears streaming down her face.

“What is she talking about?”

“It’s nothing. What do you want?” she tries to act tough, but her voice is weak and doesn’t scare me.

“Well for starters I want to know where the hell you’ve been and what that lady is talking about.”

Daisy tries to crack a smile, but to no avail.