Grand Slam (The Boys of Summer 3)

The moment our train comes to a stop, we’re in the thick of the crowd trying to get off, and join the massive population of shoppers. Carolers are on one street corner, and a vendor selling roasted nuts is on the other, all while holiday music plays from the loudspeakers. This could be overwhelming for some people.

We duck into Macy’s and meander through the overly crowded aisles. People bump into us, some polite, others not so much, and finally we end up at the tail end of the mile-long line to see the man in red.

“You know, I could go up there and tell them who I am, and we’d be able to cut.”

Saylor shakes her head. “Can you just be our Travis for right now?”

A lump forms in my throat as I process what she said to me. “Our Travis.” I like that—a lot, in fact. I nod and remove my coat but leave my hat on. Some disguise is better than none when I’m out in public like this.

Saylor works to change Lucy’s shoes while I help Lucy stay upright. She gives her mom a bit of an attitude, and I find myself wanting to say something, but it’s not my place.

“When’s it my turn?” Lucy whines. She crosses her arms and huffs, clearly irritating Saylor.

“Why don’t you guys go walk around? I’ll hold our place in line,” I offer, but Saylor shakes her head.

“If Lucy wants to see Santa, she needs to wait in line with the rest of the kids.” Saylor says this while looking directly at Lucy.

“I’m thirsty,” Lucy says, but this time she’s pouting. I feel like I’m about to cave in when she bats her eyelashes, playing me like a fiddle.

“Um…”

“Don’t,” Saylor says sternly. I shut my mouth and pretend like my feelings aren’t

hurt. She crouches down in front of Lucy and straightens out her dress. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I don’t like this little ’tude you’re giving me. We can leave if you don’t want to see Santa.”

“I’m tired,” she says, whining again. Saylor nods and goes to pick Lucy up, but I stop her.

“I’ll hold her.” I hand Saylor my coat and scoop Lucy up into my arms. And much like last night, her tiny arms wrap around me as she snuggles into my neck.

“She’s probably heavy.”

I shake my head. “I could bench-press her and not break a sweat.”

It’s almost an hour before we finally reach Santa. Lucy is full of pep as she sits on his lap and tells him everything she wants. I’m mentally taking it all in so I can try to make sure at least a few of these things are delivered to her.

With a happy child between us, we decide to grab lunch. Every place at the mall has a wait, and I finally use my name to get us a table.

“You shouldn’t have done that. Other people are waiting,” Saylor points out as she places her napkin on her lap.

“I know, but I’m hungry, and I don’t like waiting.”

She rolls her eyes and I reach under the table and place my hand on her knee. My heart races, knowing that I have to tell her about the shit I read this morning, but this isn’t the right time or place to do that. I won’t be able to wait once we get back to her place either. If I make a move and tell her afterward, I’ll look like a fucking prick.

We place our order and make small talk in between helping Lucy color her kiddie sheet that happens to be a BoRe baseball player. They gave her a red and a blue crayon to fill in his uniform.

“How do you spell your name?” she asks me.

“T-r-a-v-i-s.” I say each letter slowly, while Saylor helps her write each one out.

“If you ladies would excuse me, I’m going to use the little boy’s room.”

Lucy must find this funny, because she laughs so hard that she ends up snorting, which in turn makes her laugh even harder.

A few of the men recognize me on my way to the restroom. I stop and pose for pictures and sign a few autographs. I figure I have a few minutes before my food is supposed to arrive. Guys even follow me to the bathroom to talk about spring training and the retirement of Bainbridge. It’s creepy as fuck to be taking a leak while other men are chatting about your stats and the other guys on your team. I take longer than necessary to wash my hands, hoping they’ll leave. The last thing I want is for them to follow me back to my table.

With the coast clear, I open the door and run smack into a woman, who hits the other side of the wall from the force of the impact.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I reach for her arm to help her stand up straight.