Quit Your Pitchin' (There's No Crying in Baseball 2)

Dodger found it funny that his sister and I were no longer together.

He also found it funny that I was struggling.

“Yo,” Hancock said, catching up to my long strides. “You going back to the hotel?”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You want to come out for…” He started, but I interrupted him.

“No.”

Hancock sighed. “You’re sure?”

I nodded once firmly. “Fucking positive.”

And I was. I’d rather do nothing than be reminded of what I was missing.

Watching him with his woman, Sway, who also happened to be the athletic trainer, was fucking exhausting.

It sucked having to act like seeing them together and happy wasn’t the hardest thing in the goddamn world to do.

It was gut-wrenching to see someone have what I’d lost.

And I didn’t want to see it.

Not tonight, anyway.

Not with my emotions so raw.

Not with this goddamn gaping wound in my chest that used to be filled when my wife was there.Chapter 9An entire relationship can be made or broken by having baseball in common.

-Baseballism

Wrigley

I walked into Target, Micah asleep in my arms, and wondered if I’d made the wrong decision.

Again.

Seeing George on the TV always made me want to cry.

But, since Micah wanted to see his daddy play, I couldn’t deny him.

Hence the reason why I always cried my eyes out on game days.

Which happened to be the reason I was walking into Target at nearly ten at night.

I needed wine.

Stat.

And with Target being the closest thing to the apartment, Target it was.

I pulled out a cart and came to a conclusion as I laid Micah down, making sure his little jacket was tucked close to him so it shielded his eyes from the harsh store lights.

My conclusion? At least this game wasn’t a home game. At least he was seven hundred miles away from me.

Because after the look I saw on his face after the game? Yeah, I would’ve totally gone to him.

I would’ve made a stupid mistake.

I would’ve caved.

And I couldn’t cave…could I?

I came to a sudden, bone-jarring halt next to the last end cap that signaled the beginning of the registers and stared.

“Christmas trees,” I breathed.

My living hell was now complete.

As I contemplated places to go, I hadn’t taken into consideration why I was avoiding Target in the first place.

Exhibit A was the Christmas Tree Little Debbies that filled the entire shelf from about chest high all the way down to my feet.

God. Fucking. Dammit.

They were here an entire month earlier than they’d arrived last year.

I pushed the little seat thingymajig where you placed your children in, and then grabbed three boxes.

I stared at them, knowing that once I started, it wouldn’t be enough.

So I got three more.

Then I realized that now that I knew that they were there, I had to send some home with George the next time he came to get Micah.

I grabbed three more and then tucked them close to Micah’s side.

I pursed my lips, thinking that Micah would probably want some, too.

Which also happened to be why, once I finally walked away from the end cap, I had not nine, not twelve, but eighteen boxes.

That was only thirty-six dollars.

Not too bad.

I could’ve done worse.

Then again, had Micah not been taking up the entire bottom of the buggy, I would’ve slid the buggy right up to the end cap and done a dramatic sweep of the contents of the shelf straight into my cart.

Angry with myself for getting them, I stomped to the aisle that held what I most desired—wine—and found the perfect bottle: the cheapest.

No, I didn’t have to worry about money. Not now…and not ever, thanks to George, but I also tried to not live too lavishly.

That money wasn’t mine.

It was George’s.

And George’s money did not buy happiness.

At least not for me.

I sighed and picked up another bottle—an emergency bottle—that I would use if I got too desperate—and turned the cart around.

Then I had to stop at the cooking utensils section because a cute little tumbler caught my eye. Then an avocado cutter, followed shortly by the Hearth and Home collection by Chip and Joanna Gaines.

By the time I was heading back toward the checkout, I had way more than I ever intended in my cart, and no way to carry it home.

I would have to steal the cart.

There was no other way around it.

I’d walked from the apartments since it was such a beautiful night, and in doing so took the only real way I had of carrying stuff away due to the fact that Micah wouldn’t be waking up to walk himself.

Not that I would let him.

It was dark here, and people drove like crap.

Something that George had lectured me on multiple times before.

The apartment complex I was in wasn’t one that had many children.

Not many could afford it.

Then again, I couldn’t. Not really.

But, with the divorce, George had found an apartment and informed me that he’d paid up for a full two years, giving me more than enough time to figure out whether I wanted to move back home or not.