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

It hadn’t been the safest thing in the world, but it’d kept us from having our hearts ripped out of our chests when we went to check on our son and he was nowhere to be found.

We’d tried the lock on the outside doors first and quickly realized that when he was determined, he was going to find a way. And that way was climbing from the bookshelf beside the door to reach the lock at the top of the door itself.

That had been the day that the shelf had fallen with him on it, and he’d been saved from being crushed by me walking in the door moments before it fell.

From then on, we’d started locking his door.

Unlocking it, I pushed it open and grinned when I saw my son standing angrily in the middle of the floor.

That glare slid right off his face moments later when he saw me.

“Daddy!” he screeched.

I bent down and caught him before he could hit my legs and start climbing.

“Hey, Buddy Bear.” I grinned, tugging him close. “Are you being good for your mama?”

Micah wrapped his tiny little arms around my neck and squeezed.

“I luh you, Daddy.”

My throat tightened. “I love you, too, buddy.”

“Stay.”

I felt tears tickle the back of my throat.

“I can’t, Buddy Bear. But I promise we’ll do something fun the next time I have you,” I promised.

“No.” He squeezed me and cut off my air supply.

For a tiny little toddler, he had a surprising amount of strength in his arms.

“Buddy,” I hesitated.

“Ready,” Wrigley said softly.

I turned to find her standing in the doorway watching us.

“Did you change his diaper yet?” she whispered.

I shook my head. “Haven’t gotten that far.”

She smiled. “Do that and come out here.”

I did that and then went out there.

I’d left Micah in the onesie he’d been dressed in from the night before, knowing from experience that Wrigley would just go and change him since she was particular about what he wore. Oh, and the fact that I couldn’t match worth a shit.

So instead of our son going out with his shirt not matching his pants, I decided to go with expediency instead of changing him when she’d just go fix him up later.

“Teeny?”

“Is he talking about the dog or the Elf?” I whispered.

Wrigley’s lips twitched. “The Elf, I imagine. He’s started calling the dog by Oosie now, instead of Teeny.”

Everything was Teeny at one point in time. I was Teeny. Wrigley was Teeny. My grandmother was Teeny. Even the dog was Teeny.

Now, however, I was semi-glad that Teeny was now the Elf and the Elf only. It was weird to explain to people why my son called me Teeny instead of Daddy.

I put Micah down and let him look for his stupid Elf.

And, since she’d hid it so obviously, Micah found it in a matter of moments.

I started to laugh.

“You have it eating turkey?” I asked.

“That was why the dog ate the other Elf’s face. The turkey had attracted her to it. She made herself a midnight snack, apparently.” Wrigley sighed.

I started to chuckle.

“It’s not funny, dammit,” she muttered darkly.

Micah immediately picked up the Elf and started to chew on her hair.

“Aren’t they not supposed to touch the Elf or it loses its magic?” I questioned, looking at the Elf who was now starting to resemble recently getting out of the shower elfette, and not clean and dry elfette.

Wrigley shrugged. “I tried to do it the right way last year, you remember. And I know you know how that turned out.”

I snorted.

I had.

Micah had done quite shitty at the leaving the Elf alone thing, but she managed to hide the thing in places that Micah couldn’t actually reach. Apparently, that wasn’t a thing any longer.

“Well,” I sighed. “I guess I’ll go.”

I didn’t want to go.

I wanted to stay exactly where I was.

Yet I knew that I couldn’t stay very long. My heart couldn’t take it.

I was still just as in love with her now as I was when I met her. It’d been a long, hellish eight months, and I fucking hated what my life had become.

“Do you…do you want to stay for breakfast?”

I shouldn’t.

I knew I shouldn’t.

Yet, I couldn’t seem to stop the words from tumbling free of my lips.

“You know I can’t have anything with excessive amounts of sugar or fat,” I informed her.

She rolled her eyes. “I know you, G. I also know that you can’t have sweets or bacon. I was present during our marriage.”

“Were you?”

The words tumbled out before I could stop myself, and I immediately winced.

Wrigley turned and her eyes were guarded.

“Yes, I was present,” she said softly.

“I’m gonna go,” I murmured.

Then I turned to leave because if I didn’t, I’d say something I didn’t mean.

Something similar to what I said to her at the end of our marriage.

“You’re giving up on us. Maybe I never really meant anything to you at all.”