Third Base (The Boys of Summer 1)

“All you had to do was be honest with me. All you had to do was give me a chance with the truth, but you didn’t.”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

I shake my head and start walking up my stairs. “Not my problem, Daisy. I don’t care what the fuck you do as long as you don’t do it around me.”

“I gave you everything,” she says, climbing the steps next to me. “You took everything away from me.” Under the porch light I can see her red eyes, letting me know she’s crying even though any tears she has are mixing with the rain.

I let her words sink in, allowing the rage to build. “Are you talking about your virginity?”

When she doesn’t answer I feel the rage burning deeper in the pit of my stomach. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You freely gave yourself to me so don’t act like I forced you into anything. Go home, Daisy.” I don’t give her a chance to respond before unlocking the door and stepping into my house. I slam it once I’m inside, locking it behind me. She stands on my porch, her shadow visible through the glass.

How could she ruin everything like that?

My lamp is the first thing to go. It flies through the air, slamming against the wall. The light bulb pops and breaks into a million pieces.

There’s a knock on my door. It’s her. Her dark figure looms on my porch. Unwilling to give up even though there is nothing left. I ignore her and walk into the kitchen, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a bottle of tequila.

The liquid burns as it travels down my throat. I stand there, drinking, until half the bottle is gone. With the lack of food in my system it doesn’t take any time for the alcohol to start working. My eyes blur, but that doesn’t limit me from throwing the bottle toward my front door. I hope she’s still standing there.

I hope she’s still there…

It’s been four weeks since shit went down with Daisy and I’m still not over it. I’m obsessed with everything she does and troll the web waiting for her to upload a new blog post. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but it’s something. She tried to call me once. Just once and gave up. Not that I blame her, she should give up. What she did was wrong on so many levels, not to mention the pain she’s caused me for no reason. She should’ve come clean the first time we went to dinner. Thinking back to that night, she freaking tweeted about me being with someone while we were together. I even tweeted her back. Who does this type of shit to people?

The All-Star game is tomorrow. I shouldn’t be going. I should’ve been replaced by now, but I’m a fan favorite so I’m packing my bags so I can get to the airport and fly to Cincinnati. Daisy and John are supposed to be there, along with my parents. We were supposed to have some time for all of us to spend together, but that is not going to happen.

I’m not that much of a dick to take this away from him. If it were just her, I would’ve canceled the trip, but John hasn’t done anything wrong and he deserves this. The car service will meet them at the airport when they land and take them to the hotel. They’ll be treated to an all-expenses paid trip, which is probably an experience of a lifetime for John.

I’m still cordial with him, but not Daisy. She’s been at every home game and for the first time in months I find myself looking forward to away games. Those are the nights that are easier because I don’t have to look at her or hear her voice. Those are the nights that I bat well. Those are the nights that I sleep longer than a few hours without getting up to check my Twitter app to see what she’s said, or to read her stupid blog. I hate that I actually want to read what she has to say. She’s yet to mention me, or the two of us breaking up.

Home games suck.

Homes games mean I have to see her because my eyes betray my wishes and seek her out against my will. My brain, however, can’t stand her. Those two vital organs are not communicating and it’s pissing me off. I won’t even talk about my heart because it’s so fucked up it’s not even functioning correctly. There’s a pain there that the whirlpool can’t fix and physical therapy can’t make go away.

To make matters worse, we lost to the fucking Yankees yesterday.

I finally understand why guys are so shut off with their emotions. It’s because their douche bag friends make fun of what they’re feeling. One hint of emotion and they’re asking you when your period is due. This is why guys need chick friends, even though they come with problems too. The biggest problem is usually the fact that you end up screwing each other, but that’s beside the point. The point is I need a chick friend right now and the only one I can talk to is three thousand miles away playing doctor and can’t drop her shit to tend to me. I’d never expect her to do that anyway.

The only highlight of the coming week is that my family will be with me. I’ll get to spend some quality time with my niece and she’s the one girl in my life that can make everything go away. To be a toddler right now would be heaven. I’d have no worries and everyone would love me because I’m fucking cute.

This flight is different from others. The team didn’t send us on our chartered plane so Singleton, Meyers and I flew commercial, but we made sure to fly first class. There is no way the three of us can sit together in a row of three. We all do too much man spreading. It’s odd flying without our usual flight attendants though. They already know what we like and what we drink.

Singleton is sitting next to me, beside the aisle. I’m trying not to listen to his conversation, but am forced to since I forgot my headphones. It’s not easy to zone out, even if I am seeing Daisy’s face in the clouds. I’m such an idiot for letting myself fall for her. I was better off just having one-night stands and my regular hook-ups with Sarah. Those are safe and no feelings are ever involved.

That’s exactly what Singleton is doing now. He’s trying to join the mile high club with this airline. I have no doubt he’ll get his membership wings before this flight is over and maybe that’s what I need; to adopt his carefree, I don’t give a fuck attitude. It seems to work for him most of the time.

The flight to Cincinnati is short, but walking through the airport is another challenge. I think this is why teams fly the players on commercial airlines – to build up the hype of All-Star weekend – and it’s working. There’s a massive amount of kids in baggage claim being accompanied by parents, and all carrying posters, balls, bats, hats and whatever else they’ve brought to have signed. Officials from the MLB are here to gather our belongings and take us to the hotel, but I can’t imagine we’re getting there any time soon.

News cameras shine bright lights on us as we sign the paraphernalia they brought and pose with the kids here. A lot of these guys won’t be at the game. It’s hard to get tickets and most of them are bought up by corporations. It’s annoying because the game should be about the fans and it’s not that way anymore.

The MLB reps finally step in and build a wall around the various players in the baggage terminal so we can get out of here and over to the hotel. My parents are there waiting, but I won’t see them un

til I get to the field. That’s when I’ll see Daisy too. She has a pass to every day at the park and I can’t imagine she’ll let John miss anything.

The madness at the hotel is as crazy as the airport, if not more so. People are lined up outside, snapping pictures with their cell phones and yelling out their phone numbers. I find it silly, actually, that they think we’re going to randomly remember a ten-digit number and dial it later. I know it’s done for attention but there are other ways you can become a slump buster if that’s your goal.

As soon as I step into the hotel, I immediately feel the void from Daisy not being with me. She was supposed to meet me here, and as I see all the other wives and girlfriends of the players in town, it makes me question myself on how I got so deep so fast. She’s just another girl – that’s what I keep telling myself, at least – just another girl who can be easily replaced.

I’m lost in my thoughts until I hear the screeching of a three-year old calling out my name. I bend down in time to scoop my littlest BoRe fan up into my arms and she wraps hers tightly around my neck. Shea is, without a doubt, the best medicine to cure a broken heart. Her innocence and views on the world around her are so pure and light-hearted. Just don’t take away her stuffed Boar. She’ll cut you deep if you touch that.