Grand Slam (The Boys of Summer 3)

“I represent Lucy Blackwell in her bid to terminate your parental rights.”

“Excuse me?” Elijah says. Irvin hands an envelope to Elijah, who doesn’t even reach for it, but the man behind him does. “She’s seven. She has no rights.”

“She’s five, almost six. And you would know that if you were truly a father to her,” Irvin points out. “And she has every right.” Irvin takes my arm and guides me into the school and down the hall toward Lucy’s classroom.

“What’s going on?” I ask, stopping before we reach her classroom.

“It’s simple. A few days ago, I received a call from Lucy asking if she could divorce Elijah.”

“A divorce?” I stand there, shaking my head. “Where did she hear something like this?”

Irvin smiles. “She’s resourceful. She told me that she had watched a movie at her grandmother’s about a little girl who divorces her parents, and she wanted to do that. When I asked her to explain, she said that Elijah is trying to take her away, and she doesn’t want him to.”

“Oh…how’d she get your number?”

“You know, I didn’t ask. I figured you had it written down or she went through one of your phones.”

I nod, pretending to understand, and make a mental note to lock our phones. There are things on there that no one needs to see.

“So now what?” I ask as we start walking toward the classroom. When we get to the doorway and look in, Travis is sitting in one of the beanbag chairs with Lucy in his arms, and they’re reading to each other.

“Now we wait. It’s tough because she is five and a judge could say that you sway her. However, her claims will be taken seriously.”

Both Lucy and Travis look up when they hear us talking. Their smiles instantly lighten the gloom I was feeling.

“Look at him,” Irvin says. “How can anyone say he’s not good for her?”

I shake my head, wondering the same thing. It’s hard to think that I almost kept him from her.

Thirty-Nine

Travis

My housekeeper scurries to help Lucy pick up the remaining toys from the living room while the camera crew finishes installing their lighting system. Today, I will finally sit down with Paul Boyd and talk about what happened in December. I wish I could say this has been a long time coming, but the truth is, we’re only a month and a half removed from the day I was cleared of all charges.

And still to this day, I’m holding fast to the idea that I’m going to retire. Each night, I lie in bed with Saylor asleep on my chest, wondering if I’m making the right decision. I don’t know if there will ever be an answer, but I pray that I’m not making a mistake.

The public opinion poll on me is still divided. Some feel that I need to be removed from the Renegades, that the organization didn’t take action when they needed to, while some can’t wait for the season to start and are expecting me to take my spot in left field. Saylor, and those who are around me, want me to stay and play, and honestly, part of me does, too. But I’m not sure my ego can take the brutality that the fans can dish out. And I don’t want Lucy to hear that either. The last thing she

needs to hear are people bad-mouthing me in the stands. That is something she won’t understand.

After this interview with Boyd, I only have days to decide. I’ll either be in Florida on vacation or stretching in the outfield with my teammates.

Since I’ve been cleared, only Bryce Mackenzie has apologized for his actions. The others have stayed away, and truthfully, I’m okay with that. They broke the unspoken code that we share among ourselves as a team: You always have each other’s backs. I would’ve had theirs, regardless. It makes it hard to go back to a team that can’t support you.

My biggest proponent is standing in the kitchen, going over the questions that Paul plans to ask while Lucy plays in her recently painted pink bedroom. When Saylor and I showed her my house and where her room would be, she asked if it could be pink. Apparently, she’s wanted this color for a while, but due to Saylor renting her apartment, they were unable to change the wall color. So, of course, I said yes and promptly took her to the paint store, where she picked out the most hideous shade I had ever seen. After a long debate, she finally relented and let me choose the color, as long as it was pink. I have to say that it didn’t turn out half bad.

“Wanna play dolls?” she asks after she spots me leaning against her doorjamb. She holds up one of her dolls in anticipation that I’ll join her.

“I can’t. I have to do an interview in a few minutes.”

“Oh.” Her face falls as she fiddles with the doll in her hands.

“Don’t be like that. This is work, remember?” I walk in and take a seat next to her. This is where Saylor often finds me when she comes home from work, sitting on Lucy’s floor either dressed like a princess or doing whatever Lucy wishes. I spend as much time as I can with her so she knows how important she is to me. If I do decide to go back to baseball, our time will be limited, and I don’t want her to think that I don’t care about her.

“Yeah, but I wanna play.”

“We can after,” I tell her. “It shouldn’t take very long. Besides, you have to let Mommy brush your hair so you look pretty for the camera.”