Chapter 28

[Ross]

Not friends -friends, not the type with benefits .

Is that what she said? Why did she say that? I'd like to think we're something more. Special friends? That sounds lame. I don't know how to define our status. Strange? Weird? Strangely, weirdly serendipitous?

I mean, what are the odds that this woman keeps coming into my life and then the Anchors win. Although, being with her doesn't account for every win. And certainly, the way the team plays has more impact on the outcome of the game, but still, I'm more energized, clearly focused, and at ease knowing Vee is there for me.

She's my win.

And continual questions bombard me as I pace my hotel room in the few minutes I have between finishing my breakfast and heading to the field.

It sounded like Harley was enjoying himself whereas I can hardly get him to give me the time of day. I'm jealous my kid is having pancakes with my . . . friend who is a friend without benefits. But I'm also envious of Vee. She's spending time with my boy and making him happy. It should be me.

Am I being selfish with Vee? Do we need to clarify who we are to one another, or does friend encompass our situation? After the other night, plus our time back in Arizona, I'd like to think we are more than such a simple term.

I miss spending time with Vee. When we first reconnected, we talked and shared meals and wine, and spent a day together. I want more of that with her.

Dammit, why hasn't she called me?

My concern is doubled because I don't know what Harley is saying to Vee. He's a great kid. Smart, big-hearted, and talented, but he hasn't always been my easiest child. He wears his heart on his sleeve which means I am aware of how much he resents baseball and all he believes the sport has taken from him.

Most of all I hate when I tell him I love him, and he replies, yeah, you, too . Like he can't say the actual phrase back to me. It's a testament to how much I've failed as a father, especially since Patty passed away.

A knuckle rap on my door warns me Kip is ready. I hastily grab my bag off the bed and open the door with a little more gusto than necessary.

"Hey. Ready?" he asks, despite seeing my bag in my hand.

"Yep." I snap.

Kip staggers backward and blinks once. "Whoa. Easy, Coach." He raises his hand as if to hold me back.

As the hotel door closes behind me, I start down the hall.

Kip rushes to keep up with me. "Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?"

"Do people even eat Wheaties anymore?" I ask, like it's actually an important question.

"Ross?" Kip questions, as if sensing my mood.

"It's nothing," I brush him off, pushing the down button between the bank of elevators. "I spoke to Harley this morning." And I haven't spoken to Vee yet.

"Kid still giving you trouble?" Kip chuckles, knowing Harley is a good kid, and by trouble standards, I could have it a million times worse than I do. Still, my son and I are disconnected in a way I can't seem to bridge. When Patty died, Rena filled the gap, but she wasn't his mother. She's his aunt. He missed his mom and maybe he even missed me as I was too wrapped up in my own grief and tossing balls to be present like my son needed.

However, Landon doesn't seem to hold the same resentments toward me as Harley.

Two kids. One household. Yet totally individual experiences and unique personalities.

When Harley decided he wanted to go to DePaul, I took it as a sign for myself. While I'm a native of Philadelphia, Chicago had been our home for eight great years. I wanted to come back to a city with fond memories, even if a few of them were also heartbreaking.

"He's . . . just Harley." I sigh.

Kip nods like he understands. He raised kids. He knows the trials and tribulations of being a dad on the road.

Kip claps my shoulder as the elevator doors open and we step inside. Lately, every elevator ride reminds me of Vee and how we met. How I was lost in my own head at the devastating championship game, and I hadn't noticed her in the corner at first. How she was awkward, doing a little bounce with her legs crossed. How she rushed off once our elevator ride resumed and we were released from the lift.

If that elevator hadn't stalled, I might have missed out on a chance with Vee. Happenstance .

"What?" Kip asks, and I glance over at him.

"What what ?"

"You just chuckled to yourself."

"I—" I clamp my mouth shut, not wanting to share the finer details of how I met Vee. Kip simply knows I met her on the night the Flash lost, and we slept together, nothing more.

"You're thinking of her, aren't you?" Kip interjects.

"Got something to say to me about her?" I arch a brow, needlessly defensive when Kip's question was innocent enough. I think he's getting a kick out of watching me struggle with my own emotions and grapple with wanting a relationship with Vee that involves more than a sleeping commitment.

"No issue," he laughs. "Just enjoying the unflappable Ross Davis flapping. What I'd really like to know, though, is if the superstition factor is out of the equation?"

I sigh and tug my cap off my head, then lower it back down. "Yeah, the superstition is gone." Even if having Vee back in my life has brought on a few wins.

The elevator stops, and we exit the lift for the lobby while Kip continues.

"What a story. Superstition whisperer to—"

I stop quick and spin on my friend and former mentor. "She's more than that, okay?" My anger toward him is unwarranted but I'm feeling sensitive about Vee's status with me. "She's—" A friend but not a friend -friend, like with benefits .

"Fuck," I swipe my ball cap off my head again, scratch my scalp and replace the cap. "I'm not certain what she is but I care about her and I'm not going to let her sound less-than when I want her to be more."

"Okay." Kip's eyes widened, as if startled by my outburst. He lifts a hand to ward off my irritation and watches me, his green eyes nearly laughing when he says, "You're really falling for her, aren't you?"

Falling? The term is more like I fell. I didn't see this coming, but somewhere along the way, I tripped, and there was Vee. Sweet, kind, beautiful Vee.

My phone rings and with a quick glance at the caller ID, I'm stepping away from Kip without answering his question.

"Vee?" I exhale, as if I've been waiting for her call, which I have.

"Hey, Coach. You okay? You sound a little winded."

"Why didn't you call me?"

Silence fills the line a second and I take a deep breath, realizing my tone was too sharp.

"Well, I had this amazing breakfast date with a young man who told me all your secrets."

Fuck! "What did he say?" Again, my tone is sharp.

"What should he have not said?" Vee counters before she laughs. "Relax, all your secrets are safe with you . And the ones you shared with me are still safe with me."

I exhale and hang my head.

"But now I really am concerned. Is there something you should probably tell me, Ross?" Vee's voice is a bit more direct and serious.

"No. No, it's nothing. It's just . . ." I glance over my shoulder, noticing the team trickling out to our transport to the field. "Harley is a good kid. The best. But he doesn't think the best of me, and I don't want him to skew your impression of me."

"And what impression would that be? "

"That I'm an okay man, but a shitty dad."

"Ross." Vee sighs. "You aren't a shitty dad. You raised a polite young man who has the gift of gab but didn't spill anything dark. And can pack away some chocolate chip pancakes."

That's my Harley.

"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly do the raising. Patty did." The mention of my late wife feels like a dart hitting a board off center and silence drops through the phone between Vee and me. I really need to go but I don't want to end our call on this note. I've been wanting to talk to her all morning as we didn't get a chance to chat last night, and I was hoping for a recap of our talk the other night.

"Sweetheart, I hate to do this, but I've got to go." I glance back at Kip waiting on me just outside the hotel doors.

"Of course. Go, go ."

I can almost imagine her pushing me out the door, maybe smacking my ass like she did back in Arizona. I want those moments again with her.

"Vee, when I get back in town, go out with me."

"What?" she chuckles, the sound a bit strained.

"I want another date."

"Okay." Her voice lowers, the word soft.

"Three nights. Then you're mine." The warning sounds salacious but the intent is the same.

I want Vee to myself.

+ + +

The days and nights don't pass quickly enough before I'm finally at Vee's front door, picking her up for our date. I'd wanted her to stay at my place. I would have loved to arrive home and find her there instead of the big, echoing house, that felt empty and a bit lifeless. However, I understood she didn't want to overstay her welcome. She'd gotten lots of words, which was writer speak for her progress in the story .

I'd also have loved to find Harley home. He went to school only fifteen minutes from the house, and yet I rarely saw him between his schedule and mine.

"You look beautiful," I tell Vee after she opens the door in that way she does, with a swift flourish like she can't wait to see me. The motion is how I feel about her and everything in me wants to rush forward, kiss her, and suggest we skip our plans.

However, I made a promise to be somewhere important tonight, and I need to show up.

Vee blushes sweetly while stepping back to allow me into her place. I hand over the smaller bouquet of flowers I brought her tonight. In the past, flowers had often been an apology.

I'm sorry I'm late. Sorry I missed dinner. Sorry I missed parent-teacher conferences .

But tonight, a certain joy fills me at gifting Vee flowers, no apology necessary.

"These are lovely. And you look smashing." She eyes up and down my slacks and jacket.

"Fuck, Vee, don't look at me like that." I chuckle, rubbing my forefinger and thumb around my mouth, stroking over my trimmed beard.

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like you could devour me."

Her eyes widen while her cheeks turn a deeper pink. We didn't have a repeat of sexy phone time; however, we did talk about it. How I wished I'd been here to see her in my bed, getting herself off. She let it slip that taking care of herself was the only way it's happened in a long, long time. I want to rectify that situation.

Vee steps forward and presses a kiss to my cheek. "Thank you for the flowers." Her voice is soft. Her lids lower as she pulls away from me, but I'm quick to catch her face, cupping her cheeks and giving her a more solid kiss. One that messes up her perfectly applied lipstick.

"Damn, I've missed you," I whisper to her mouth, knowing I might be admitting too much .

"I've missed you, too," she replies, blinking once I let her go, before we actually do miss our scheduled plans.

"Put those in water," I demand gently, swatting at her backside when she turns around, which causes her to yelp, then giggle, as she walks down the narrow hall to her small kitchen. Her apartment is tight, in typical old-world Chicago style. Galley kitchen. Tight hallway. Square bedrooms with minimal closet space.

Once Vee returns from the kitchen, vase in hand, she sets the arrangement on the television cabinet.

"Ready?" I hold out my hand and lead her out of her place.

Once I've helped her into my truck and settled into the driver's seat, she says, "I can't believe we're going to a play."

"Why not?" I laugh, starting the ignition.

"You don't seem like a theater kind of guy."

I ease onto the narrow street, pausing at a stop sign and giving Vee a glance. "I could be offended by that comment." I know the stereotype. Jocks don't like culture. Vee's already teased herself about once being a librarian and now a writer. Book nerd and star athlete, she called us.

Us. That's the one thing I want to talk more about with Vee—defining us. Because we should clarify some things, but not yet. First, our date.

"But you won't be offended," Vee interjects, giving me a soft smile. "I'm not stereotyping you, I'm just surprised. Surprised by all of this."

"Like what?" I once told Vee there were things she'd be surprised to learn about me, but maybe I meant it more about myself. Because I'm surprising myself lately with all I'm doing and saying, becoming a new version of myself. A version I'm enjoying.

"An actual date."

"We went on one before." Our trip to the Hole in the Rock.

Maybe now is the time for that talk . "Look, sweetheart. This arrangement isn't just a simple arrangement anymore. If you don't want to see me again, we can stop." I almost give myself a heart attack with the suggestion, but the truth is, if Vee wants out, she can exit. "But I'd like you to stick around. I'd like to see where this is going. "

"This?" She hesitantly questions, and I catch a glimpse of her from the corner of my eye. Her wide eyes opening larger. Her teeth dig into her lower lip.

"Us." I point between us before reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze.

As I brake for a stop sign, I sneak another peek at her, watching those teeth battle a smile from growing before she scoots closer and leans toward me, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "I'd like to stick around, too." Her voice is low, a bit sultry as she lowers back to her seat. Her smile grows, causing my own to spread wider.

Damn, she's so beautiful, and the way she's looking at me, devouring doesn't cover that craving. Or maybe that's me because I yearn for her in a way I've never felt before.

Vee suddenly giggles, the sound soft and sweet, almost shy but happy, and I want to park this truck on the side of the road and kiss her senseless.

However, a honk behind us reminds me we need to keep moving on this side street.

When we pull up before our destination, Vee's brows pinch and her head swings toward me. "We're at DePaul." A question fills her voice about the college location and the university theatre.

"Yeah, this is Harley's play."

Her eyes widen. "As in your son Harley? Is in a play?"

" Rent ," I explain. "He plays Mark Cohen." I sigh. "I'm going to admit, I don't know much about this play. I think it's going to be a bit . . . morbid."

Vee pumps my hand in response. "Then we'll get through it together."

When we take our seats, she explains what she knows of the theatrical production which is about a group of friends, many HIV positive or with AIDS, in varying combinations of sexual relationships. I'm in over my head here and I'm thankful for Vee holding my hand most of the performance until the cast sings "Seasons of Love." Tears stream down Vee's face in reaction to the song about the minutes in a year, and how time should be measured by love.

Her response doesn't surprise me; Vee is sensitive. But what does shock me is my thoughts on the song. How have I measured my time? With wins and losses? By baseball seasons? By pitch counts when I was younger. By another year playing a game I love. But have I measured time correctly? Was Patty a season? My boys as children a season? Is a new season starting with them as men?

Watching Vee swipe at her cheeks, I wonder if she'll only be a season. I don't like the thought.

When the play finishes, we find Harley backstage with the passes he'd given me.

"You came." Harley rushes Vee instead of me, and they hug like old friends before he turns to me. "Dad." My name is said like he's surprised to see me. "Thank you for bringing Vee."

Vee turns toward me, her brows pinched, a question etched in her expression before she schools her face and offers Harley a warmer smile. "I wouldn't have missed it. You were amazing." She reaches for his forearm, affectionately emphasizing her compliment.

"Give your old man a hug," I gently demand, pulling Harley into me. "You did great, bud."

He claps my back before pulling away too soon. "Thanks, Dad." He looks me directly in the eyes. "Thank you for being here."

I didn't want to be anywhere else. I'm proud of my boy and it's on the tip of my tongue to remind him when someone calls his name and Harley turns his head.

He exaggeratedly waves his arm in the air before turning back to me. "I've got to go."

"Of course." Not going to lie, it stings that he is eager to rush off. I stare after him as he runs toward another young man, his arms pinwheeling at his sides before the two collide and embrace. Holding each other while tipping side to side .

Quickly, I glance back at Vee who is observing me, not watching Harley. I clear my throat. "My son has a boyfriend," I state, holding my head up high, prepared to go to battle, if necessary.

But Vee looks me directly in the eye, similar to the way Harley had, only she holds longer, more intently. "And you love him." Simple. Direct. Honest.

"Deeply." I exhale.

As an athlete, the stereotype of determination and grit comes with a perception of aggression and competition which includes diminishing those weaker or different from us. A man is a man , but that's an archaic attitude. What makes a man? Accepting all others? Being a good dad? Acting as a gentleman?

In sports, we take sexual orientation and mental health more seriously than ever before, especially with the number of former athletes coming forward about their past negative experiences.

When my son came out to me, my only response was that I love him. I had no other words. He is who he is. But I was upset because my son seemed hesitant to tell me, to open up to me, like he was afraid I wouldn't accept him, and that's the moment I knew I'd done a poor job of being his father.

"I know it's late, but do you want to grab something to eat?" I'm not ready for our night to end. With a glance back at Harley, I add, "He's busy." I make the excuse more for myself than him. I understand there are cast parties and time needed to unwind after a performance. The sensation is no different than playing a game, wanting to revel or commiserate with your friends after a win or loss. Teammates, cast members; there isn't any difference. People are people.

And as much as I want Harley to spend some after-the-performance time with me, so I can tell him how proud I am of him, maybe take him out for a celebratory dinner, I know he'd rather be with his friends.

Vee slips her hand around my bicep. "I know a great burger place nearby." Her tone expresses her understanding.

Being a parent is hard. You need to know when to hold tight and when to let go.

When we reach the burger joint, I express my gratitude. "I know you get it. Your girls are grown." I sigh, dangling a French fry from my fingertips. "Where does the time go?"

Dropping the fry onto my plate, I swipe my hands together. "I missed a lot when my boys were younger. Even more when Patty passed, and I moved on to coaching." I squint toward the window at my side as we sit in a booth across from each other. "Sometimes I worry I've missed too much."

Glancing back at Vee, she offers another compassionate smile. "It's never too late, Ross."

Patty comes to mind again. "Until it really is." Until you don't have another minute to make things right. To say what you should have said.

"My wife wanted me to quit." I lower my head, blindly staring at my nearly finished burger. "She hadn't been feeling well, maybe she knew internally something was happening. Women often have a sixth sense about things. She asked me to leave baseball for the boys." I shake my head, unable to look up, certain there will be judgement in Vee's eyes. "I didn't do it."

I was aging out of the sport but felt like I had one last year in me.

After this season . Always my excuse.

Slowly, I lift my head and glance at Vee. "Instead of honoring Patty's request, I threw myself into the game, disappearing within it, and had one of my best pitching years. The Anchors won the pennant that year."

I swallow thickly, Vee allowing me a minute. "I'd suggested I quit after she passed. Been given leave to give myself a break. But my coach knew I was struggling." I wave a hand around my ear, signaling my head. "I was messed up and needed something to focus on. The game gave me the outlet I needed. My coach was right, but I'd done wrong by my boys. They needed me and I failed them."

After the season . I promised myself if the Anchors won, I'd leave the game, and I did. Took a year off and floundered. Baseball kept me grounded. When the offer from the Flash came in, I jumped at the chance to coach and moved my boys to Philadelphia, which was another change for them.

"My son needs the stage like I need a sandy diamond-shaped lot with a grassy outfield. And while some might argue baseball is just a game how would you feel if someone told you never to write again?"

Vee sucks in air. "Like I couldn't breathe."

"So, you understand me."

Vee does get me on a level no one else ever has. Her heart is huge. She listens and she cares. And she can make me laugh. She chases away dark thoughts. Her presence casts a warm glow in my life. I want to be able to do the same for her. I want her to know she's appreciated and adored, listened to and seen.

Vee and I are silent a second before she sighs and sits up straighter. "There's no way to measure grief or guilt. Is it a minute, an hour, or a season of our lives? Does it define us, or do we define it? Is grief only about death, or is it about time? Time lost. Time never used." Vee pauses. "I think, we allow ourselves the time we need, beat ourselves up if we have to, wallow if we must, but that needs a time limit. My grandmother once said she allowed herself two weeks at the loss of my grandfather. Then she forced herself out of bed, and it was one step at a time. One minute, one hour. A season."

Vee licks her lips. "We can't live with regrets, and yet the truth is, we all do. Regret over what we said or didn't say. Regret about what we did or didn't do. Remorse is part of life, and that's what's important to remember. We need to continue living, and be thankful time is in front of us right now, in this moment, and to make a change, if you wish."

I stare at Vee as she continues. "If you want a better relationship with Harley, tell him. Or better yet, show him. He's adult enough to understand that your job is demanding but maybe he doesn't understand why you love that job, or need it, or value it. Not value it more than him, but because it's something for you, like he has the theater for him." She tilts her head. "Which, by the way, why didn't you tell me he was in a play or that we were going to his play? "

"I just wanted to surprise you." While doing something nice for my son.

"Did you bring me to the play because Harley asked for me to be there?" Her eyes cast downward when she asks.

My forehead furrows. "Absolutely not. I didn't even know he'd want you there. I asked you to go with me , not necessarily for him, if that makes sense."

"For a minute there, I just thought you'd invited me to attend for him. And this wasn't a date."

I stare at her. "This is a date," I state, maybe a bit too adamantly. Maybe not the most romantic one as it involved my kid's play, and a discussion about my deceased wife, but still a date. "And I don't want to argue with you about my son."

Vee sits up straighter. "We aren't arguing about Harley."

"I don't ever want to fight." Guilt hits me once more at how often Patty and I fought near her end. Her struggles. My helplessness.

"Fights are going to happen, Ross. It's inevitable. You'll leave the toilet seat up or your socks on the floor, and I'm going to lose hair in the shower, clogging the drain, and drape my bra over a chair. Things happen."

Her scenarios lessen the tension and stir something inside me. The situations she describes imply we have a future to fight in.

I nod at her plate. "You finished?"

She's only eaten half of her mushroom-quinoa burger which she told me was life-altering, but I'm ready for our night to progress and move away from the sorrows of my past.

Vee nods, crumbling a paper napkin and tossing it onto her plate.

"Then let's get out of this place." I reach over the table for her hand as I scoot to the edge of the booth. After dropping a few bills on the table, we step into the brisk spring night, and I inhale.

This city and the woman holding my hand are the air I need right now.

This moment is a season I intend to enjoy.