57. Hudson

57

HUDSON

I hide in the dugout, stewing on the fact that Coach benched me at the top of the third inning, knowing after playing the first two that I wasn’t going to pull through and get my shit together.

The team figured out quickly that Ember was gone because rumors spread way too fast, especially when the entire team lives in the same building. Someone must have seen Ember leaving with her luggage and either talked to her or Coach confirming my newly soon-to-be divorced status with the team.

And I know there is commentary happening by the sportscasters because there are too many cameras pointed in my direction as I sit as far in the corner of the dugout as possible, scowling at the fence line.

They are either talking about my shit performance or my five-year contract, wondering why the hell the Smashers would sign a complete joke of a catcher after the last two innings.

Yesterday, after signing my contract, I should have been on cloud nine. Calling my friends and family to celebrate. Instead, I found myself leaning on that hope that Coach insisted I hang on to, only to be disappointed by an empty house wiped completely clean of her.

She took everything she brought with her, but left my goddamn ring, making reality hit even harder.

She didn’t sign the papers. In fact, I couldn’t even find them. I assume she took them with her, wanting to read through them to make sure I’m not screwing her over, which just pissed me off even further. Even though that’s exactly what anyone should do.

I was restless the entire day, moving between slamming things around the house to breaking down in the kitchen when something would remind me of her.

She made her decision so goddamn fast. There was no consideration of me, of us. How could I have been so invested, so enamored with her, and it was that fucking one-sided, but she cried when I was putting my heart and entire fucking soul on the table for her? At first, I thought she could change her mind, but after all this time, I still just got, “ I can’t. ”

The game is finally over, and thankfully, we won. No thanks to me.

I’m the first to storm out of the dugout and into the locker room, the polar opposite of my normal behavior, which is being the last on the field, talking the guys up as they head out of the dugout.

I just need to get the fuck out of here.

This feels eerily similar to how I felt after my injury. Lost in myself and just thinking of ways to forget. If I drank enough that night in Vegas to remember only pieces of the first night with her, I sure as hell can do that to forget everything else.

I ignore the guys patting me on the back, muttering inaudible words because they’re probably just not sure what the hell to say to me, and pop my AirPods in.

Green Day plays instantly, Good Riddance (Time of your life), and I’d like to punch karma in the face .

What was once something that got me through the toughest times of my life, is now painful fucking memories, and I’m terrified the only thing that would ever pull me out of this is her.

“Fuck!” I rip the AirPods out of my ears and kick the bottom of my locker before resting my forehead on it.

A hand rests on my shoulder, and I turn to see Callahan, giving me the saddest face in history, and I hate it.

“Hey, man.” He squints painfully at me. “It’ll be okay.”

“How?” I ask, because I’d like to know in what fucking universe it’s going to be okay if she’s not with me.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. At least he’s fucking honest.

“Want me to come by tonight? We can hang out for a bit?” I shake my head, not needing any more pity than I’m already putting on myself.

“Nah, I’m good.” I am not good.

I’m surprised Coach hasn’t called me into his office yet, but I suppose he’s giving me a bit more leeway than I deserve. I have to get my shit together.

Callahan just pats my shoulder, feeds me that tight-lipped, pathetic, sad smile, and walks off.

I finish getting dressed and walk out of the locker room. I avoid any areas with scroungy reporters, even though I know they are here to talk to me about the new contract. But I’m just not ready to talk about how excited I am to be here, to stay here, when I feel like my soul is on the other side of the country.

By an act of Congress, I’m able to get in my truck and back to the condo without being detected, and when I walk into the lobby, Arthur greets me with his same bubbly, professional smile.

At least his voice isn’t dripping with pity.

“Good evening, Mr. Byrnes. This came for you today, sir.” I glance up and my heart drops when I see him holding the manila envelope I gave to Ember yesterday.

My feet stop moving as I stand in place, staring at the envelope like a ticking time bomb. If I don’t reach out and grab it, does it really exist?

But I do, and it feels substantially heavier than it did yesterday. Like paper bricks weighing heaviest on my heart, and I would rather just burn these fucking papers and pretend they never existed.

“Thanks, Arthur,” is all I can muster as I continue to the elevator.

Getting up to the apartment feels like an eternity, because the last thing I want to do is walk into an empty home, especially after she’s wiped herself clean of it.

Maybe I should move. Everything is too fresh. Too much. And when I walk into the vast space of nothing, it still fucking smells like her.

Tropical sunset and citrus. I close my eyes and take a deep breath because pretty soon that’ll fade, adding additional torment, because as much as I want this scent every day, it’ll drive me insane to keep it.

Placing my keys and wallet on the side table, I kick off my shoes a little aggressively before padding to the kitchen. I reach in the fridge and grab a beer, probably one of many, which just adds to my pain and suffering, knowing I don’t want to lean on alcohol but need something to take the edge off.

I daydream of tossing the manila envelope off the balcony and watching the papers fly into the wind, but instead, I uncontrollably scream, “Fuck!” and throw it against the side wall.

It lands with an odd thud. It should have fluttered loosely to the ground. It landed like it holds an imbalance of weight and there’s a rock on one side.

I glare over at it, wondering if it actually might be a ticking time bomb, and walk up to it slowly, like it might be .

I squat down, picking it up, and pinch the metal tabs upright to open the flap. Sure enough, there are papers in there, but there’s something else at the bottom. I turn it upside down and hold my hand out to catch what’s sliding out.

A Big Red gum pack lands haphazardly in my palm. I shake my head as I stand up and place the envelope on the table. The gum pack is beat up, weathered on the sides, and the flap is bent in a few places.

Squinting, I flip it over once, then again, and open the flap. Mini Tic Tac Toe games align the inside flap, the ones from the flight we met on. Everything is identical to that first day we met, with the exception of three little words on the bottom right. They’re not the same three words I said to her before she left.

Hers are even better.

“I choose you.”

Smiling but confused, I flip over the gum pack again for some other hidden message. I tear out the gum pieces that are stiff as metal and stale as day old popcorn—still nothing.

Pulling out the divorce papers that I nauseously, and reluctantly, signed two days ago, with my heart beating out of my chest, I inspect her signature lines, but they remain unsigned. Instead, they now have big large red X’s over the top of them.

A chuckle pumps out of my chest, and happiness radiates every crevice of my body.

I close my eyes and tip my head back, smiling ear to ear, practically hearing those words leaving her lips.

I choose you.

“That look fits you better. So much more than that scowl you had when you walked in.”

I’m shocked and questioning my sanity.

I crane my neck around the kitchen island and take one step toward the living room.

It’s as if all the air deflates from my body as I drink her in. Standing in our home, gorgeous as ever, with a beaming smile on her face and both suitcases at her feet.

“What can I say? I only have this look when I know you’re mine.” She bites down on her bottom lip and tucks her hair behind her ear, like she does when nerves get the best of her.

“Are you mine?” I ask, rubbing the nape of my neck, pinching myself at the same time.

I can see her chest expand, like she needs air.

“Wait, I don’t mean that in some possessive, controlling way. I mean that in the ‘I love you so fucking much and I will do whatever it takes to work this out between us’ way. I want to be a part of giving you everything you dream of, not holding you back. I want?—”

“I know,” she interrupts, beyond calm.

“That’s it?” I ask, so fucking confused.

“Well, it took a few hours, a view from thirty thousand feet in the air, and one conversation with the right person, to realize the mistake I was making. It was sort of a perfect storm of epiphanies.” She smiles, that gorgeous glowing smile of hers.

“I also saw a news article, about my parents,” she tilts her head to the side, eyeing me deeper, “and somehow, I think a divine intervention by the name of Seamus Matthews had something to do with that.” Giving me a knowing look.

My eyebrows reach my forehead as I put my hands up in surrender. I open my mouth, unsure if I’m going to defend myself or deny yet.

“I don’t want to know, and I don’t care,” she adds.

My hands fall to my sides. Thank fucking god.

“I’m a little slow on the whole relationship slash love thing. So it may have taken me longer to get here, but this is my home, you are my home, and… I love you. I just didn’t know how to say it before, but I love you so much.”

“Fuck.” A smile beams out of my chest, and my legs instantly stalk over to her. I grab her, one hand cupping her face and the other gripping her waist so tightly I swear I’ll never let go.

“You’re really here?” I ask, between kissing her lips, chin, jaw, anywhere my lips lead. My eyes are squeezed painfully shut, afraid if I open them she’ll be gone.

“I’m here for as long as you’ll have me.” She tilts her head back, giving me more access to the column of her neck as I trace lips over her creamy skin.

“Forever, little red, forever. And that’s not long enough.” I pick her up as she wraps her legs around my waist. Nothing is stopping me now that she’s in my arms, back in our home, and the turn of events in the last few minutes has my mind spinning and body desperate to reclaim every part of her.

I carry her down the hallway and into our room. “I hope you slept on the plane.”