13. Ryan

Chapter thirteen

Ryan

RYAN: See? We did it for the team.

I text Alan while walking up to Gordon’s front door. It’s poker night, and the last time I had an invitation, it was because I had a small crush on Harry. Okay, a big crush. But it didn’t help that he was so flirty with everyone. I got over it. It was, after all, a crush. Nothing like what this is with Alan. Not that we’ve even talked about what this is.

ALAN: I still think we need to test the theory out a few more times to be sure. We both could have just been really on.

RYAN: We could be testing the theory out tonight.

ALAN: We don’t play tomorrow.

Shit. He’s right. We don’t play again for a week. I don’t want to wait a week.

RYAN: What if we miss a day and it like…jinxes it.

ALAN: You can’t be serious. You want to do it every day. Are you twenty?

I’m not. Not really. I mean, sure as far as superstitions go it could be bad luck to stop now that we’re on a roll, but it’s just as likely that hooking up the day before each game is also good luck, or that it had zero effect and the OG were just having a bad week. Nope. Not that one. I refuse to believe we didn’t beat them at their best.

RYAN: Are you willing to take the risk?

ALAN: How soon do you think we can leave?

I press the doorbell.

RYAN: Considering I just got here, probably no time soon.

I hit send just as Harrison opens the door.

“How many Funky Monkeys did you invite to this thing?” he calls behind him.

“Yes, backup. Get in here, Ryan,” Duckie’s voice sounds from somewhere down the hall, and I walk past Harrison into the house. Gordon’s place is huge. The hallway has nine-foot ceilings with track lights that illuminate the space in a warm blue glow down each side. Through the end, I spot the table set up for the game. Large enough for twelve, it seats the ten of us just fine, and I slide into the seat beside Duckie.

“Thank fuck you’re here. These dicks keep ganging up on me,” Duckie says, nudging my side.

Harry laughs, takes his seat opposite us, and wraps his arm around his boyfriend, Arlo. Arlo leans into him a little but then adjusts himself when he notices Harry peeking down at his cards.

“No cheating,” he warns, and Harry laughs.

Other than Arlo, Duckie, and I, the table is surrounded by Animal Control. Benny, Phillip, Gordon, Harry, Stevie, Arthur and Alan.

“So, when do you fly out?” Arlo asks, and Duckie shakes his head.

“Nope, can we please not go there tonight?” he asks.

“Why?” I ask with a smirk. Duckie hates flying, and while the thought of it doesn’t always turn his stomach, it has been known to happen.

“I’ve been going to those simulator things to try to get over the whole air sick…thing.”

“Ohh, is that where you went today?” I ask.

“Yep…but I don’t think it’s working. Actually, I think those things might be worse, because at least when I get off a real plane the feeling stops, but my stomach hasn’t stopped flipping since I sat down in the thing today.”

“You don’t think maybe the three drinks and a whole pizza you devoured when you got here might be playing more of a part in your churning stomach right now?” Gordon asks with a laugh. “Awww, little Duckie looks a bit green.”

Harrison throws a pretzel at him as Duckie makes another gagging noise beside me.

“Fuck off, Gordon. Last time I wore it,” Harrison says, pushing back in his chair. Gordon stands.

“Not on the table,” he yells suddenly, taking Duckie’s condition seriously and pointing towards the back doors, which are folded open so that his living room is completely open to the yard with a glistening pool.

Duckie gets up and heads outside.

“Not in the pool,” I yell, but he waves a hand above his head.

“I’m good. Just need air. And for you fuckers to stop talking about it. Change the subject already.”

Stevie is shuffling the cards and starts to deal them out. “So, we’re pregnant again,” he declares as the second card drops in front of me.

“Man, that’s amazing. Congratulations,” I say, and he smiles and nods, but he doesn’t look all that excited. Shit. Did I read the room wrong? He has a kid with his girlfriend, Bella. The kid is only a few months old, but still. You would think a second would be great news, wouldn’t you?

“Am I missing something? I ask.

“She’s due while we’re on tour, isn’t she?” Harry asks, and Stevie takes a long measured breath.

“Yep, right in the middle this time, so there’s no doubt I’ll miss at least some of the tour.”

The guys are apologizing, and I’m just sitting here like, what the fuck?

“Dude, you’re kidding right?” I say, and all eyes move to me.

“You’re young, you don’t get it,” Stevie says, and I scoff.

“I’m almost thirty, fuck head, and I don’t think you get it. You bloody created a whole human being, a person that didn’t exist, and you’re pissed you might miss a few games of baseball when they take their first breaths in this world. Seriously?”

The guys all stare at me with open mouths like fish, waiting for the bait to come to them.

“They won’t know if I’m not there,” he reasons, and I want to slap him, he’s so thick.

“She will. Bella will. She’ll remember forever that you put a game above bringing your child into the world. You were there for the other one, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, and his brow furrows a little. “It took forever. Bella was a trooper through it all. She didn’t even take the drugs when they offered them. And fuck, you think babies are small and they are, but they’re so big, too, like when you think about how they get out. And then they do get out and they open their eyes and look at you and it’s…surreal. Like until that moment, you would do anything for fun. I went bungee jumping in Bali a few years back, remember? Oh, and cliff diving. I swam with sharks at that theme park, too. But then this tiny baby looks at you and you love it instantly. You want to protect it, you can’t even imagine putting yourself in a dangerous position ever again, except for them. You would die for them, no…you would kill for them.”

“Dude, that’s a little dark, but yeah, see? So don’t you think you’re being a bit of a prick about this next one?”

“You’re right,” Stevie finally says, pulling out his phone. On the home screen is a picture of his girlfriend and daughter. “Fuuuuck. I messed up big with Bella.”

“How?” Gordon asks, and Stevie drops the deck on the table and covers his face with his hands.

“I got into this huge argument before I came here about how the game is important, too, and it matters to me and that she should be able to see that.”

“You fucking didn’t,” I say, trying not to laugh. But it is funny. It’s funny because it’s so fucking stupid. Like I get that this is the sport we love, but it’s a sport. It’s a game. In no universe should this game be more important than the people in our lives who matter most to us.

“Yeah, you fucked up. So how do we fix it?” I ask.

“We?” Stevie repeats, removing his hands from his face and looking around the table.

“Yeah, we,” Alan replies, and the rest of the guys agree, too.

I push back my chair and stand from the table. “I have an idea,” I say, and they stand too. “You’ve seen those flash mob things, right?”

“Yeah,” they reply.

“How about we do that tomorrow, before the flight? What’s her favorite song?”

“Some Taylor Swift love song. She plays it all the time.”

“Perfect, you find the song. Guys, let’s move this table. We’ve got rehearsing to do.”

***

I was first on the bus last year when we left for our tour and would have been first through the security checkpoint this time around, too, had it not been for the dance number we have planned to get Stevie out of the doghouse with his girlfriend. So now I’m just standing around in the open area under the clock at Savannah Hilton Head Airport. They call this space Savannah Square, and while most airports have all the food, shopping, and amenities tucked away behind the security checkpoint, in this section, there are restaurants, a Starbucks, and a few shops to spend some time in if you need to wait for a family member to arrive. The clock hanging down from the middle of the tall glass ceiling is my favorite part. It looks like an old clock I would see back home.

The restaurants and shops border the large open space, and there are two sections on either side of the room with green tiled floors and a tree in the middle of each, providing park bench seating and an area for kids to run around and burn off some energy before heading through to the security checkpoint and boarding their flights.

A couple hugs goodbye a few feet over to my right, drawing my attention. Her mascara running down her face, she squeezes him one last time, then grabs the handle of her bag and heads through to security. This is what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to be standing here while the rest of them hug their families, partners, and people. I don’t have people. Well, I do, they just aren’t here. Don’t get me wrong, moving to the States was the best decision I’ve ever made, but at times like this, I miss being just a short drive away from them. I need to get back home at some point. Granny turns ninety this year. Maybe I can get there for the big do they’re putting on for her.

I card my fingers through my still-damp hair, grateful I had time to get in a swim this morning. I try to get in a swim every day. The water has a way of washing away the nervous energy that builds inside me, and if I miss even a day or two, it’s like the noise in the world becomes too much and I start to struggle to even get out of bed. Keeping up the routine of it is key. Alan has joined me a few more times, too. He walks through the water in the shallow end, still not quite ready to put his head under the surface, but he did stay in the water while I swam a few laps, so it’s still progress.

Gordon stands beside me, his girlfriend, Niki, hugging his side.

“She looks pissed,” Gordon whispers in my ear, and I look across to see Stevie and his girlfriend, Bella, standing by a bench, her frown deepening. Their baby is only a few months old, so the fact she’s expecting again planned or not would be a lot to handle, but fuck, I would be pissed at him, too, if he made out that baseball was more important than a whole human being having been created.

“Hopefully not for long. You got the music?”

Niki lets go of Gordon and holds out a mini-speaker.

“I’ve got it. You guys really are big softies, aren’t you?”

“Romantics,” I correct, and she smirks and then moves into position, away from where we’re about to turn Savannah Square into a stage.

“She’s holding the baby,” Gordon says.

“I’ve got that covered, too,” I reply just as Neil, our umpire, walks over and asks if he can hold her. If you’re going to trust any of these guys holding your kid, it would be Neil. He’s got two of his own that he and his ex adopted. They had a scare with the youngest a year or two ago that was too much for his ex to handle, but Neil was in love with those kids the second he saw them. One day, I want that. I want a family. Seeing Neil with his kids at pregame celebrations and in the million and one photos he’ll show you the second you ask how they are doing, just proves I don’t have to wait to be a dad. But I think I want to do it when I have someone to share it with. I wonder if Alan wants kids.

The music starts, and Bella looks around for where it’s coming from. The guys are moving into position around them, trying not to be too obvious, but the way Harry is exaggerating his attempt at avoiding eye contact, he’s going to gain the attention of security if he keeps it up. We filled in the rest of the guys while we waited to get started, just so they would know to get out of the way when it was time. Stevie jumps up onto the chair behind him and spins, and Harry tosses him a microphone so he can belt out the first line. His voice isn’t anything like Taylor Swift’s, but it isn’t bad. Bella’s cheeks immediately turn red at the realization this is about her, but she can’t stop the smile from spreading across her face, either. I’ve always wanted to do this. Be a part of a flash mob, and while I totally set this up to help Stevie and Bella, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t getting a hella lot out of it, too.

Stevie steps down and takes her hand, turning her and leading her more into the open area, and we take our places behind him ready for the perfect moment, and then when he sings the Romeo part, putting in Bella’s name instead, we kick into gear, moving through the choreography we practiced last night, mostly in time with each other.

The small crowd of people in the airport gather around us, too, most with their phones out, recording us. It’s nothing new, us being recorded, but given this isn’t a Banana Ball organized dance, there is a small chance the big bosses won’t be impressed. Stevie’s singing along, tweaking the lyrics a little to fit his and Bella’s story, swapping getting out of a mess with something about loving her more than she could ever guess, and it’s the sweetest fucking thing ever.

We step and slide and spin, and Bella is shaking her head, but she’s smiling and super chuffed, and then Stevie does something we didn’t plan for. But it’s something that has been done at Swift’s concerts all over the world. He sings that line, spins her around, then drops to one knee and pulls out a shiny teal blue box. Bella’s hands cover her open mouth, tears welling in her eyes. I glance at Alan and the others, all of them as surprised as me, but we keep doing our part behind them as he opens the box, and she nods and bounces on her toes as he slips the ring on her finger and stands to kiss her.

My eyes prickle, and I try to blink away the tear that wants to fall as I finish off the choreography with the guys.

When the song stops, camera flashes go off, and the crowd that’s gathered, along with the other players, all cheer and congratulate the happy couple. I turn away.

“Here,” Alan says, suddenly by my side. I look down, and he’s handing me a tissue.

“I’m not crying,” I tell him, but the quaver in my voice betrays me, and I take it, dabbing my eye before blowing my nose.

“Sure you aren’t. But just so you know. You don’t have to hide the fact that you have a big heart, Ryan. What you did here, what you helped Stevie do, it’s changed his life, and Bella’s. That’s truly amazing.”

“I planned a dance. He did the proposing all on his own.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I ask, looking at him for the first time since he stood beside me.

“Don’t downplay how amazing this is. How amazing you are.”

I can feel my face warming, and my gaze moves to his mouth, and I want so badly to kiss him. Would he even let me if I tried? Maybe the guys will be cool with it. With us. Maybe I should just do it.

“Boys!” Harry cheers, wrapping his arms around both our shoulders and wedging himself between us. “That was epic. Great work, Funky Monkey. Now, Alan, you’re sitting next to me. I’m not risking being stuck next to Duckie.”

“Aren’t they assigned seats?” I ask, and Harrison smiles and nods towards the stewardess by the gate.

“They are, but turns out Marybeth over there is a fan, so she hooked me up.” He waves his boarding pass in my face for good measure. “Duckie will be someone else’s problem today.”

“Who’s?” Alan asks and Harry shrugs.

“I didn’t ask where he was going, just that he went. Come on, we’ve still got to get through security, and who knows how long that is going to take.”

The guys say their final farewells, and we head through to the checkpoint. When I finally step on board the plane, I pass Harrison and Alan sitting in one of the first rows in coach, and as I keep moving through the section, it looks like my row couldn’t be any further from him if I tried.

“Fucking hell,” I say under my breath when I see him. Duckie is in the seat beside mine, his face already buried in a barf bag. Alan was supposed to be beside me. We would have had the whole flight together.

“Sorry, dude, I took the aisle seat ‘cause I’ll probably have to get up a few times,” Duckie says, looking up from the bag, his face taking on a green hue.

“No worries. Is there anything I can do to help?”

He shakes his head, then gags but holds it together.

“It’s bile at this point. Not much to do but ride it out and hydrate the second I get my feet on solid ground.”

“We haven’t taken off yet. You’re on solid ground now.”

“Yeah, my stomach doesn’t think so. The thought of flying.” He gags. “You know, then the smell of the plane, too.” He gags again. “It’s just…” The third time, he can’t hold it back, and he gags, then spits into the bag in his lap.

I press the call button above my head.

“Is everything okay over here?” the stewardess asks, frowning down at Duckie.

“I think we’ll need a few more bags.”

She nods and leaves and while I hate that I missed my chance to sit next to Alan this whole flight, I’m probably the best person to be stuck beside Duckie. Once you watch your granny dump half a gallon of pig’s blood into a bowl and tell ya to get mixin’, not a lot of things gross you out. It sure smelled better than Duckie barfing beside me, but once they swap out his bag for a fresh one, the smell mostly leaves with it, and I settle back into the chair and pull out my phone. We’ll be taking off any second, so I connect to the plane’s internet and flick it to my socials. The Banana Ball page is blowing up with videos of the airport serenade proposal, and watching it over again, even with the sound turned down, I can feel my body reacting the same way it did in the moment. Stevie had no reservations, no doubt about what he was doing. He wanted to ask Bella to marry him, and he wanted the world to see it. That’s the kind of love I want.