Endgame (The Atlanta Boys)

8. Dakota

8

DAKOTA

The scorching water feels like glass pellets etching my skin, and I welcome it. Today has been a doozy.

After Callaway dropped me off, I called the only mechanic I have on speed dial and had Chevy towed to Dave's Garage. Dave was my dad’s tried-and-true mechanic for years, and he’s taken care of Chevy for me since his passing. My only option now is to wait and see how much this little problem will cost me.

My mind can’t help but drift back to Callaway.

He’s nothing like I expected.

He gives off such untouchable vibes that his openness to help and care caught me off guard. I’m not accustomed to care, care in the sense of someone helping because they want to, not because they expect something in return or out of obligation. I guess I can include care in general since I seem to be lacking actual people to take on that feeling. He was so delicate with my safety; it both pissed me off and puzzled me.

It’s evident after meeting him that he and Navy were raised by saints. Navy has shared with me snippets of her family life, and luckily for her and Cal, their home was filled with copious amounts of love and laughter.

I think she has always known without saying how my lack of family over the last year has affected my life. Happiness be damned. There’s a lot she doesn’t know. I’m careful with opening up my heart to people. Although Navy is someone I trust full-heartedly, it’s a slippery slope when sharing parts of yourself that even you don’t want to remember.

It's not that mine lacked happiness, but it had a shelf life.

It’s been short lived as an adult.

I’m currently in the season of my life when I feel equipped to acknowledge the impact of a parent and my desire to have more than a parental relationship with them.

Why do we have these discoveries so late in life? When it’s too late and tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

In the blink of an eye, my parents are gone.

Sadly, no letter of last words, no final farewell speech, just a call from my mom’s sister, Aunt Greta, crying out, “Kodi, it isn’t good. Come as fast as you can. There’s not much time.”

That was the moment my entire world shifted. I had no siblings to call or fall on, only the now broken memories stored in the back of my mind and my childhood home left in my name.

Reigning in my depressing thoughts, a tall and assertive baseball player suddenly jumps to the forefront of my mind.

I still can’t believe I only confirmed what Cal could gather about my relationship with Trevor. It’s none of his business, but I didn’t argue in the slightest about sharing with him.

His anger at my response to how Trevor viewed me was a shock. He has nothing to gain or lose by sticking up for me, but he did it anyway with no one else around to witness it.

He seems like one of the good ones.

To clarify my sex life, I’m not celibate. But since my breakup with Trevor, I’ve struggled with mentally being in the moment intimately with any man. I haven’t had many opportunities to try, but still. It’s not so much a them thing, but a me thing. I guess in this situation, though, Trevor enjoyed tearing me apart rather than actually touching and trying to please me.

I’m not pathetic enough to believe any of the hurtful words he spit in my face when we split. I have more respect for myself than that. I won’t lie, though, and say the hurtful comments he made about my appearance make me slightly self-conscious in the bedroom.

Your ass is too big. I can’t hold you any longer.

When I eat your pussy, I expect your hands on me, not your clit.

Goddamn, Kodi, you’re shaking the entire bed.

Why would you buy lingerie? Such a waste of money. All I care about is what that mouth can do, not how your thick thighs look in straps.

The list could go on and on. Trevor’s unintentional cruelty dug deep. I’m better off without him; seeing it took me a minute.

Visiting the apartment only confirmed it.

None of the men I’ve been with since have ever made me feel less than desired, but they did leave me feeling paralyzed. Zero spark. Zero drive to seek pleasure. My sex life looked a lot like a constantly looped roller coaster.

I was going through the motions for the sake of hooking up.

Maybe I have trust issues, and nothing makes me feel safe anymore. I can tell myself that, but I know it’s the farthest thing from the truth.

I can’t fool myself with the thought that a quick hookup won’t give me the closeness I’m very clearly craving. Human touch is what I miss most. I’m slightly terrified I might burst into tears in the middle of it, though.

Talk about an immediate turnoff.

It’s not that I didn’t feel anything with Trevor. We dated and even lived together throughout college, but the romance part of our relationship felt more like living in the friendzone.

After losing my parents a year ago, I see now I clung to Trevor as a safety blanket rather than handling my grief and seeing my relationship with him for what it was—non-existent and unequally matched.

I think that was the moment I noticed he almost refrained from touching me. It makes you feel infected and at fault for something that’s entirely out of your control—like what you look like, for example.

Such a shallow viewpoint in retrospect.

Maybe I do need a little quickie?

Jesus, do people my age even say that anymore?

It’s more forceful than I’d typically go for, but it might work.

At this point, I couldn’t care less about the actual sex part—I’m craving a physical and emotional connection—physical touch from someone who wants to be touching me and isn’t a doctor or Navy.

You’d think my rose vibrator would have faced a permanent death by now with the amount of action it sees.

I make a mental note to text Navy in the morning requesting a girls' night at the club. She can bring Luke for all I care; I need my wing woman .

Delta is known for having the best of both worlds: good drinks and good-looking men.

Time to try something new.

After showering quickly, I grab my comfiest sweats, tie my hair up in a messy bun, and plop down in my oversized chair with my laptop.

I’m behind on updating my galleries. That’s nothing new, but the stress is weighing heavily on me.

Truth be told, I’m behind on everything right now.

My mind is playing the role of my worst enemy, not letting me set my focus on more than one thing at a time.

The current thing consuming my thoughts is this job offer.

I’ve been a lifestyle photographer since I was twenty-five. After graduating from the University of Georgia, I felt nothing but excitement about what the future held. With my school years behind me and a degree in journalism in hand, however, the desire to work in the field I paid tens of thousands of dollars to be educated in was the last thing I wanted to do.

So I didn’t.

I picked up the dusty camera my parents gifted me for my twenty-first birthday and started shooting photos of things that brought me joy.

I came to find out that the thing that brought me the most joy was photography. My heart hurts recalling the memory of when I first knew I found my place.

My parents were always my greatest cheerleaders, and I can still remember the quietest moment witnessing how deep their love truly ran for each other.

I was on break for the summer, it was early in the morning, and the sunrise was barely casting upon the dock overlooking the lake in the backyard. Mom and Dad were usually still sleeping at that time, not having to be at work until later in the morning. I crept softly down the stairs on my way to steal one of Mom’s homemade muffins and photograph the lake. I didn’t make it that far because soft music was coming from the kitchen. My plan took a pause as I peered around the staircase corner to see what was going on.

Dad had his large teddy bear arms wrapped so carefully around Mom’s back. Her height reached his chest perfectly, and her head turned slightly as she pillowed into him. Dad’s eyes were closed as he swayed soothingly with her in his arms. It was such an intimate moment, leaving me feeling like an intruder on such a gentle and precious love act between them.

They were never ones for public affection. Instead, their love for each other was steady and quiet—a love that knew no bounds—and they chose each other daily.

I’ve always believed the private moments between lovers give the heart the comfort it craves.

Without wanting to be heard, I lifted my camera to get the perfect angled view and snapped a photo of them.

To this day, I can't gather my emotions enough to look back at it.

I know it will feel like being home, and that seems like such a foreign place now. So it sits in a metal box on its own, waiting for me to be ready one day.

Until then, I’ll photograph the love of strangers in hopes of one day someone else catching the steady moments between me and the one my heart chooses .

Part of the reason this job offer has been throwing my thoughts off-axis is because, well, it’s sports. Not that I have anything against photography for sports marketing, but it’s not been my niche. Couples, family, lifestyle—that’s my comfort zone.

I was raised in a home where evening ball games were always on. My dad’s eyes were glued to the television screen as he cheered every player on like he was in the stands full of adrenaline.

Maybe that's why I’m hesitant to accept it.

Or perhaps it’s knowing a certain pitcher I just met will be nearby, making me unable to focus on what I was hired to do.

I can’t be thinking about him. He’s off-limits. Just because he was kind enough to help me out, that wasn’t him offering me a one-way ticket to Pound Town.

If anything, my darkness likely scared him away.

But I’ll admit, he was nice to look at.

It’s for the best.

I am better off engaging with a cold white wall than attempting to be remotely close to Callaway Hayes.

On the plus side, working at the baseball fields with Navy sounds like one hell of a time. The pros and cons are unequally measured; I'm being a little bitch inside my head.

Shut it down, Dakota.

Do it for your future.

I’m having a difficult time believing I’m deserving of good things.

After everything that happened with my parents, the guilt was too much.

Something as simple as brushing my teeth felt like a task too big.

All the same, I need to work. A stable income and a steady schedule will do good for my mental health. At least, I hope so.

I can still recall the conversation with the Striker’s general manager, Jack Leggins, and the offer of a lifetime.

“Dakota Foster? This is Jack Leggins, manager of the Atlanta Striker’s Baseball League. How are you today, ma’am?”

His Southern accent is strong. I know exactly who Jack is. He’s hard to miss. He’s young, tall, and a gentleman at that. Not to mention strikingly handsome.

“This is Dakota. I’m doing great, Mr. Leggins. I won’t lie, though, and say I’m not confused about how you got my number and why you would be calling me.”

I can hear his light-hearted chuckle.

“I thought you might say that. I’ll make this short and to the point. A little birdie might have shared that you are a very talented photographer and would be perfect for the position we are looking to fill. Basically, what I’m saying is, we want to hire you.”

Little birdie?

All signs point to my meddlesome best friend who likes to screw with my plans for myself. But goodness, I love her for it.

“Um, okay. I’m not exactly looking for a job, but I’d love to hear more about it. “

“Works for me. We would like you to be the Team's Marketing Photographer. More or less, wherever they go, you go. Headshots, field shots, photographing from home and away games which means traveling, etc. We need all of the behind-the-scenes shots about the life of a Major League ballplayer, along with the professional side documented. Spring training games are quickly approaching, and we want our Striker’s brand to make a statement in order to show the team's realness, as well as the aspects of their lives that drive and motivate them to take the field every night for their fans. You will have complete creative freedom as long as appropriate. We’ve seen your portfolio, and your work is exquisite. We’d be lucky to have you. We can go into more details when you come in to sign the contract and get your stadium access badges. That is, if you’re interested.”

Jaw meet floor.

That's not what I was expecting to hear today.

I need to answer quickly since I’ve been sitting silently while he waits for my response.

“Mr. Leggins —”

He cuts in respectfully, “Please, call me Jack.”

“Jack, to be considered for this is such an honor. Words seem to be a little lost to me, but I can say I’m most definitely interested, and I’d love to meet with you.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear. Let’s meet this coming Friday at 10:00 a.m. We will get all your paperwork situated, and then you can meet the team. They will be in the middle of a practice scrimmage, so it’s perfect timing. That work for you?”

Fabulous. I’m going to be sick.

“Oh. Yes, sir. That works great. See you then, Jack.”

“Have a great day, Dakota.”

That was Saturday.

Now I might have to travel with Callaway’s team and see him every day. I’m not sure if I’m strong enough. I know I’m strong enough to avoid him, but I have an even stronger feeling he won’t let me .

It’s like the guy couldn’t take no for an answer yesterday. He wouldn’t leave me alone. It must be a Hayes thing—his sister, Navy, is tenacious too.

I’d be a fool to turn this job down, though. This is my opportunity to find a purpose for myself, despite all the hell I’ve been through this past year. Although this is a big change, especially since it’s been so long since I’ve worked for an organization, I’m excited to put my skills to good use and possibly make some friends out of it.

Lord knows I need them.

My body is no doubt headed for shock from all the surrounding testosterone.

Might be worth it.

One thing is for sure—I need a change of pace and a new challenge to break this pity funk I’m slowly dying in.

What is it they say about life? When it gives you lemons…make lemonade or a lemon drop.

Maybe this is what I need. It’ll give me something to invest myself in and hopefully subside the numbness, making me feel again.

It's time to shift my eyes to the positive.

Atlanta Strikers, here I come.