20. Troy
twenty
troy
I Haven’t Begged You For Anything
“E ye on the ball, Sam!” I yell from The Tremors’ dugout as our last batter steps onto the plate. “You got this, buddy. Just focus on the ball.” And this time, actually run to first base, instead of playing your bat like a guitar.
Our opposing team, the Eagle Wings, are up seven to six with two outs in the bottom of the sixth inning, and my boys are feeling antsy. Even the parents are leaning forward in the bleachers, mimicking the team’s nervousness. All the parents, save for one.
As if the universe knows exactly who I’m thinking about, my phone buzzes inside my pocket with another apologetic text from Sarina.
It’s been almost a month since our camping trip, and while I’ve seen her occasionally during practices or games, I haven’t really talked to her since. Not that I haven’t wanted to.
But I also wanted to give her the space she seemed to be silently asking for, especially after the almost-kiss we had that night.
The truth is, as much as I want her, I want her to want me . But I can’t rush this. I can only show her how I feel through patience and time. Just like I can’t force my arm to heal any faster, I can’t push her to trust me when she’s not ready, even if the chemistry between us palpitates like a living entity. Because if this is going to be real, she’ll need to make that decision on her own.
Rina
Hey! How are the boys doing? I feel terrible, but I’m not going to make it in time to even see the last inning. Mackenzie went home sick, and we’ve all had to take over her client list. And now my last client (tech bro who showed up thirty minutes late rolling eyes emoji) is being the biggest diva.
Any chance you can keep Rome for an extra half hour after the game? I’ll come by as soon as I’m done. I’m so sorry to ask this of you.
I quickly type a message back, knowing it’s not even a question. The woman rarely asks for help, even with her hectic work schedule. Between running the salon and the occasional out-of-town bridal events, she somehow tailored her life around Rome’s needs.
Me
You never have to apologize. I’ve got him for as long as you need. No rush. The boys aren’t doing so hot as far as the game is concerned, but that’s okay. They may not celebrate a win today, but they’ll celebrate a birthday for one of their teammates. We’ve got cake and ice cream for them.
Sam adjusts his cap, his stance signaling the Eagle Wings’ pitcher. I exchange a look with Dad before we watch the opposing team’s pitcher wind up and release the ball.
“Strike one!” the umpire calls.
The rest of the team gathers at the fence, their faces plastered to the wire, cheering on their teammate. My gaze moves over to Rome, watching intently from the dugout, his fingers crossed on both hands. He looks so much like his mom when he has that adorable serious expression on his face, like if he focuses hard enough, he’ll change fate. He played his heart out today, even managing to steal third base earlier in the game.
Two more strikes and just like that, the game is over.
The team’s disappointment is obvious in their slumped shoulders, but like the good sportsman they are, they file out around the field and shake hands with the Eagle Wings. Hands in my pockets, I watch them proudly. Losing is never easy, but there’s something beautiful about watching these kids handle it with grace.
My phone vibrates again.
Rina
Okay, just remind him not to fill up. He still has to eat dinner.
Me
Now you’re just asking for too much. smiley face emoji Don’t worry. I got it.
Rina
The last time you said you got it, we ended up lost on our hike with two hangry children who were practically ready to eat us!
Me
That was a strategic detour with the intent of showing them survival skills.
Rina
Ha! Is that what we’re calling your terrible sense of direction now? A strategic detour?
Me
I prefer to think of it as my talent for adventure. I have many talents, as you already know. Though I don’t mind giving you another glimpse of them. It has been oh so long. wink emoji
Rina
Goodbye, Troy.
I tuck my phone away with a grin, knowing that while she’s likely rolling her eyes at my message, she’s probably smiling, too. And that’s enough for me.
“Alright, let’s huddle up, everyone!” Dad calls out, urging the kids into a circle.
I find a spot next to Rome, patting his back and noting the dejected expression on his face resembles the rest of the group’s.
“Listen up,” I start, kneeling to get down to their level. “There is only one thing I want you to take out of this, and that is that sometimes the scoreboard doesn’t tell the whole story. What I saw today made me proud. I saw Sam make an almost impossible catch in the fourth inning. I saw Trevor pitch a perfect inning. And I saw Rome secure three bases!” I pause, making eye contact with each of them. “Every one of you gave it your best out there, and that’s all Coach Anderson or I will ever expect from you.”
Dad steps forward, a warm smile outstretched on his face, making the wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced. “Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. But the fact that you put everything out on that field is all you should remember. You’re all champions. And you know what champions do after a tough game?”
“What?” several voices ask in unison.
“They celebrate their teammate’s birthday with cake and ice cream!” He gestures toward the picnic tables where the parents are setting up for Tyrese’s birthday. “Now get your butts over there before it’s all gone.”
No sooner are his words out and the kids are running across the field to get to the picnic tables, cleats kicking up dust in their wake.
A minute later, I notice Rome sitting by himself on a picnic table while the other kids swarm around the table with all the treats. I place a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, bud?”
He shrugs. “Did you talk to my mom? She said she was going to be here.” His eyes look both upset and relieved behind his Mercury-themed glasses. “Not that I wanted her to see us lose . . .”
I bend so I’m at eye level with him. “She got held up at work, but she’ll be here soon enough. You know she wouldn’t have missed it otherwise. She’s come to almost all your games this season. She’s seen you win and lose, but you know what matters most to her?”
“What?”
“That you enjoyed yourself. That you did the best you could.” I squeeze his shoulder gently. “Now, how about you join everyone in singing for Tyrese? You don’t want to miss getting a slice of cake, do you?”
That pulls a smile out of him and he stalks off to join the rest of the crowd.
The sun is ready to set on this unusually warm November day, painting the sky with dark yellows and oranges. Several bees buzz around the fruit bowl, drawn to the sweet scent, while a couple of parents use flyers to wave them away without much luck.
The kids all huddle around their teammate, and I watch as Rome finds a spot near the fruit bowl, next to Sam. Thankfully, the disappointment from the game is already fading from their faces. The kids sing happy birthday to Tyrese before one of them reminds him to make a wish as he leans in to blow out his candle.
And that’s when I hear a sharp yelp of pain from Rome. At first I think maybe Sam accidentally stepped on his foot, but then I see Rome swat at his arm, his face turning red and contorting with discomfort.
“You okay, Rome?” I call out, already making my way toward him, watching the other kids disperse with fear stricken faces.
“Something bit me!” Rome groans, rubbing a spot below his elbow. “It hurts!”
I kneel next to him, taking hold of his arm gently to inspect what I suspect is a bee sting. But the swelling is worse than I expected. “Did you see what got you?”
Rome shakes his head, and that’s when I notice the flush previously over his skin seems to be blanching. His breathing sounds different, too—shallow and strained.
“I . . . I don’t feel so good, Troy.” His voice sounds raspy when he brings his free hand up to his throat. “I can’t . . . breathe.”
My hackles rise, every parental instinct telling me something is very wrong. This is definitely not a normal reaction to a bee sting. Several gasps erupt around me, and I hear someone ask if anyone has an EPI pen.
I scan the crowd, hoping someone says yes, but when they all come up empty, I launch into action. If Rome had any allergies, Sarina would have indicated that on his forms, so I don’t waste time asking Rome if he has anything in his bag.
“Dad!” My heart hammers inside my chest as I scoop Rome into my arms. “Get me my keys from my bag. Rome is having some kind of reaction.”
It’s not the time for me to worry about my recovering arm or what my physical therapist might say about lifting a seven-year-old kid. Not when he’s breaking out into hives and wheezing with each inhale.
Dad sprints to my bag before heading over to meet me and Rome, handing me my keys. He’s already got his phone out. “I’ll call an ambulance?—”
“No time!” I yell over my shoulder as I run toward my car. “Just call the hospital. Tell them we’re on our way. And call Sarina.”
I run as fast as I possibly can, cradling Rome’s listless body against me, being careful not to jostle him. His wheezing has gotten worse, and his lips are turning blue.
Dear God, please don’t let this become the worst day of my life. Please. I’ll do anything. Just let me get him to the hospital in time.
I click him into the backseat of my car and rush to the driver’s seat, looking at him through the rearview mirror as I reverse. “Rome, buddy, you’ve gotta stay with me, okay? I promise I’ll show you how to put that special spin on your pitches if you stay with me.”
Rome’s head rolls from one side to another and panic overtakes all my senses. A layer of sweat beads over my brows while my heart feels like it’s about to blow right out of my chest.
Please, God. I’m begging you. I haven’t begged you for anything—not with every single curveball you’ve ever thrown my way. I’ve taken everything in stride; with a smile, even. But, fuck! Please, please don’t let this little boy die on my watch. Don’t do that to me, to him, or to his mom. Please. I beg you!
I don’t know if it’s because He’s somehow heard me or if it’s by sheer luck, but I rush down the busy streets, missing every red light with a hairsbreadth. I don’t give two shits about speed limits or scaring other cars on the road; I just need to get this kid to a hospital.
Rome’s breathing seems even more labored, each short breath sounding like a desperate gasp. His eyes roll back into his head, and I am pretty sure he’s drooling.
“Rome!” I yell, hoping my voice will shake him awake. “We’ll be there in three or four minutes. Can you stay with me?”
“Troy?” His strained whisper is barely audible over the blood rushing through my ears. “I’m scared.”
“I know, bud. I swear, we’re almost there. Can you talk to me? What happened with that crush of yours at school? What was her name? Ashley?”
I white-knuckle the steering wheel as I wait for the left turn signal to turn green. After what feels like an eternity when the light still hasn’t changed, I look to make sure there’s no oncoming traffic and make the turn on red, not giving a damn if some fucking camera caught me.
“A–Asher.”
I speed down the street. “That’s right, Asher! Did you finally tell her all about Jupiter? Did you get that project done?”
“Yeah . . .” he trails off, his eyelids falling closed. Even from my vantage point through the rearview mirror, I can tell his breathing has gotten so shallow, his pulse is probably barely there.
“Goddammit!” I grit, overtaking a car that’s too slow for my needs. It honks at me as I pass.
The sight of Rome sends pure terror coursing through me, and I quickly call my dad through my car’s Bluetooth.
“Hey, son,” he answers. “You there yet?”
“No! Did you call the ER?”
“They’ll be ready for you. How far are you?”
“Two minutes or so.”
“Okay,” he says, calmly. It’s one thing I can always expect and count on with my dad—his level-headedness, even in the worst storms. “Troy? Son, it’s going to be okay. Just get there safely.”
I hang up, gunning it down another street. The rest of the drive is a blur of squealing tires and more horns. I’ve broken every traffic law in California, but I’ll deal with that later if I need to. All that matters is the little boy relying on me to get him to safety.
We screech to a halt at the entrance of the ER. Thank God, there’s already a team waiting for him with a gurney. I rush out of the driver’s side, rip open Rome’s door before unclicking his seatbelt, and pull Rome from the backseat.
“Bee sting,” I tell them in a rush as they take his sluggish body from my arms. “No other known allergies.”
They whisk him away, leaving me staring after them with my heart inside my throat and his baseball cap clutched in my hand. My arm starts to shake as the gravity of the moment sinks in and I have to hold on to the nearest wall to hold myself steady.
And that’s when my phone buzzes inside my pocket again. I pull it out to read the name, knowing full well who it is.
Rina.