30. Sarina
thirty
sarina
We Need Our Ace Back!
I wake up the next morning with a start, only to squint at the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. At first, I think Rome’s sleep-fighting has woken me again. He spent most of the night attached to my side, his small feet kicking me like he was running in his dreams. But then I realize he’s still asleep and it’s a sound—the buzzing of my phone on the nightstand—that’s awakened me. It still takes me a second to reorient myself.
I’m in one of Dev and Piper’s countless guest bedrooms, a sprawling space the size of most of my house. I hadn’t quite taken in the details of the room last night, too tired from the day’s events and having fallen asleep texting with Troy. But in the glow of sunlight, it’s hard to ignore. The room is both peaceful and inviting. And though there’s nothing overly flashy about it—large windows, an oversized and comfortable bed, and furniture that looks simple but well-made—it’s clear that thought went into decorating it.
I came here last night with Rome after picking him up from school early, managing to slip out a side entrance before any reporters could catch wind of it. But my perceptive little boy didn’t let me off the hook that easily with his questions— why are we leaving early, why can’t we go home, why do we have to stay with Aunt Piper and Uncle Dev? Though he was really excited to stay with both of them, given Uncle Dev had become one of his favorite people.
And since I’m not in the habit of outright lying to my son—well, except for when I told him babies come from Amazon—I told him the truth . . . mostly. That I’d been pictured with Troy and people were being nosy. Rome just nodded in understanding, something that makes my heart both warm and ache.
My son is no wide-eyed freshman to our situation—he’s grown up as Jamie Weston’s son, after all. His school has many children from famous lineages, which is both a blessing and a curse, but it does make things easier since the staff is well-versed in protecting children from the paparazzi. But it also means that my son is far too aware of what it means to be in the public eye.
Turning to my side, I reach for my buzzing phone, recalling the way my chest tightened last night after reading Troy’s message. We couldn’t talk on the phone since Rome was lying next to me, but Troy spent an hour sending me terrible dad jokes—I mean, the worst—until I was giggling so hard, I barely remembered why I was even laying in an unfamiliar bed. And just when my eyes were drooping, he sent me one final text.
Troy
You can go through life hiding who you are or you can show the world the woman I see every day—beautiful, fierce, and brave. I’ll be by your side no matter which way you choose. Your skin doesn’t define you, but it does make you one of a kind. And that unique and stunning woman is the only one for me.
Bringing my phone to my bleary eyes, I read the various notifications—some from my dad and others from my sister.
Dad
My word. Sarina, sweetheart, forget the way his rear end looks in his baseball uniform, you might have found the swooniest man alive. Link to article: Troy Winters’ Bizarre Early Morning Sighting Breaks The Internet!
Nisha
Holy shit! What the hell is Troy doing? Link to article: MLB Star’s Sasquatch Costume Is Now Sold Out Everywhere! BTW, make sure to look at those comments. Not one person is talking about the photos from yesterday. The man’s either plain old crazy or he’s crazy about you.
My brows furrow as I click on the first link and then jolt up in bed, staring at my screen like it’s just revealed the weirdest plot twist in my life. And it might as well have, because what I’m looking at doesn’t even come close to what I thought I’d be waking up to this morning—the man I’m in love with dressed in a furry Sasquatch costume, doing his workout routine and practicing his pitches from the mound at the Blazers’ stadium alongside his trainers.
What. The. Hell?
Before I can stop it, a smile spreads across my face and my eyes prick with tears.
This crazy-ass man.
Fulfilling his promise to stand right beside me, he hasn’t just worn a damn Sasquatch costume—a nod to the slippers I was wearing the first time we met—to intercept the media attention off me, he’s sent me a direct message, too.
That sometimes the bravest response to hiding is to be seen.
That the only way to address public scrutiny is to face it head on, preferably wearing a ridiculous costume.
It’s as if the rays of sunshine pouring into the room have found their way into my veins. My smile widens and the first tear lands on my cheek.
With my heart in my throat, I scroll through more pictures, each one more hilarious than the last. In one, Troy is doing pushups, resembling BigFoot following the directions of an unamused trainer. In another—and this one actually makes me snort-laugh—he’s drinking something out of an enormous straw cup, his hair a disheveled and sweaty mess as he pretends it’s just another meaningless Tuesday.
But it’s not a meaningless anything. It’s a meaningful everything .
The headlines are going crazy, but it’s the comments that get me:
“Winters is coming back, y’all! Look at that incredible pitch, even when he’s dressed like a fur baby! News is, he’s recovering faster than expected!”
“My kid has been wearing his number twenty-eight jersey to every Blazers’ game. And now he wants a Sasquatch costume! Come back soon, Troy! The mound misses you!”
“My son had Tommy John surgery around the same time Troy did. We wrote to the Blazers to wish him a speedy recovery, and Troy sent my son all this signed gear! The man’s as kind as he is talented. We need our ace back!”
Something clasps around my ribs as I read the messages.
They love him—because of course they do—and they’re waiting for him to return. But even when he should be focused on his recovery and could have just hidden from the media frenzy, he went out of his way for me. If only to see me smile.
And I am.
Me
First my slippers, and now this? I’ve figured you out, Troy Trojan. You’ve got a Sasquatch fetish!
Troy
Guilty as charged. Is that a hint of kink shaming I sense in your tone, Ms. Spicymustard?
Me
Never. I’m just wondering if I should order more furry footwear. It clearly gets you going.
Troy
Careful there. We might never get out of bed.
Me
That doesn’t sound so bad . . .
Troy
It sounds like a dream, actually.
I bite my lip, grinning. Despite everything that happened yesterday, I didn’t think I’d be waking up smiling. Leave it to this man to catch me mid-spiral and set me back on my feet.
Me
Thank you.
Troy
For what?
Me
For being you. For doing what you did today. I know why you did it, and it means a lot to me.
Troy
Like I said, we’re in this together, Rina. Plus, I look damn good in this suit, if I do say so myself. Though, I think I’m too well-endowed to fit in here.
Me
Your ego, you mean?
Troy
Among other things. wink emoji. How long do you plan to stay at Dev and Piper’s, BTW?
Me
I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I want to go back to my place tomorrow.
Troy
So soon? You know . . . you guys can always come stay with me and Pearl. In fact, I’d love that.
I smile, re-reading his offer. It would be so easy to say yes, to go from hiding here to hiding at his place. But nothing would change, really, because Rome and I would be doing more of the same—running and hiding.
What sort of example would that be setting for Rome? Perhaps it was the right move when I left Jamie and Rome was so young, but now I’m ready to show my son—and myself, in fact—that hiding isn’t always the right option. Facing the hard things head-on is the only way to achieve long-term peace.
Does that change the way I feel about facing potential public scrutiny week after week, month after month? Does that change the likelihood that if Troy and I were to be together long-term, I’ll likely be photographed and picked apart without my consent? No.
Like I told Nisha and Piper yesterday, my feelings for Troy are deep and monumental, but they’re still tinged with some of my fears and insecurities.
Yes, I’m in love with Troy. Yes, I want a future and forever with him. But does that change the reality that comes with that forever?
Me
I think I need to face all this head-on. Go back to normal. This is our lives and instead of running or hiding, I need to show Rome how to handle it in a more manageable way.
Troy
You sure?
Me
Yes. I’m sure.
Troy
Alright, but I’m getting you more security. Non-negotiable.
Me
That’s not necessary. We’ll be okay.
Troy
Not budging on this one, Rina. Here’s a picture of me to show you how serious I am about this. Image Attachment
An image of Troy wearing his Sasquatch costume, with his arms wrapped around his chest and that stern expression he can never pull off, appears on the screen, drawing an involuntary snort-laugh from me.
God, the lengths this man will go to make sure I’m smiling . . .
He makes it so easy—not only to fall in love with him, but to believe that love can conquer every reality and fear.
* * *
“You ready to go, buddy?” I eye my son as he tucks Troy’s baseball card into the pocket of his uniform.
“Yup!”
Rome saunters into the foyer to put on his cleats the following Saturday morning while I ensure his EpiPen is in his bag. For a woman who’s always feared needles, I’ve had to quickly get used to the idea of having to administer one, given the circumstances.
I’ll be dropping him off at baseball practice before I head in to work. Thankfully, all the media craziness from the past week has died down, so things feel a lot calmer today. Though there are still videos of Troy in his costume going viral.
Luckily for me, I’ve kept myself mainly off social media by watching old reruns of Unsolved Mysteries . Something about Robert Stack narrating other peoples’ troubles makes mine seem minute in comparison.
I’m just about to remind Rome about when I’ll be picking him back up when my doorbell rings. Not once, but twice—a telltale sign of a person we both know.
Son of a . . .
Why does this feel like déjà vu? The man always chooses the most inconvenient times to show up, unannounced and unwelcome, like a pop-up ad for those crotchless panties you looked at one time, but now can’t seem to get rid of!
Rome and I exchange a look before I unwittingly look at the mirror. It's a habit I formed over the years, especially when it comes to facing my ex-husband. As if I’d rather scrutinize myself before his guaranteed reproach.
And though I’ve seen my uncovered patch every single day since it appeared, it still takes me a second to accept that it’s there, that this is who I will show the world from now on—the new unmasked me.
And you know what? I like her a lot.
I open the door a second after another set of impatient bell rings, giving Jamie a stiff smile. “Jamie. What a surprise. You have impeccable timing, as always.”
He reels back, examining my face, his hair parted and gelled so perfectly, you’d think he gorilla-glued each strand. “You know, a part of me didn’t believe the stories about your . . .” He waves his hand around my face, barely suppressing his disgust. “Your face. Wow, Sarina. What the hell is that?” His eyes float to the purse slung over my shoulder. “And you’re going out in public without covering it up?”
I count to three in my head, reminding myself of all the reasons I made the decision to leave Jamie—not that it takes much effort to remember them. Forget showing me an ounce of empathy or respect, he’s good at one thing and one thing only, and that’s making me feel less than.
But as I’ve said before, I’m done feeling anything when it comes to this narcissistic, insensitive asshole.
One . . . two . . . three.
“It’s called vitiligo, Jamie. It’s a skin pigmentation disorder that many people have. But I don’t blame you for not knowing about it. It’s not your fault that very little gets past the bleach in your hair.” Rome slides up beside me, and I give him a smile before my lips thin again as I look back up at Jamie. “Now, how can I help you? As you can see, Rome and I were just about to head out.”
“What, to play baseball with your boyfriend again?” Jamie’s jaw ticks, and I feel Rome stiffen beside me. My hope is that my son doesn’t read too much into the ‘boyfriend’ label, otherwise I’ll be having the conversation about my status with Troy sooner than later. “Don’t you think that’s a bad idea, considering what just happened? Wasn’t your entire reason for leaving L.A. with our son because you wanted to protect him from the media? And now you’re just going to do more of the same with the injured baseball player? How is that protecting him?”
I wrap my hand around Rome’s shoulder, pulling him into me. I hate that he even has to watch this exchange between me and Jamie, but if nothing else, he’ll see his mother stand up for herself the way she should have a while ago.
“I will always put our son’s safety before anything else. Leaving L.A. wasn’t just about getting out of the public eye, Jamie, and you know that. It was about us. It was about how I wanted to be treated and how I was tired of accepting anything less than that.”
I take a breath. “I didn’t want to have this conversation with our son here, but since you continue to bring things up in his presence, I’m going to lay it out once more. I left L.A. not only to protect Rome, but to protect myself as well. From you and your toxicity, to your constant scorn and impossible standards. You not only made me feel like you did me a favor by even marrying me, but you also made me feel small every chance you got. I didn’t want my son to grow up watching his dad ridicule and diminish his mother, just like you did not even a minute ago.”
I gesture to my face. “You know why I’m going out like this? Because this patch of skin doesn’t define me or make me any less worthy or beautiful. It makes me unique, and I’ve come to accept myself. If you can’t, then that’s entirely your problem, not mine.”
“And Mommy is beautiful!” Rome speaks up, surprising both me and Jamie. His voice trembles but his eyes stay hard on his dad. “She’s perfect, and you need to stop making her feel bad. Coach Troy doesn’t make her feel bad like you do, Dad. He’s nice to her, and he’s always nice to me, too. He doesn’t make me feel bad about my swings or when I don’t do well on the field. And he loves when I talk about space stuff.”
Jamie’s face drops, that arrogance that’s always etched on his features draining. For the first time in all the time I’ve known him, he’s speechless. Shocked, even. And I understand why. Because our son—our sweet, peacekeeping little boy, who’s always trying to make everyone happy—has decided enough is enough.
Pride swells inside my chest as I look at the determination on Rome’s face, the way he stepped in front of me like he was protecting me, the way he held his own. He stood up, not just for me, but for himself, too, and nothing could make me prouder of the boy I get to call my son.
“I . . .” Jamie starts before clearing his throat, shock still obvious in his gaze. “Rome, I had no idea you . . . I never meant to make you feel bad.”
“But you did, Dad. You made me and Mom feel bad. You weren’t there when I went to the hospital after my bee sting, and you’ve never come to any of my baseball games. You haven’t been very nice. And until you say sorry to both of us, I don’t want to spend any more time with you.”
Holy shit.
Did my son just throw down an ultimatum? Demand an apology?
Who is this kid?
Whoever he is and wherever he’s been hiding, one thing’s for sure—I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side. It may take him a while to lose his cool like this, but when he does, he doesn’t mince words.
Jamie looks visibly shaken, his face more devoid of color than I’ve ever seen it. And just when I think he’s going to defend himself or blame all this on me somehow, he surprises me again.
Sinking down to his knee, he addresses our son with a sincere and contrite expression. “You’re right, buddy; I haven’t been fair to you”—he glances up at me—“or your mom. And I haven’t been there when you needed me. But if you’ll give me another shot, I’ll work on it, okay? I’m sorry I made you both feel bad. I hope you know I’m not a bad person, Rome. It’s important for me that you know that I care about you. I love you. But I’ll work harder on showing you that and being a better dad, okay?”
My throat constricts, watching something I never thought I’d witness. I know Jamie loves our son—in his own way, at least. He put a lot of expectation and impossible standards on him, but whether it’s the realization that he could lose his relationship with his only son or actual remorse for the way he’s been, I’m just happy he’s even taking accountability. My hope is that he follows through with his words, because the last thing I want is to see my son in this position again.
Jamie rises back to his feet as I gently squeeze Rome’s shoulders, letting him know how proud I am of him. Jamie and I stare at each other silently for a moment, and for the first time, I see real vulnerability in his eyes.
I clear my throat. “I just want to remind you that you made a promise to our son.”
He gives me a brief nod. “And I plan on keeping it.”
“Do you want to come watch me play baseball today, Dad?” Rome looks at him, hope dancing in his eyes.
Jamie takes a moment to think about it before he nods again. “I’d love to . . . if it’s okay with your mom.”
I step out onto my patio with Rome. “How about we meet you there?”
Jamie gives us a relieved smile, but it quickly drops when he sees the shocked expression on mine and Rome’s faces. Following our gazes past his shoulder to look at his car, Jamie shouts, running down my driveway with his hands in the air.
Because there are at least a hundred birds perched on his lime-green Cybertruck, many of them taking a nice little shit.
Jamie circles his car, desperately trying to maintain his composure while swiping his hands over the roof. “Shoo! Get the hell off my car, assholes!”
He attempts to do that thing where he claps to startle them, but they just flap their wings a few times and give him unimpressed glares before finding another spot on the roof to shit on.
We can’t even help it. Despite the fact that both Rome and I silently accepted a new foot forward with Jamie, right now, watching him hop around his car like a human pogo stick, waving and screaming, we’re collapsing to the floor in a fit of snorts and giggles.
Trying to compose myself enough to speak again, I holler at Jamie, needing to get one last jab in, “What did I tell you about showing up at my doorstep uninvited? Next time, call first.”