Chapter 33
[Dart]
The first week Trin is back at work goes relatively smoothly. She’s on three days and then off until a new week begins. Her shifts are long but manageable for both of us. It gives me time with Mirabelle and provides Trin the break she needs to follow the career she loves.
I’m still floundering with what I want to do next for me, and I’m reconsidering the job offer from Clint. As a single dad, he’s understanding about childcare, and he suggested I could work part-time to start.
Since Trinity isn’t pressuring me and we’re only in her first week back to work, I’m in no rush to make decisions. I’ve got about six months before I really need to worry about finances. For now, time is about finding my purpose, and my purpose is Mirabelle.
Every day is something new. A new skill. A new expression. A new experience. And I’m just soaking it all up. When you’ve wanted something for as long as Trin and I have, you catalog every moment, making a mental note of even the smallest stuff.
I’m grateful again for the time Trin has given me. Grateful for Mirabelle, too.
As much as I don’t like spending time away from my girls, Trinity reminds me I deserve time to myself. A break with adults and my friends. So, her first week ends with me heading out to the ball field.
We have a decent team for the thirty-five-plus crowd. The games are supposed to be more about fun than competition, but Marshall and Tate can’t seem to hold back their competitive nature.
Tate just caught a pop-fly, making it the third out for the other team, and we slowly make our way back to our bench, when I spy Trinity approaching with Mirabelle in the stroller.
“Hey!” I blurt, rushing over to them. I clock Mirabelle first, her little brown eyes wide from the bouncy ride over the grass terrain in her stroller. “This is a pleasant surprise. Everything okay?”
Trinity chuckles. “Nothing’s wrong. We just thought we’d come watch your game. Cheer you on.”
“We did, did we?” I eye Mirabelle, as if a three-month-old has any say in the matter. Reaching for the light blanket over her legs, I jiggle her covered toes before I swipe my hand over her head. She’s so stinkin’ cute, wearing a pink jersey-like onesie.
Speaking of cute, Trinity is wearing my Velocity ball cap again with shorts and a fitted tee.
I lean toward her. “You know what it does to me to see you in my ball cap, right?”
A sweet shade of pink climbs up her neck before she sighs. “I don’t want to intrude on your guys’ time. I just wanted to get outdoors tonight.”
She is never an intrusion.
“I’m glad you’re here. Both of you.” I glance at Mirabelle again.
“Let me hear your cheer, baby girl,” I tease. Mirabelle smiles at me, and that’s all the inspiration I need.
“Go One-Eyed Snakes.” Trinity raises her fist, weakly chanting, before making a cringe face. “Really? That was the best name they could think of?”
“Want to guess who picked it?” I arch a brow.
“Tate.” She grumbles, shimmying with disgust. “He’s so immature.”
I chuckle and wrap my arm around her, kissing her temple. “Thanks for coming to the game.”
My girls are here to support me.
Trin and I are making a real effort at home, being present with each other. She has her book club, and I have baseball, but we enjoy being together. I never want us to be strangers in the same house again.
Sharing a bed every night, becoming reacquainted with one another, is a big help. Some nights we just talk; other nights are a sex fest before exhaustion takes over.
I’m loving it, and loving her, although I haven’t told her how I feel.
The timing still feels too soon. Trinity still has a fence around her.
Not a brick wall but an iron gate where I can glimpse a future, but sense her still keeping me at arm’s length.
Like she doesn’t mind reaching through the bars, but isn’t ready to open the gate to let me in.
Doesn’t matter tonight, though, as my girls are here for me.
I lead Trinity toward the edge of the ball field. The public park doesn’t have a formal bleacher stand, just a collection of fans in camp chairs and blankets along the baselines. Trinity parks the stroller and stands while I need to return to the bench. I’m up soon.
“Hey, Forever. Check me out in these baseball pants.” I wiggle my hips, emphasizing my ass in the new baseball pants I bought myself.
We’ve been reading more snippets from her romance novels, and she especially liked an excerpt involving a silver fox coach in snug baseball pants.
Her laughter follows me as I grab my bat, feeling a few more eyes on me than just my wife’s. My friends are staring, and not just because I’m up at bat. At the games, we don’t chat much about our personal lives. That shit happens once we reach a bar afterward, but I keep most things to myself.
Tate still isn’t talking to me. Hutch listens, though.
While I wait until I’m up, I take a couple practice swings. My concentration is a little whacked, knowing Trinity is watching me, but when I’m at bat, I connect with the ball, sending a line drive down the third base line, and I hustle to first.
Tate follows me in the batting order, and something in the set of his jaw shows he’s determined to smack the shit out of the ball. He doesn’t disappoint, sending it sailing right into the glove of an outfielder.
With Marshall up next, I lead off first base until his hit allows me to steal second. I might be showing off a bit when I run like I’m being chased and slide into the base.
“Out,” the umpire calls, swinging her arm in a sharp, chopping motion.
“What?” I snap at the same time Tate booms, “Bullshit.”
Tate’s been wound tight tonight, and something says he’s suddenly spun even tighter. He’s storming the field, approaching the volunteer umpire with fists at his side. “That is BS.”
I intercept him, setting my hand on his chest to hold him back. “It’s fine.” I can be as competitive as the next guy, but I remind myself that this is a public league, not professional-level baseball.
He swings his head in my direction. “It’s not fine. You were safe as the nose on my face.” He turns toward the umpire and waves in front of his face. “Safe.”
“Out.” The ump glares back at him.
“Do you even know the rules of baseball?” he mocks the slim blonde staring back at him. With her hair in a ponytail and the baseball cap shielding her eyes, I hadn’t recognized her as the same woman who occasionally waitresses at The Ferryman’s Rest.
“I know enough that if I feel harassed, I can kick your ass out of this game.”
A couple oohs and laughter come from both benches. Tate turns the deepest shade of red I’ve ever seen.
“You watch yourself, Gallagher.”
“You watch yourself, Haven,” she snaps back, fisting her hands at her sides.
Wait. What? Is this girl related to Pete Gallagher? Tate’s college friend?
I don’t have time to connect all the dots as I shove Tate. “Step back.”
Tate continues to glare at her, nostrils flaring. Like he can’t decide if he should charge her or kiss her.
Somehow, I think kissing tops the list. Although, he also looks like that might be the last thing he wants to happen.
With my hand on his shoulder again, he finally turns toward our bench, shrugging me off.
“Sorry about that, blue,” I address her as the umpire.
Her shoulders sag. “I’m good. And you’re still out.”
I salute her and jog after Tate, his shoulders high and tight, steam practically coming off him.
“What was that?” Trinity teases when I near her.
“Who is that?” I ask. “He called her Gallagher.”
Trinity narrows her eyes. “Is that Prudence Gallagher? Pete’s sister?” She laughs. “Oh boy. They kind of hate each other.”
She nods toward Tate, who has thrown himself onto the bench, leaning forward with his hands clasped together and his attention arrowed at the umpire near second base.
“Uhm, I’m not convinced hate is the right term. I can feel the sexual tension from here,” I admit, chuckling at Tate’s expense.
Trinity laughs as well, and it reminds me of how we used to be. Observing people, making up stories about them.
However, Trin and I are being watched in return. An approving grin from Hutch. A smirk from Marshall. Dancing brows from Petty.
They can write whatever story they want in their heads. I know the truth.
I’m in love with my wife.
The game goes on, and the evening sunlight fades.
“Need to get Mirabelle home soon?” I ask, as we near the ninth inning, behind by two runs.
“Probably.” Trinity sighs. She’s been holding Mirabelle in a way she faces outward, as if she’s watching the game. “But we’ll stay until the end.”
On my last at bat, I knock the snot out of the ball, sending a guy on second and third home, plus myself. Not a grand slam because bases weren’t loaded, but I still ride the high of winning the game for our team.
Our meager crowd goes crazy while the One-Eyed Snakes bench explodes with excitement. Just your average middle-aged guys pumped over a park district ballgame.
With high fives along the third base line before I tag home plate, it signals the end of the game, and I head toward Trinity.
Grabbing Mirabelle’s foot, I wiggle it. “What do you think, Mirabelle? Did I do good?” I laugh. “Did you see Darty hit the ball?”
Trinity had been doing the mom-bounce, jiggling up and down to keep Mirabelle content, but she stops cold at my question.
“Daddy,” she whispers.
I stand tall. “Darty,” I correct. I wouldn’t dare to dream of being Mirabelle’s dad, although that’s what I hope to be when Trinity and I stay together. When, not if. Because as Trinity’s husband, I want the role as dad to Mirabelle.
I want the three of us as a family.
“Daddy?” Hutch claps me on the back, and I angle toward him.
“I said Darty.”
“Like Farty.” Petty chuckles behind Hutch.
Marshall wrinkles his nose. “He kind of smells like one.”
“Okay, guys. What are we? Five?” I sass.
“Six, at least,” Petty counters.
“And way to embarrass me in front of my girls.”
The entire circle goes quiet.