28. Tired of Waiting
Chapter 28
Tired of Waiting
“I ’ll need first and last month's rent and a non-refundable deposit,” the property manager says. I sit in his office, looking at the two different floor plans currently available for an insane amount of money. I was planning to use that money towards my future, towards tuition, but I guess I’ll have to reconsider enrolling in the school for my A maybe I’m taking the coward’s way out. But if he slept with Kenna, he didn’t tell me before doing so. Or, after . So I give the guy my ID and sign my name several times throughout the lease agreement.
* * *
I ’ve started carrying antacids in my pocket to have on hand quickly, and when I walk inside Sam’s apartment, I shake a few from the bottle to soothe the burning in my stomach. Cori walks into the living room as I’m popping them in my mouth. She normally changes out of her jeans the second she arrives home, but she wears a pair now along with a Stallions jersey, and her brown hair is free of its usual ponytail. She’s riddled with anxiety as she starts pacing, checking her phone every five seconds.
“Is everything okay?” I say, sitting on the couch and flipping on the pregame show.
She lets out a manic laugh and answers a little too loudly, “Everything is perfect!”
“Then why are you marching through the living room?”
“Well. You’re going to be shocked at what I have to tell you, so you might want to sit down.”
I look down at the couch I’m already sitting on and wonder if she’s officially lost it.
“Sam was supposed to be home an hour ago so that we could go to that game.” She points to the TV. “As usual, he’s not here, and I can’t get a hold of him.”
I sigh, digging my fingers in my eyes. This shit is getting old, how does she not see it?
“Go to the game without him.”
She swings around, shooting a mortified look in my direction. “By myself?”
I almost say, “Why not?” but this is Cori.
“I’ve never been to a game before. Tickets are expensive. But Sam bought some so he could take me, and I’ve been so excited I can barely think about anything else. And now that it’s finally here, where is he?”
I shake my head, warring with myself. But the devil on my shoulder wins. “Do you have access to both tickets?”
“They were sent to my email.”
Standing, I rub my hands together. “Then let’s go to the game together.”
She stands still, contemplating the idea. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“No,” I answer honestly. But I’m more concerned with her seeing the game than I am about my own comfort or doing the right thing.
Her shoulders relax and she exhales more evenly. “Are you sure you don’t mind coming with me?”
I tilt my head and level her with a look. She should know by now I’d cut my arm off to feed her. “Like it’s a downgrade from watching the game from home. Let me just go change really quick.” The jeans I’m wearing are fine, but I want to put on a jersey.
“Thank you, Nick. But you have to hurry because I’m tired of waiting. I’m sure I’ve already missed out on the free bobblehead they were handing out to the first ten thousand people.”
A proud smile spreads over my lips. “Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
A fter paying an astronomical amount just to park my truck and walking at least a mile to the gates, I ask if she wants to wait, just in case Sam shows up last minute. It’s already the last minute, but this is Sam we’re talking about.
“No. If he shows up, he can buy another ticket and sit by himself.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket and turns it off.
I almost do the same to mine, but I want access to the camera in case I need it.
Since this is her first game, my eyes are glued to her face to catch every expression of awe. For a baseball fan, walking into the park for the first time is a whole experience by itself. Besides the memorabilia and team history on every wall, the energy from the fans is unmatched, and I get to witness the very moment the current hits her. The lingering anger from Sam’s absence melts away until nothing is left except awe at the swarm of bodies, all decked out in team merchandise, and all here for one, united reason.
We stop by a concession stand before heading to our seats, and I try not to cringe at the prices. But it’s her first live game, and I’ll spend any amount Cori wants. I’d do the same if it were her hundredth game.
“Do you want a hot dog?” I ask.
“No, I’ll just get some water.”
“You can’t watch a live baseball game without eating a hot dog,” I point out. “It’s a national law.”
“I thought that was cracker jacks?” She smirks.
“Those too.” I give the man at the counter our order of two sodas, four hot dogs, and two boxes of cracker jacks. But when I pull my card out to pay, Cori elbows my ribs out of the way to slip hers into the machine. She forgets that I have almost a foot on her and at least seventy pounds. Simultaneously, I yank her card out of the machine and wrap my arm around her waist, lifting her in the air. I tap my card instead of inserting it, and the payment goes through before she wiggles out of my grip.
She adjusts her shirt down in adorable frustration as she tries to fight the grin from forming on her face. Pointing her finger at me, she says sternly, “I’m going to get you back for that.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
We get to our seats just in time for a child from a local youth league team to shout, “Play ball,” then it’s baseball time. The first few innings are uneventful; a few hits land runners on base, but don’t turn into runs. However, things pick up in the fourth, when a runner waits on second and another on third.
Chatter continues, but the smack from the ball meeting wood reverberates throughout the park and everyone falls silent to see where it lands before deciding whether to cheer or shout obscenities. Time slows as the ball flies through the air, teasing those of us biting our nails below. Finally, it arches downwards right into the hands of a teenage girl, and cheers obliterate the silence.
Looking around the ballpark at the excitement, Cori doesn’t physically react as much as everyone else, but the pure joy is evident by the smile on her face. I get my phone out and snap a picture of her to show to Sam later. Just in case the desire to rub it in his face doesn’t dissipate. I get another picture of her smiling down at the field before I’m caught red-handed, and the sound of her laughter muffles everything else.
Like the song of a siren to a willing pirate from the dark depths of the ocean, I drown in the sound. And the sight of her bright, full smile that reaches every inch of her face.
Before she notices me staring, I jerk my gaze back to the field and clear my throat.
“So, what now?” I ask, simultaneously afraid and hopeful of her answer.
I don’t have to elaborate because there’s only one thing I could mean. “I don’t know.”
We watch another batter strike out before she says, “I know what I should do, I just don’t know if I have the strength to do it.”
“Because you don’t know where you’re going to live? Because you don’t know how to live without him in your life? Or because you don’t think you’ll be strong enough not to cave when he turns the blame on you until you’re the one apologizing to him?”
Everything I wanted to say to her the other night when I found her crying in the kitchen floats back to the surface. Everything is so much easier with me because I’m right. You don’t love him. Maybe you did at one point, but dreading his presence isn’t love. And he doesn’t love you. Making you feel like everything is your fault and that you’re nothing without him isn’t love. Desperately trying to spend every available second with someone or making unavailable seconds available for someone, that’s love. Supporting someone in their dreams, lifting them up, and being excited for them when they succeed, that’s love.
But I swallow the words down again.
We shouldn’t be talking about this here. Sam did her a favor by not ruining her first baseball game with his physical presence, I shouldn’t be bringing him here in conversation.
“Let's talk about something else. I haven’t told you how the tour went.”
Her face remains blank while I walk her through the information I was given and describe the facility. When I’m done, she pulls out a folded piece of paper from her back pocket. “So, are you going to enroll?”
“I still don’t know. I have until January to decide. That’s when the next term starts. But I’m starting to think I should keep the job I have. Try to advance and save my money. I don’t know, I keep going back and forth.”
Hesitantly, she hands the paper to me and gnaws on her lip. I try to take it, but it won’t budge from her iron grip.
“Don’t read it until we get home. But it’s a… poem.” Finally, she lets it go. I hold it, fighting the urge to read it now. “I’m not great at verbally expressing feelings or giving advice, but I’ve been thinking about what you said in the hallway, about feeling guilty for spending money and time on football when it didn’t work out. And I was inspired to write a poem about it. I hope you understand it.” Her eyes fly to mine and widen before she adds quickly, “Not that I think you’re too stupid to understand it, but I hope that I chose the right words so that the message is clear. And not confusing.”
I laugh. “I’m sure you did.” I slide it in my pocket. “Thank you.”
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you how the coffee samples turned out.” I wait for her to continue. “They’re amazing. All the flavors were amazing. I still have some grounds left, if you’d like to try them.”
“I’d love to. So you’re going ahead with it?”
“Yep. I have to save up some money first, it’s a few thousand to get started. But I’m excited.”
I thank God the twinkle appears back in her eyes as she talks about her business plan, and pride swells in my chest that she’s not allowing Sam to keep her from her goals. Even if this plan is a smaller version of her coffee house dream, it’s something.
She continues, sharing updates about the diner, and how sales improve by the day.
“But it’s going to take time to see real change,” she says. I can’t help thinking about how I’ve already seen real change in her since that night we met. There’s still a long way to go, but I can now see the day when she won’t brush off and dismiss any compliment. I can envision her setting clear boundaries and telling her mom and dad off for crossing them. I can imagine her knowing with certainty what she wants and taking it.
The next inning adds a run to the visiting teams’ score and the fifth inning starts. Then, our pitcher is hit on his arm by a ball. We wait with bated breath to see if they’ll pull him to have his arm checked out when Cori starts frantically shaking her head and waving her hands. I follow the gaze of her wide eyes and see our faces on the fucking kiss cam of all things. Of course, she’s saying no.
Of course, we aren’t going to kiss, not even on the cheek or anything. She’s not mine to kiss. But I can’t help but look back at her to see what she’ll do. I know she does so jokingly, yet disappointment consumes me as Cori scrunches up her face and covers mine with her hand. Thankfully, the camera moves on to another unsuspecting couple of fans and leaves us alone.
She looks at me and laughs. “That was funny.”
Yeah. Funny.
* * *
W hen the game ends 4-1 Stallions, we fight our way through the stifling tide of heavily perfumed bodies until we burst forth from the doors into the cool night air. We walk side by side, enjoying the silence, but still riding the high of victory through the fans around us.
When we arrive at my truck, I open the door for her, like I did when we left Sam’s apartment earlier. I’m wondering if Sam opens her doors for her when she captures my gaze before stepping into the truck. I can’t breathe while I wait for her to say whatever is on her mind.
“I’m going to do it. Tonight.”
I don’t need elaboration, I know exactly what she’s referring to. She’s going to end things with Sam.
I have to remind myself that her words don’t mean we’ll be together. We can’t be. Not yet, if ever. But she’ll be free. Her happiness, her confidence, her ambition won’t be stifled by some dick who thinks he’s spun from gold.
Despite the reminder, there’s nothing but the sound of my heart thumping. I don’t allow myself to smile because I know this won’t be an easy journey for her, but my chest swells with joy at the thought of her out of his grasp.
I nod my understanding and close her door before running around to mine. As I buckle my seatbelt, Cori turns her phone back on. New notifications continue dinging their arrival as I pull out into traffic.
“What?” Cori mutters as the phone keeps going off.
“Is he mad?” I can picture him coming home late, kicking off his shoes and throwing his briefcase to land wherever, expecting Cori to be waiting to jump into action for whatever he needs.
But she gasps, breathily murmuring, “Oh, God.”
“What is it?”
Tears already fill her eyes. “Sam was in a car accident.”