Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
olivia
Cooper and I took the train into the city for the game, but planned to ride back with Austin and Nate afterward.
After realizing Nate had heard me last night, I had a hard time meeting his eyes. I should be hanging my head in shame, but no, I got a thrill from knowing he’d heard. Between his finding my toy and now overhearing me—damn thin walls—I’d left very little mystery about my appetite.
Jason’s low blow the other night, steeped in history and from years of battle, but also from someone who knew me.
He and I were mismatched sexually, and not because he wanted more sex than I did.
He couldn’t keep up with me. So, when he asked if I was going to sleep with Nate, it brought back memories of more than a few of his accusations.
And guilt that maybe there was something wrong with me because of that appetite?
How many other women couldn’t sleep without having an orgasm first?
And no, Jason, I didn’t bring home random men; I also didn’t fuck my brother’s teammates because they happened to be in my house.
My fatal flaw in this situation was trusting him.
I trusted him to bring condoms; I trusted him when he promised to pull out.
I trusted him because he’d been older than me—stupidly.
I’d taken sex ed, it had covered the exact situation, but somehow, Jason and his need to be bare inside me had clouded my judgment.
When I saw the two pink lines on the test, I thought Jason was a different man. I was scared to be a mom, but I truly thought he’d take care of things. Nothing could have prepared me for the accusations, and hell, he’d put me through.
I sometimes worried that his behavior with Cooper was somehow my fault. Did I make it more difficult for him to connect with our son because he had to go through me to spend time with him?
Over the years, I had sobbed about this to my brother, and he’d reminded me that if a man wanted to be with their children, nothing would stop them. So great, I wasn’t responsible, but that didn’t mean that Cooper wouldn’t end up with hurt feelings.
Sophie’s text on the train was a welcome distraction. If anyone would understand me, she would.
Sophie: Send me pictures of your hot houseguest from tonight’s game.
Me: He heard me last night.
Sophie: Heard you what?
Sophie: Oh!
Me: Uh-huh. Asked me if I was watching TV.
Sophie: Cheeky little fucker. I like him.
Me: Same. And not just because he’s hot as fuck. Also, Jason…
Sophie: Bran is ready to kick ass when you’re ready.
Brandon wouldn’t know what to do in a fight if he had to defend his own life.
I suppressed my giggle, thinking about her husband fighting Jason.
Bran was what you would call a “hot nerd,” Sophie swore that he hid a bit of a beast under the vest and bifocals with more than a penchant for spreadsheets and financial wizardry.
I was just happy he treated my friend like the queen she was.
Me:…
Sophie: He was a black belt.
Me: There will be no assaulting my son’s father. That ship sailed in the immediate aftermath. Now Cooper would know it happened.
Sophie: Just kidding. I know. But a girl can dream.
Sophie: Back to the rookie…what is it that you like about him?
Me: He’s kind. I guess I expected an out-of-control fuck boy. He watches interactions and understands things better than someone double his age would.
Sophie: Old soul.
Me: In a body made for sin.
The buzz around the stadium was electric, as always.
Cooper and I took our time and took photos with statues of past players.
God, this kid blew me away. The way he memorized statistics and recited them from memory.
I guess he could have made up the information since I was his primary audience, but Austin had also been impressed the last time they talked.
As much as I loved how much Cooper had grown to love baseball, his passion for it reminded me of how excited he would get when he learned about a new type of dinosaur. I learned right along with him, and I suspected that if Coop continued to play, I’d be studying even more about baseball.
Coop rolled his eyes when I asked him what position Nate played.
Austin had always played centerfield, so by now I had that figured out.
But I could never remember if right field was when you looked at the field from home plate, or from the outfield looking in—to be fair, I wasn’t terribly good at remembering my left from right anyway.
Yes, I’d been a Minutemen fan my entire life, but the details of the game and rules hadn’t been what interested me; I loved the home runs.
A ten-year-old boy’s scorn was easily earned, though quickly forgotten when I promised him a new jersey. Yes, he had plenty of Monroe jerseys, but those were just a bit too small on him this season.
“Do you think Uncle Austin will be insulted if I get Nate’s jersey instead?”
“Look around, kiddo. Do you think there is a shortage of people wearing his name on their backs?”
“No. But it’s weird, you know. Because it’s my name too.
” Cooper had my maiden name. While I had been fairly certain Jason was his father, there had been a slight chance it had been my ex-boyfriend who had gotten me pregnant, even though I’d only been stupid enough to have unprotected sex with Jason.
When I filled out the birth worksheet at the hospital, I gave Cooper my last name.
A fact that Jason loved to throw in my face, but with the hell he’d put me through while I was pregnant, and beyond, Cooper was a Monroe—exactly as he was meant to be.
He loved to point out that it was my fault we didn’t know right away, and blamed me for his son not sharing his name. Even knowing that the paternity test showed he was Cooper’s father, I still wouldn’t change the fact that Cooper had my last name.
In the pro shop, Cooper picked out Nate’s jersey and pulled the lucky number 7 over his head right after I paid for it.
I also caved and bought him a pack of baseball cards; he was trying to find one of Nate’s rookie cards.
To be, it sounded like it was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.
Me: Do you think Nate has one of his own baseball cards?
Austin: Why?
Me: I’ve spent a bloody fortune buying packs for Cooper.
Austin Monroe added Nate Reaves to the conversation.
Austin: Yo, Nate, can you hook my nephew up with one of your baseball cards?
Me: Sorry, Nate. We can buy the packs.
Nate: Who is this? Cooper? Or Olivia.
Me: It’s Liv. Coop doesn’t have a cell phone yet.
Nate: I’ll get one for him.
Me: Thanks! Now put your phone away and play the game.
I hadn’t expected to hear from my brother until after the game. Phones weren’t allowed in the dugout, which typically meant that once they started warming up, there was no communication with the players.
And now I had Nate’s number saved in my phone, which wouldn’t be unusual, seeing as the man lived in my house. But I wanted to use that phone number for very personal reasons. My fingers itched to text him—fuck it, I had zero self-control.
Me: Good luck today.
Nate: I thought you said to put my phone away.
Me: Or not … I guess I’ll forget about wishing you luck.
Nate: I’m terrible at following directions.
I started typing a promise to punish him later, then deleted the message. Dear Lord, Olivia, way too much, way too soon. The man would probably run so fast in the opposite direction.
Nate: You’ll need to hold me in line, I guess.
Me: Or something.
And just like that, he brought us there instead of me—I latched onto that text as if it were proof that I wasn’t the lech.
“Mom, hurry. The National Anthem is going to start.” Cooper tugged at the hem of my shirt and dragged me towards our seats.
“Do you want a soda first, bud?”
“No, come on! We can’t miss it!”
Cooper and I found our seats just in time for the choir of one of the local Boston high schools to sing the Star-Spangled Banner.
My eyes sought the baseline where the players stood with their hats over their hearts.
Some of them squinted against the glare of the sun.
When the song finished, I watched Nate lift his eyes to the sky, double pat his heart, and lift his hands in prayer.
I couldn’t tell you what my brother did.
The Minutemen took the field behind Jack LeCompte, one of the starting pitchers who had signed this past year. The addition of him to the pitching rotation had solidified the Minutemen as one of the toughest bullpens to beat.
The crowd absolutely buzzed with excitement as he struck out the side.
“Look, Mom! Nate’s leading off!”
Why was I nervous watching him bat? When the first pitch came across the plate as a called strike, my anxiety ramped up a bit.
He fouled off the second pitch, and he was quickly behind in the count.
Cooper was on the edge of his seat for that third pitch, but the second we heard the crack of the bat, we knew he’d hit it hard.
I screamed my head off with the rest of the crowd as he rounded the bases and slid into third.
The crowd around us began talking about Nate’s speed and how any other player would have been held to a double in that situation.
“He’s the best rookie we’ve seen in decades.” Another fan surmised that while the crowd around him shushed him, fearing a jinx. The nerves I’d had when he’d batted dissolved a bit. Nate didn’t need my energy; he was really fucking good.
The shortstop, Tucker Milligan, came to the plate next and struck out swinging.
I hoped Cooper didn’t notice the chatter about how he’d slept with another player’s wife.
Ashley wasn’t my favorite person, but she’d been Cooper’s aunt, and I wouldn’t prevent either of them from continuing that relationship if they both wanted it. He loved her, even if I didn’t.
We cheered for Austin when his sacrifice fly ball sent Nate home to score the first run of the game.
Lindy Griffen waved at me from a few rows back, and I smiled at her as she wrangled her three small daughters.
It was hard to imagine how she handled it with three when there were days I struggled with one.
From the looks of it, two of them might even still be in diapers.
If I didn’t live near her, I would assume she had help, but the woman just seemed to have it all together.
Sophie: Don’t tell Brandon, but damn. That ass…
Me: I’m going to ask him if I can bounce a quarter off it.
Sophie: Ha! You’re all talk, my friend. But if you grow a pair, don’t forget how much I love living vicariously through you.
Me: (Screenshot of text conversation)
Sophie: Ooh. Flirty.
Me: You think?
Sophie: God, sometimes you miss all the signs. Bran also says yes.
Me: I thought we weren’t telling Bran?
Sophie: You know I keep nothing from my husband.
Yep, Sophie, I knew that. Brandon knew far too much about my personal life. And he’d also know that Sophie was fishing for a reaction when she commented on Nate’s ass.
Between innings, Cooper roped me into a hot dog, popcorn, and a souvenir ice cream helmet.
“Bud, we’ve already got the ice cream helmet.”
“But they’re perfect for by the pool for my friends.”
I sighed and handed over my credit card. Between my brother’s assistance and the giant dose of mother guilt that constantly tugged my heartstrings, I knew I indulged Cooper more than I should. But I never once doubted his appreciation of anything I gave him.
My mother’s voice chirped in the back of my mind. “Don’t spoil the boy.” No, she’d never met Cooper, and I didn’t have her there to tell me these things, but if she were here, she’d be on me. God, I wished I’d had her there—I would have loved her input—even her pain-in-the-ass insights.
I shook it off. I hated how easily those thoughts crept in—it was so easy for the grief to creep into even the happiest moments.
Between that and self-doubt, parenting had been a landmine of volatile emotions.
A quick glance at Cooper confirmed he was alive, well, and thriving.
And he’d even held a door for an elderly woman, so indulging him with some extras at the baseball game didn’t erase his kind heart and empathetic nature.
In the second inning, Nate hit a home run, his 20th of the year, and the fastest any rookie had reached that number in over ten years. Sitting at the game, I realized we were witnessing something special. In the bottom of the 9th, Cooper was bouncing his knee when Nate came to bat again.
“What’s wrong, Bud?”
“I know it’s rude, Ma, but shush. I can’t say; I don’t want to be a jinx.”
Nate had gotten on base with each at-bat, including a double back in the fifth inning. When the next swing of the bat connected, the ball dropped in for a single, and the winning run scored. When the bench cleared, I thought it was a bit overkill.
“Mom! He did it! He hit for the cycle!”
“What?”
Cooper’s eye roll was enough for me to consult Google before asking again. Damn. And the more I looked into it, I realized he was the youngest player ever to achieve that, too.
My rookie was a beast.