Chapter 16 Nate
SIXTEEN
nate
Fuck, she smelled incredible. It was almost enough to make me forget the absolute boneheaded mistake. Apparently, I forgot to confirm my bank account in the email they sent. Thank God I’d set up my mother’s mortgage payment correctly.
“You know, we all make these mistakes, Nate.”
“I had one of the best games of my career today, and while I go out every single game and bust my ass, I might never make that happen again. I wanted to enjoy it for ten fucking minutes before the universe had to remind me that while I can hit a ball, that’s the only thing I’m good for.”
Why was I dumping this shit on her? She didn’t need my bullshit.
“Did you see the confirmation email from the phone company?” she asked.
“Yeah—”
“Did you understand it?”
My face flamed. “I thought I did.”
“Have you ever been tested for a learning disability?”
“How did you know?” My face flamed. I tried so hard to hide this, but Olivia saw it. Did she think I was stupid?
“Cooper has an IEP. It took a while for me to recognize it, but with the extra services, he’s able to work through his limitations.”
I sighed and looked down at my feet.
“It’s not something to be embarrassed about. We all learn differently. But you do things on the field that other people would only dream of—go easy on yourself. There are people without learning disabilities who can’t figure out how to pay their bills.”
“I thought that was for people who can’t afford it—”
“Like me? Do you think any less of me because my brother bankrolls my life?” Her eyes were wide and earnest.
“Fuck, no. You’re such a good mom.” Did anyone bother to tell her what a kick ass mother she was?
“Are you sure about that? You haven’t been here for one of my famous crash-outs. Austin has taken so, so many worries off my shoulders, and I am incredibly thankful for him. But I worry every single day that I am going to do something to hurt my son or do irreparable damage.”
“That’s the thing. You worry. You try. Cooper sees that.”
“And you’re the youngest player to hit for the cycle in the history of the game. You know what that means?”
“What?” Fuck, she was getting feisty. I liked her like this.
“Who’s your favorite player? Or which player have you always looked up to?”
“Well, Sam Drummond—”
“No, he’s a pitcher. I want to know who you idolized as a hitter. Like, if you could be half the player as this guy, you’d say you had a great career.”
“Jeter. Plus, he played shortstop, and that’s where I would play if I could.”
“Ugh. Okay, as someone born and raised minutes outside of Boston, picking Jeter hurts. But I see it. Did Jeter do what you did in his rookie year?”
“No.”
“And someday, when you’re dating pop stars and supermodels like Derek Jeter and crushing records, are you going to remember when you forgot to pay your phone bill?”
And how do I tell the actual woman of my dreams that there is no supermodel out there that would ever get my attention with her in the room?
“I guess you don’t know this about me yet, but that’s not my style. I love baseball, but I’m never going to want to be in the limelight.”
“Well, Nate, you’re not going to be able to hide from it. You know how good you are, right?”
And when I answered her, there wasn’t an ounce of cockiness. “Yeah, I do.”
“See? Hold on to that, and fuck the phone company.”