Mateo
Chapter one
Anurse wheels me out of the surgical center while I hold my discharge paperwork and crutches.
Surprisingly, it's Addie's SUV and not Mom's car waiting at the curb.
I've been home for three days and my little sister has been MIA.
I saw her for about five minutes the night I got home, and other than that, she's made herself scarce.
Dad said she's been working a lot, but it feels like she's avoiding me.
The nurse opens the passenger side door and helps me into the car. It's embarrassing. I know ACL tears are common, especially for athletes, but I'm not a fan of needing help.
"So how long do I have to sleep in the room next to Mom and Dad?" Addie asks me. "They're way, way too active for their age." She sticks out her tongue in disgust, stops at the red light, and picks up her phone.
"Stop texting and driving, Ads," I tell her.
"Dude, you're such an old man."
"I'm barely forty, and besides, aren't you happy I'm home?" I jut out my bottom lip and stare at my little sister until she looks at me.
It's been months since we've been together, and I've missed her.
We've always been close, despite our seventeen-year age difference, but she's been distant the last year or so.
Wrapped up in her own life, which is understandable at her age.
We still text and FaceTime, but not as often as we used to and it's not the same as living in the same house.
My constant presence will be an adjustment for her.
I'll be interrupting her routine, whatever the hell that consists of.
She rolls her eyes. "Dude, you're not barely forty. You turned forty-one like last week." A huff leaves her lips. "How long, big bro?"
I shrug and look out the window. Taking over my parents' first-floor bedroom wasn't what I planned for retirement either. "Not sure, Ads, I guess until I can find another rental or go back home to Baltimore. I didn't ask for this."
She shakes her head in disbelief. "I still can't believe your rental caught fire."
That email came six hours into mine and Dad's eight-hour drive from Baltimore to my hometown, Wilmont, Tennessee.
Unfortunately, the next closest rental available is an hour away, and Mom was having none of that.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, she had it all arranged.
I'd sleep in her and Dad's room on the first floor for the time being, and they'd take over my old room upstairs.
I text Susan, my personal assistant, and ask her if she's come across any more rentals. She wastes no time texting me back that she's retired herself and no longer works for me.
Well, shit.
Addie presses the gas, and I lurch forward.
"Fuck. Try to remember I'm fresh out of knee surgery, please?"
"Sorry," she says, and at least she has the decency to wince.
It's not like I wanted this. Not like I chose it.
I hear the pop that ended my career every time I close my eyes, and I swear it's acid eating away at my soul.
Baseball is all I know. It's all I've ever known.
The last six weeks have been hell. Between pre-surgery physical therapy and utter boredom, I'm losing it.
We make the rest of the drive home in silence. If you can call it silence. I don't know what the hell she's listening to, but I'm going to need some serious pain meds when I get to the house, and not because of my knee.
Dad is waiting on the porch when we pull into the driveway. His hair, once blond like mine, has gone completely gray in the last few years, but he's still as fit and lean as always. He steps from the swing and walks toward us as Addie puts the car in park with a jerk.
Note to self: do not let her drive me anywhere.
Ever.
She climbs out of the car, twirls her hands, and curtsies.
"I present, his highness," she says, then walks toward the house her eyes already glued to her phone.
Dad gets my crutches out of the backseat while I open my door and try to maneuver myself into a position where I can climb out.
Addie's small SUV wasn't built for a man my size.
I'm not massive, but I'm not small either.
At six foot three and two hundred forty pounds, it might as well be a toy car.
Which means I need to figure out my car situation because my ass sure isn't fitting in Mom's sedan with this damn brace on.
And climbing in and out of Dad's massive truck on our drive from Baltimore fucking sucked.
"Does she ever get off that thing?" I ask when Dad hands me my crutches.
He raises an eyebrow at me. "I'll give you two guesses."
It takes far longer than necessary for Dad to free me from the clutches of the car, and by the time we get in the house, Addie's already shoveling a taco into her mouth.
"Made your favorite," Mom says from her place at the stove.
"Why does he get special food?" Addie asks through a mouthful.
"Adelaide." Mom frowns and shakes her head. Gray strands lace her short blonde hair, and they twinkle in the sun streaming through the window. She steps in front of me and reaches up, placing her hands on my cheeks like she used to do when I was a kid.
"How're you feeling?" she asks.
"Tired and sore," I tell her. I wish I could lie and say I'm fine, but she'd see right through me. She always has. "Thanks for the tacos, but I don't think my stomach can handle that right now. I'll eat them tomorrow though."
She releases me with a pat on the cheek and pulls containers out of the cabinet.
"Living room recliner or bed?" Dad asks from behind me.
"Definitely bed, but I got it. Thanks."
"Old man," Addie says through a fake cough.
The clock on the oven reads 4:07. God, she's right.
I flip her the bird without releasing my crutch.
"You two," Dad says.
"What?" we ask in unison. We may not see each other much, and we may not be super close lately, but we're still siblings. And we sure don't miss a beat when we're together.
He and Mom share a look, but before they can scold me like the man-child I apparently turn into when I'm home, I hobble down the hall to their bedroom. Or mine for the foreseeable future.
The door clicks shut behind me, and all my bravado vanishes. I'm deadweight on these crutches, and I desperately need to lie down. Mom already pulled the blankets back for me, and I make a mental note to remind her I'm an adult accustomed to taking care of myself.
I lower onto the bed and use my hands to lift my left leg onto it. Exhausted from the exertion, I sit back against the headboard to catch my breath.
There's a sharp knock on the door as Addie barrels through holding up my phone.
"Here, fuckface, thought you might want this," she says, tossing it in my direction.
I catch it right before it hits my face. Damn post-surgery reflexes.
"Thanks, Ads," I say to the door slamming shut behind her.
It feels strange being home, especially because I'm not sure how long I'll be here. I haven't spent more than a week or two at a time in Wilmont since college. It's why I never bought a home here. There was never a need. Until now.
But it's not like I expected to need help doing everyday shit.
I never thought I'd end up in Wilmont. It's not what I planned.
But who am I kidding? I didn't have a plan.
My torn ACL forced me into early retirement, but it came a few games early, not years or seasons.
There was time to plan, but I chose to ignore it.
I didn't want to think about life after baseball.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I swipe up to read a text.
(555) 262-1986
Hope surgery went well babe, thinking of you. XOXO. Call me.
I delete it without responding. Whoever she was, her contact wasn't saved in my phone. She wasn't special. I let my head fall back to my headboard and scrub my hand over my face. They're never special, and that's the problem.
But that's a thought for another day. Right now, I have a fresh problem to solve.
My SUV, the one I ordered months ago, finally came in.
They told me it'd be in three weeks ago, but it wasn't. When it became evident it wasn't going to be delivered before I left Baltimore, I arranged for it to be delivered to a dealership here.
Apparently the person who arranged that is no longer with the dealership, and my car isn't where it's supposed to be.
I have two options. I can pay to have the car shipped here which is fucking stupid, because the dealership messed up, not me.
Or I can purchase something else from a local dealership.
The car I ordered was essentially a pre-order of a second-year model…
which means even if a website says it's in stock somewhere, it isn't. And it won't have all the added features.
Guess I'm shipping a fucking SUV.