28. Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Adrian
“Buenas, buenas, mi gente!” I greet as Sam and I walk up to the window of the Venezuelan food truck. The guys are still setting up plastic chairs and tables in the parking lot since they technically don’t start serving customers for another twenty minutes.
The owner, Daniel, grins with surprise and points out the fact that I don’t typically visit during baseball season.
“I have a special reason to eat here today,” I tell him as he comes out of the truck to greet me. Holding my hand toward Sam, I say, “Esta es mi novia.”
“La catira bellísima? Tu novia? Si Luis!” Daniel exclaims. When he notices Sam’s genuine smile but lost expression, he switches to English. “I’m telling this guy I don’t believe him that the beautiful blonde is his girlfriend. How has he tricked you?”
Sam laughs and replies, “Believe me—I’m the one who tricked him.”
“Mentirosa,” I chide her, pulling her closer and kissing her cheek. “Daniel is right—a gorgeous woman like you settling for me is hard to believe. I’m a lucky man. Sam, meet Daniel Romero, owner and chef of the best food truck in the whole Kansas City metro.”
Daniel shakes Sam’s hand and asks, “Have you ever had Venezuelan food before?” When she shakes her head, he says, “Well, we’ll make one of everything.”
I tell him, “Maybe not one of everything—I have a game to play tonight and can’t be late to warm-ups. We’ll come back again another time, but start her off with all the best stuff. Every classic taste of home.”
While we sit and wait for our food, Sam fills me in on her conversation with Veronica at the salon yesterday.
“I told you,” I say. “It’s all your talent.”
Sam gives me a sarcastic look. “I told you. That Veronica thought my customers were coming from my girlfriend status.”
“Well, we were both right,” I concede. “But I’m more right because Veronica agreed with me.”
“Menso, she agreed with us both,” Sam teases, rolling her eyes. She holds out her hand on top of the table, and I happily take it.
The small bird tattoo on Sam’s wrist stands out in the bright sunlight, and I point to it. “What does your tattoo mean?”
She narrows her eyes, and I know she’s thinking about my refusal to explain the words on my wrist. Before I can worry that she’s going to point out the hypocrisy, she smiles and starts talking.
“It’s from a painting my mom commissioned to hang in their living room.
Before Ian and I joined the family, my parents fostered other children temporarily for several years.
But Mom always said that every child was forever in her heart, even if they weren’t forever in the official West family.
“The painting is a tree with five birds perched in the branches, and fourteen birds flying above it. My parents are the tree, giving stability and love to all the birds, for however long they need it. The flying birds represent the kids who lived with them for a short time but didn’t stay, and the five in the tree are all of us siblings,” Sam explains.
She pauses, and I rub my thumb across the tiny bird sitting on a branch. Her voice is softer when she says, “I got it last year to give myself a visual reminder that I belong somewhere. To remind me that I’m loved when I have a hard time remembering.”
My thumb freezes in its trail across her wrist. I tense, trying to think of what to say.
I haven’t told Sam I love her yet, even though I do. But I don’t want this to be the first time I say it. I don’t want it to seem like I’m only telling her to reassure her. But I do love her, and I do want to reassure her that she’s loved.
Unfortunately, my mental paralysis has once again kept me silent for too long, and Sam swiftly changes the mood.
“I also got it as a motivator to myself to find my own place to roost, to find what I wanted to do with my life and not work as Griff’s assistant forever.
And look at me now. Successfully roosting. ”
She grins as she says it, and between my sunglasses and hers, I don’t have a clear view of her eyes. But I know the grin isn’t crinkling those corner laugh lines. I know the sadness that she erased from her tone lingers in her eyes. I know I should figure out what she needs to hear and say it.
But I don’t know. Instead, I flip over my arm and say, “I got this two years ago around the time of the twenty-year anniversary of my mom’s death. It was her favorite poem. She had it framed in the house, and now it sits on top of a bookshelf next to a photo of her in my dad’s apartment.”
Sam’s mouth pinches with emotion, and she studies my tattoo.
Before I can decide whether or not to translate the words and explain their significance, Daniel brings over baskets of food, and Sam and I release our hands to clear space on the table.
He points out the different fillings in the arepas and empanadas, but I tell Sam to start with the cachapa—salty cheese folded inside a sweet corn pancake.
I hold my breath waiting for Sam to take her first bite. Daniel hovers with similar anticipation. The melted cheese stretches as she pulls the fork to her mouth, and I know I’ve won when she moans.
“Have I mentioned I hate you?” she says, mouth still full.
I grin at the statement, reminiscent of the first time I took her to our favorite sushi place. “That’s mean,” I play along.
“I can’t believe you’ve let me live this long not knowing that this little bite of heaven exists,” she says. “What kind of boyfriend are you?”
Daniel laughs heartily at that and sticks around long enough to get her reaction to the empanadas and arepas before he returns to the truck to cook for the other customers lining up.
I avoid sharing more about my tattoo by telling Sam stories about all my favorite foods growing up and how I discovered this place.
While I was serious about it being a bad idea to eat such heavy food before a game, I can’t resist taking a few bites of everything. Something sings in my heart to experience this sliver of home along with Sam.
Something stings in my heart when I glance down at the words inked across my wrist. At the sliver of home I’ll never experience with Sam.
Swallowing down the painful thought along with a bite of cachapa, I tell Sam, “We’d better head back to my house. I gotta get my suitcase and head to the stadium so I’m not late. But you’re coming tonight, right?”
“Yes,” she confirms, licking guasacaca sauce from her thumb. She adds, “I’m sitting with Lily in the suite. Will you have time to come up before you fly out? Or should I plan on seeing you when you get back in town?”
“I’ll definitely come up for a few minutes,” I say. “I wouldn’t miss the chance to snag an extra moment with you before we leave.”
Crack!
I feel in my hands where the ball made contact with the bat, and I know it’s going to be a grounder heading toward the shortstop hole. Which means I need to book it to first if I’m going to beat the throw.
Sprinting as hard as I can, I try not to question my Venezuelan fried food choices. When I make it to base and the ump motions “safe,” I know Sam is going to have some smug words for me about my home-to-first time. I plan to kiss the smug smile right off her face.
But first, we need to win this game. We’re tied in the bottom of the ninth, and I’d love to finish this off without going into extra innings. I want to steal those few moments with Sam before we have to head to the airport.
Drew hits a single that successfully moves me to second, but the following batter strikes out.
Carson is up next, and I mentally channel every good vibe his way.
He’s played well tonight—a little looser than his typical uptight self, going so far as to pretend to shoot a basketball after a particularly good defensive save.
“Come on, kid,” I mutter under my breath, taking an extra step in my lead off the base. The pitcher punishes me for it, throwing the ball to second, but I make it back before I’m tagged out. The pitch clock is winding down, so I sneak my way back to that extra leadoff.
When the ball thwacks off Carson’s bat, I pump my arms and run to third, motioned by the coach to head for home.
I easily make it to home plate before the ball, winning the game.
The stadium lights flicker in celebration, and I run with my hands out to my sides toward Carson at first. Drew meets me there, and together we bear-hug a grinning Carson.
I grab around his waist, leaning all my weight back, lifting his feet into the air and giving him a good shake.
“That’s what I’m talking about, Hendricks!” I yell as I release him. He doesn’t grunt, growl, or even glare.
He smirks and says, “Don’t throw out your back, old man!” He smacks the visor of my ball cap over my eyes, and I know we’re going to give him a double dousing of Gatorade during the postgame interview tonight.
After showering Carson with ice-cold blue liquid, then showering myself in hot water, I make my way up to the suite where Sam was watching with Lily and the other WAGs. I smile to myself, so happy that I’m one of the players on the way to visit my girlfriend in that suite.
How long do I need to wait to change Sam’s status from G to W? I wonder as I ride the elevator up.
When I open the door to the suite, I see that Drew beat me here. He’s holding Asher up in the air, making him squeal with a gummy grin even though Lily is reminding Drew that Asher is supposed to be sleeping in the car seat.
I recognize the back of Sam’s choppy blonde hair as she looks up at Asher. When my gaze drops to her back, I freeze.
Striding across the room, I announce, “Hello, we’ll be right back!” Sam turns to see me just before I take her hand, pulling her out of the room and into the empty suite next door.
“Adrian, what are you—” Sam starts to ask as I close the door. She can’t finish her question, though, because my mouth is on hers, kissing her with all the fiery desire I’ve tried to restrain the first few times our lips have met.
I can feel Sam’s surprise melt away as she wraps her arms around my shoulders, as she threads her fingers through my wet hair.
I trace her lips with my tongue while my fingers trace the letters on her back.
When I know I’m on the verge of completely losing control of myself, I take a step back. Sam’s breathing heavily, her eyes dazed in the most hypnotizing way.
“You’re wearing my jersey,” I murmur, my voice husky.
Sam glances down at her shirt, as if needing to confirm for herself that she is, in fact, wearing my jersey. When she looks back up to me, there’s a playful smile on her lips. “You noticed,” she says.
Matching her playful smile, I growl as I step back toward her. “I definitely noticed.” Resting my hands on her hips, I say, “You’d better throw out every other Crowns shirt that you own. We’ll get you an Ortiz jersey in every color.”
She laughs as she locks her hands behind my neck. Pressing onto her toes, she kisses me slowly, then says, “We should maybe go back to the other suite before everyone assumes we’re over here making out.”
I pivot our feet so her back is against the suite door, effectively blocking her from opening it to leave. “Considering that’s exactly what we’re doing, I don’t care what they assume.”
And then I kiss her again, taking my time, controlling the passion, savoring every sigh that escapes Sam’s throat.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Sam jumps as the door shakes behind her. Her eyes flare with panic, and she buries her face in my chest.
“Ortiz? Get out here! We’re gonna miss the flight!” Drew’s stern voice calls from the other side of the door.
“Be right there!” I call.
“Now!” Drew yells. “Don’t make me tell Griff about this!”
“Bájale dos!” I tell him to calm down. Sam is still plastered against my chest, trembling. Assuming that she’s embarrassed—or worried that Drew really would tell Griffin—I rub her back and say, “Don’t worry about it, cielo. I’ll make sure Drew doesn’t snitch.”
She nods against my chest, then takes a deep breath.
She’s pale when she looks up at me, and I worry that maybe I did let things get out of hand.
Making a mental note to dial it back the next time I kiss her, I gently brush my knuckles down her cheek.
“I’ll miss you. I’m sorry I don’t have time to walk you out to your car. ”
Sam swallows hard and lightly shakes her head, clearing away whatever worry she had. “It’s okay. This was a better use of our moments,” she says, and I can’t stop myself from kissing her again, keeping it short this time.
I’m aching to tell her how I really feel. To open the floodgates of every pent-up “I love you.” I need an instruction manual to tell me when I’m allowed to say it without taking the pace of our relationship too fast.
Instead of saying the words out loud, I bring her left wrist up to my lips and kiss the small bird tattooed there. Her eyes soften as she smiles, and I hope she understands what I’m saying without saying it.
I love you.