Stealing Reese (Wildcat Graduates Book 5), page 17
“Hey,” I greet them, a hug for them both, then sit at the table with them. “Sorry it took me so long. The coaches wanted to talk to me for a minute. How long have you guys been here?”
“Not that long, son,” Dad tells me as we begin looking over our menus. “You know how long it takes your mother to change and get ready for anything.” His comment receives a scowl and ‘love tap’ to the arm from her. Dad simply chuckles. It’s refreshing to see them, so relaxed and playful. Reese and I are like that with each other. Well, we were like that, before I fucked it all up.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Things are good. He just wanted to tell me he likes what he sees and to keep up the good work.”
“I knew he was a smart man,” Mom grins right as the waitress approaches our table. After giving our orders to her, we fall into a discussion about my contract and how I’m settling into the minors and with the team. My parents made sure there was a clause in my contract that covers my college if I were to suffer an injury while playing that prevents me from playing any longer. Having lawyer parents is very helpful when it comes to things like this. At least it’s one thing I’ll never have to worry about.
“What does your schedule look like tomorrow?” Dad asks, after our food is delivered and our drinks are refilled.
“We’re putting on a promotion where we have patriotic themed jerseys for the game and they will be up for bidding at a silent auction afterward. We autograph them for whomever wins. We need to be there by ten in the morning.”
“I’m not familiar with what all goes on, but why so early?” Mom asks as she cuts into her steak.
“We have a lot of things we go through before a game and being there well before the spectators are makes things go more smoothly.”
“Are you getting a lot of fans seeking you out already?” Dad inquires while painstakingly fixing his baked potato just the right way.
“Not too many,” I laugh, “Just kids mostly. It’s not a big deal.” I’ve gotten asked for my autograph while playing at SAU, so it’s not like it’s something new.
“Once they see you play more often the way you did today, that will change,” Mom assures me, so certain she’s speaking the truth.
“Not sure about that, but thanks, Mom,” I smile, appreciative of her support and confidence in me.
“No need to thank me, Dillon. You’re the one who has the talent. I’m, we’re lucky enough to witness it.”
“She’s right, son. You wanted to play baseball and made it happen. We’re proud to watch our boy grow into such a successful man.” WOAH. His admission renders me speechless, a little dumbfounded to hear him say it out loud.
Their beaming smiles fill that childhood yearning for acceptance and approval that’s never really been completely filled. Realizing that my previous issues with my parents really weren’t issues anymore, I’m left content and happy with our new relationship.
Conversation continues until our dinner is finished and my parents leave to head back to their hotel. Promising to meet them for breakfast at a local place near my apartment, I say my goodbyes and drive home to call it a night.
“Honey, I’m home,” I call out needlessly when entering my empty apartment.
I’ve lived on campus for the past four years where people were always around to be seen and heard, so getting used to the silence I’m exposed to now is a touch unnerving, deafening even. Playing baseball professionally is exhausting, giving me so much to do with practices, meetings, or games, that being alone hasn’t been much of an issue...until this week. Talking to my parents so often and having them here in person for the weekend has me finally noticing my lack of companionship.
Throwing my keys and wallet on the dresser, I begin rummaging around for a pair of sweatpants and a tee to sleep in. I’m physically ready to sleep, but my reluctant mind is very much awake, so I fall into bed and turn on the television, hoping a small amount of mindless programming will help me relax enough to fall asleep.
“Enough of that,” I mutter, turning off the television and tossing the remote onto the nightstand. Two hours and four trips through the program guide finally has my mind ready to shut down for the night. Clicking off the lamp, I settle into my pillow, my arm resting under it. My eyes closed, I let my thoughts reflect over the past few weeks and all the amazing experiences I’ve had. It’s hard to comprehend it’s no longer just a dream, that I’m actually a professional baseball player.
The only thing that could make my life any more perfect?
Having Reese here to share it with.
Tyler and I talk to one another on the phone once or twice a week, more often through texts. He did go on vacation with my family, but it’s been over a month - the last week in June - since I’ve actually seen him. I went on vacation to Eureka Springs with his family for almost a week. Touring the Haunted hotels at night was a lot of fun and I really enjoyed my time there. Other than that, I’ve been babysitting for a young couple - friends of Mom’s - from church and Ty’s been busy with work and basketball camps put on by the Parks and Recreation Department there in Arkadelphia where he lives.
It’s now mid-July and summer classes have kept me busy with papers and projects when I’m not babysitting. It’s been a long day and I’m close to being done with an English paper that’s due in two days when a phone call nearly scares me to death.
“Hey,” I say with a smile at seeing his name on the caller ID.
“How’s my girl?” he asks while I straighten up the loose leaf paper I’ve been writing on.
“Good. You’re calling earlier tonight,” I observe, the clock on my wall declaring it to be nine at night, which is earlier than the usual eleven.
“Yeah, Mom had me and Josh working in the yard all day, and since it was so hot and humid, she let us call it quits early.”
That’s good,” I say absentmindedly as I organize my notecards. “I bet your brother complained the entire time,” I laugh and so does he. “He’s not exactly the outdoorsy type.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. Damn, he’s smart and works hard when he needs to, but he sure does like to make it harder on everyone.”
“I don’t envy you. I thought I wanted a younger brother or sister when I was little, but Audrey got a baby sister when we were five and I changed my mind.” Just talking about it makes me shudder.
“Why? Was she that bad?” he laughs at me.
“Worse,” I groan. “Maddy was mean! She loved to antagonize us and whenever we were at their house we constantly got into trouble for defending ourselves,” I huff in irritation. The mere mention of Maddy’s name brings up bad memories.
“Lucky you. You’ve just got Blain to deal with,” he teases, knowing my current love-hate relationship with him leans more toward the hate side than I’d like. Can’t blame me though. He certainly wasn’t behaving normally when Tyler joined us on vacation. He was standoffish at best.
“Shut up,” I murmur, cutting off his laughter.
“Okay, I give.”
“Sorry. I’ll be glad when he leaves next week to report for football practice. His mood swings are worse than mine, and I’m about to lose my cheerful disposition all over his ass!” It’s true. Mom and Dad are about done with his attitude, too.
He laughs out loud. A lot. Full on, toss-his-head-back laughter bombards my ears causing me to jerk the phone away from my ear in shock. I guess I’m funny.
“Enough about the idiot. What do you have planned for this week?”
“I have a few things to do before school starts in two weeks. Working until then, though.”
“Yeah, I’m almost done with these summer classes.”
“What did you do today?” he asks in turn. Bloop.
“Hold on a sec,” I reply fumbling with my phone and its power cord. Bleep. “There, the battery was almost dead so I had to plug it into the charger.”
“I figured when it blooped,” he smarts off, laughing at his own words.
“Oh, yeah. I forget it does that,” I mumble with a hint of irritation. Ignoring it the best I can, I answer, “Babysat for the Perrigos again, but I got off early so Audrey and I went downtown and window shopped.”
“You didn’t buy anything?”
“I never said that,” I huff, tired of this topic already.
“I remember how you and your mom were while shopping at those tourist shops in Galveston. There was only real shopping involved.” Blain complained constantly even becoming bored enough to actually talk to Tyler most of the time we were out and about. I’m still in shock over that.
“Whatever,” I dismiss while rolling my eyes. “I’ll let you go. I know you must be exhausted.”
“I’m not tired,” he argues.
“Your brain might not be, but your body is and you know it!”
“Maybe, but I’m not falling asleep.”
“You will be in a minute. I’ll call you later this weekend sometime.”
A stifled yawn escapes him.
“See.”
“Fine, I’ll go to bed after I shower,” he surrenders without a fight.
I pause briefly then say, “Well then, you’d better get showered before you fall asleep all dirty and sweaty.”
“I suppose,” he snickers. “‘Night, babe. I miss you.”
“Goodnight, Tyler.”
After grabbing dinner with a few of the guys after our game, I sit down on my sofa and flip on the television, needing to break the silence that always takes over my apartment. Since I began playing with the Grizzlies, we’ve had our share of wins to go with today’s loss. Since being drafted, I talk to my friends from school often, rotating between each one. Xana calls and texts me the most, though. Their constant support helps me stay focused on days like today.
RING.
Speak of the red-headed devil and she calls. “Hey, Red,” I answer, laughing at her timing.
“Hi, Dill! Did I call at a bad time?” Xana’s always needlessly apologizing.
“Nonsense,” I reply, grinning to myself. “You know it’s never too late to call me. I may not answer, but you can call.”
“Oh, knock it off, DAM,” she says, laughing more than me.
“Awww, reverting to that nickname, too, huh? Been around Blondie too damn long. That hurts, Red,” I tease, enjoying our conversation. Yeah, I see the irony in what I just said.
“Well, someone asked for it,” she laughs. “Anyway, how are things going with you? We haven’t talked in a while.”
“It’s crazy, Red. Busy, but good. How’s Daniels treatin’ ya? Ready to leave his sorry ass and run away with me, yet?” I joke, knowing full well she’d never leave him for any reason. In some ways, I envy their relationship.
“Oh, I did, but you weren’t here so I had to run away with someone else instead,” she teases right back. The sadness in her voice overshadowed by giggles.
“I’m heartbroken,” I whine.
“I’m sure you’ll survive.” Her light-hearted banter is a pleasant surprise. When our laughter fades she says, “Have you talked to Reese any?” Bam, there it is.
“Xan,” I sigh.
“Well, have you?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” No reply. “She kinda has a boyfriend.” I want to tell her to stay out of my business, but I know she’s only doing it because she cares.
“I know you still love her,” she says softly.
“What… no, I,” my denial is cut off by her next words.
“I’m not blind or dumb, Dill. I know you try to let everyone think you’re some love ‘em and leave ‘em Romeo, but you’re not. I know you better than that.”
“You think I’m a lo-ver,” drawl, baiting her in hopes of knocking her off course.
“I know you’re a really nice guy who lost something he regrets.” Well, hell. “Don’t give up on Ree,” she continues when I don’t respond.
“Yeah, well, I really fucked up with her, so you’re wasting your breath, babe.” She’s too much of a romantic.
“I’m not, but you’ll see sooner or later.” The surety in her voice confounds me. Does she know something I don’t?
“Look, the last time I heard from her was after the draft when she texted me congratulations. That’s it. If she wanted anything else, she would have reached out more than that.” Silence. “What are you trying to tell me, Red? You speaking in code?”
“Just promise me that you’ll think about reaching out to her.” She’s lost her damn mind.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that,” I reply sarcastically.
Sighing into the receiver - very loudly, I might add - she says, “Promise me, Dillon Montgomery.” Crap, she pulled out the last name.
“Fine,” I give up, “I’ll think about it, but I make no promises. Somethings are just better left alone.”
“Stubborn ass,” she mutters to herself but it makes me laugh.
“That’s me.”
“We miss having you around here popping in and out of the house,” she says and I can hear the sentiment in her voice.
“I’m never there much in the summer, ya know,” I point out, but I understand what she means. I miss them too.
We exchange a few more word before she begins to yawn. “Sorry about that.”
“No need. You feeling alright?”
“Yeah, just tired.”
“Get some sleep, Red.”
“‘Kay. Bye.” Ending our call, I lay my head on the back of the sofa and close my eyes, thinking about what she said, confusion washing over me as I replay everything in my head.
Should I try and reach out to Reese, or leave things as they are and move on?
“Dillon! Can I get an autograph?” This request is yelled at me from every direction as I leave the locker room. Not just kids this time, but adults mixed in along with them. It’s been almost two months since I started playing to the Astros’ minor league team, the Grizzlies, and having fans is still something I’m not used to.
“Sure,” I tell them, taking time to sign a variety of items from programs to shirts or baseballs.
We played Sacramento today - won by three - and the stadium was packed because of the special jersey day the team put on. It was an intense game, adrenaline still pumping through my veins. I feel amazing.
“There ya go,” I tell the guy, not much older than I am when I return his Astros jersey, and shake his hand. He’s the last person who wants my autograph, the crowd finally receding.
As the team disperses from the building, Makepeace and I follow them out of the building. “How does it feel, kid, giving out all those John Hancocks?” he asks.
“Kinda odd. I’m used to signing stuff for the kids, but doing it for people my own age and older feels wrong somehow.” He laughs heartily and slaps me on the back.
“That’s how ya know you’ve made it to the big leagues,” he explains. “But I understand what you mean, though. You’ll get used to it.”
“I guess,” I chuckle, shaking my head in mild disbelief. It is almost the end of July, just under two months since I joined the Grizzlies. I feel really confident in my performance on the team thus far. There’s always room for improvement, sure, but I know without a doubt I’ve given it my best. If what Makepeace says is true - that I’ve made it to the big league - them maybe I really am doing something right.
“Montgomery!” Coach’s deep voice reaches me over the idle chatter of my teammates before I make it halfway down the hallway.
“Uh oh,” my friend laughs. “Called to the principal’s office already.” His amused expression doesn’t quiet the slight panic that overtakes me as I rifle through my brain trying to decipher what I’ve done wrong. I haven’t quite felt like this since high school.
Looking over my schedule and making eye contact with him, Coach jerks his head toward his office, then walks inside. “Shit,” I mutter to myself, changing my direction.
“Good luck,” Makepeace says as I follow Coach to his office. This can’t be good. I just may need good luck.
“Sit down,” he tells me from his seat when I walk through the doorway. Dropping my gear bag beside the empty chair he points to, I take a seat, stiffly waiting for him to speak.
“Houston called,” he pauses to look me directly in the eye. Okay, why is he telling me? “Jonas was injured in the game today. They want you to replace him.”
Did I hear him right? Surely not. I’m just a rookie, the new guy.
“Ya hear me, son?” he questions when I don’t respond. Way to go, Montgomery.
“Oh, yes sir. Sorry.” My shock must be entertaining because he just chuckles.
“Don’t be so surprised. They always watch every player. You’ve obviously impressed the shit out of them.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, they’re traveling to Colorado tomorrow, so that gives you a little time to grab what you need and meet them there. Your flight information and everything else you’ll need will be sent to you as soon as possible, so be ready to go first thing in the morning. They’ll have your lodging taken care of for the time being as well.”
“Yes, sir.” He laughs at me again.
“Congratulations, Montgomery. Can’t say we won’t miss having you out on the field, though.” He stands to shake my hand and I follow his lead.
“Thank you. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Coach. I’ve been honored to play for this team.” Walking toward the door, I stop.
“It’s been good having you. Now, good luck out there.” Patting my back one last time, he returns to his desk and I leave the building stunned and elated at the same time.
“In other news,” the sportscaster for the five o’clock news begins, “Houston Astros’ shortstop, Shannon Jonas was severely injured earlier today in their game against the Pittsburgh Pirates. Jonas’ injury occurred as he reached second base and collided with two Pirates players in their efforts to make an out.” A quick video of the accident plays on the television screen.
