Page 3 of Moonshot

After the devastation of my Batter’s Shoulder injury and multiple failed surgeries, I had to face the music. My major league baseball career was over. It was one of the worst moments in my life, coming to terms with the decision to walk away. The next few months were like grieving a death. But I guess that’s exactly what it was. The death of the future I’d held so tight.

I attempted to shield how much I was struggling to prevent the people around me from feeling uncomfortable. No one ever knows the right thing to say. Why put them through it? Yet there was no need to try to comfort Paula, as she was absent much of the time. Her visits to the hospital after my injuries or subsequent repairs were rare. The one time I can recall her bothering was when she had a friend along. In retrospect, I suspect that visit was all for show. I admit this wasn’t shocking. Paula had always been a bit superficial. Deep and meaningful our relationship had never been. Despite this, I still expected more from her.

Instead of the soothing reassurance that everything would be okay from my girlfriend of five years, I felt abandoned. I made excuses for her. It was our first year in college. The transition from high school academics to the grueling requirements of college hadn’t been easy. Yet it seemed, in hindsight, much of her absence was due to partying into the wee hours versus pulling an all-nighter. More and more, she began to pull away. Until one day, I discovered she’d seemingly left and forgotten to inform me.

It was near the end of my freshman year when I walked into the campus library, arm in a sling, looking for a book to complete a class assignment. As I rounded the stacks, I heard familiar giggling. Assuming I’d find Paula and a girlfriend gossiping over the latest college shenanigans, I was instead stunned speechless to find her in a compromising position with Brett, the team pitcher. As I leaned back behind the end of the shelving, I observed them laughing together with his arms wrapped about her waist. He was whispering into her ear, and based on her facial expression, she was eating it up. My stomach churned. Beyond the betrayal, I couldn’t recall a time she’d ever been like that with me. Giddy and playful. Even when we were younger. Seeing them like this was a real blow. But the hits kept on coming.

I didn’t want to start a brawl in the middle of the library, so I retreated to my dorm to confront her about it later. We’d been friends before we were more, and I didn’t want to ruin that with a public spectacle. Once back in my room, I opened my laptop and logged in to social media to find the relationship between my girlfriend and Brett had been going on for some time. There were multiple pictures posted on both of their social media pages as if they’d been an unofficial item for months. Hell, my page still said, ‘in a relationship with Paula Patterson.’What a schmuck I was!

Trying to put my game face on, I called Paula asking her to come by. I wanted to have this conversation in person. She owed me that much. There was no point in trying to justify this as something other than what I observed with my own two eyes. There was no way she could claim their closeness today, coupled with all of the pictures I’d found, was innocent, friendly behavior.

When Paula came to my dorm hours later, I’d laid it all out there. Yet, my committed girlfriend of five years merely shrugged her shoulders at the images and said, “It’s college. You didn’t think we’d really make it through four years of college together, did you?” Something tells me if I was still hitting grand slams, we would’ve made it just fine.

There was no I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. Not even a ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ Just a blank expression like I was in the wrong for even bringing it up. She turned and walked out the door that day as if we were never anything more than acquaintances and never looked back. If she’d been this callous after spending this many years together, I have a feeling marriage vows would’ve meant little more.

As painful as that time remains, I know I dodged a bullet that day. How much longer would she have hidden that relationship. How many others had there been during high school that I was too blind to notice? My gut said Brett was akin to a relief pitcher, waiting in the wings for his turn. Paula was beautiful and could have any man she wanted. And it appears she was more than ready for a replacement. Maybe that’s all there ever was between Paula and me. I was the shooting star she’d hitched her ride to. I was going places, and she wanted to be there for it all. When it appeared my limelight had faded, and the career was over, she moved on to the next shimmering beacon to try again.

Jock chaser or not, Paula left a bitter taste in my mouth for women and relationships. I’d already lost my major league baseball dreams and the girl I thought I’d eventually marry. I wasn’t ready to deal with another blow. The women I’d met in my travels for business had provided all the connections I needed. One hot, steamy night at a time. I made it clear I wasn’t looking for more. That I was purely in town for business. There were no numbers exchanged, and often I never even learned a name. It was a warm body to fall into when I needed it. Nothing more.

Ava is not that type of woman, and I know it. If I wanted to ask her out, I’d have to be all in. Plus, if it didn’t work out, I’d still have to see her in the office. Could I handle returning here if it went sour? Because I was damn sure it’d be her rejecting me if it ended. There’s no way I’d be able to walk away from a woman like Ava.

This woman is the stuff movies are made of. She’s poised and articulate. She makes you feel as if you are the most important person in the world when she has your attention. I know our interactions are purely business, but I try to flirt a little when I can get by with it. Yet, she’s surrounded by attractive, wealthy men with impressive degrees. I could never compete with the likes of them. Nor would I want to. I’m done trying to prove myself to a woman just to be replaced when I don’t meet their expectations. One-night stands give me what I need without dealing with eventual heartbreak.

Pondering this is fruitless. When Ava’s surrounded by multimillionaire surgeons and the like, why would this breathtaking woman consider going out with someone like me?

CHAPTERTHREE

Ava

It’s been a horrendously stressful day. The clinic got a late start when an impromptu fire alarm went off. After standing outside for almost an hour, we were cleared to return to the building and had to try to do what we could to move patients along a little quicker. Otherwise, we might not get a lunch break today.

Dr. Stark is on call for the ER today, causing him to be more irritable than usual, barking at everyone in his wake. But as usual, I’m his most convenient target. Not to mention, he’s been pulled from the office multiple times, leaving me to pick up the slack. I’ve tried to take it all in stride, reminding myself he’s just an asshole, Ava. Don’t take any of this personally. But it’s still beyond unpleasant.

I manage to complete my work responsibilities, plastering on a smile, despite his condescending attitude. I’ve seen twice as many patients during the first four hours of my shift as usual. This should make me feel accomplished. However, the added stress has brought on a familiar aura.

My migraines are almost a customary part of life now. I don’t know which days they’ll arrive, but expect at least two days a week will be torturous. But regardless of avoiding triggers, stress can induce one hellish headache. And around here, I spell stress with a capital STARK.

My usual migraines will slowly creep up as a feeling of tension or pressure in my head and neck, but they’re usually centered behind my left eye. Light and unpleasant noises aggravate the discomfort, and extreme nausea usually comes along for the ride. I’ve found that mint seems to help with an upset stomach. I should own stock in peppermint candy for the amount I regularly buy. You can find them almost everywhere you find me. In my lab coat pocket, my purse, my coat, my desk, and all over my home. To someone unaware, it looks like I need an intervention. Yet, popping one into my mouth or placing them in a cup of herbal tea seems to keep nausea from intensifying into full-blown retching.

The truly treacherous migraines present with an aura. I’ll see a gold halo behind my closed lids and know it’s coming. There’s no sense fighting it once the aura appears. I’ve learned getting upset about it only makes it worse. Thankfully, I have a few non-narcotic prescription pain medications on hand which don’t elicit drowsiness. While these can still be addictive, I only use them when it’s absolutely necessary. If the pain builds too quickly and the nausea is more than a peppermint can abate, I have some nondrowsy nausea pills as well. Ultimately, rest is what works best. The last patient before lunch has left, and I’m grateful to be able to lie my head down on my desk for thirty minutes. For all the therapies I’ve tried, rest in a dark space often works better than any chemical.

“Ava, honey. You don’t look like you feel well, but Michael’s here. Would you like me to send him away? He’s such a dear, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind coming some other time if he knew you weren’t up to it,” Joanie asks, stroking my arm.

Had I fallen asleep? I didn’t even hear her come in. “No, no. It’s fine. He never stays long anyway. I should be fine.” I rub the back of my neck instinctively. “Could you just ask him to give me like five minutes before you send him back?”

“Of course, dear.” Joanie exits my office, heading to the front of the clinic, and I sit down at my desk to look through my purse for my pill bottle. She’s such a kind woman. It wasn’t long after I began working at the clinic that my headaches started wreaking havoc. I’d discovered back then that I had a hard time with a scent Joanie wore to work. I tried to distance myself from her but worried she’d feel I was being rude. After much internal debate, I shared that bright light, harsh noises, and some smells could aggravate my symptoms. I assured her the headache was already there at that point. Her perfume had not caused them, just made my nausea a little harder to bear. I apologized for always smelling like a walking tin of Altoids as my way of broaching the subject, and she was such a dear about it. Never once did she make me feel bad. She rarely wears anything beyond a mildly fragranced hand lotion now. I hate that I could’ve stolen something from her she enjoyed wearing, but she insisted I needn’t give it another thought. She’s looked out for me when they get bad ever since.

As I swallow the little white pill, I consider momentarily what it’d be like to come home to someone like Michael if I had a headache such as this. He’s so gracious and good-mannered. Not to mention mouthwatering. He’d probably be all the medicine I needed. It’s dangerous to contemplate such things. I don’t need a reason to become sad or depressed at my current circumstances. It’ll only make the headaches worse.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, and none of them looked like Michael. Most of them were intelligent businessmen I’d met online or had been acquaintances of friends or work colleagues. My relationships never seem to last. I’ve not experienced anything deep and meaningful with someone. In the beginning, it was all my doing. I lived in fear of ending up like my mother. Of being tossed aside for someone who wasn’t so complicated. It was easier to just accept being alone. Yet after a while, that existence is miserable too.

So I’ve tried to put myself out there. I date if you want to call it that. Yet, every man I go out with seems so superficial. Initially, meeting someone new is loaded with possibilities. I’m sure I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, but I have a shelf full of beauty pageant trophies to prove some find me physically attractive.Thank you for that, Mom.

When I meet someone new, usually there’s excitement as we get to know one another. Often it’s forced excitement on my part. But they appear pleased I haven’t catfished them once we meet in person, and I’m pleased for the chance this time could be different. This time could lead somewhere. It’s not a lot to ask for. That I might hope for a significant other versus a superficial other for a change.

Yet very often, it turns out to feel like I’m a challenge in some way. There’s no real connection beyond the physical. I’m simply arm-candy. I equate it to what an escort might feel. Spending time with someone where there’s no spark. No chemistry. Listening to them go on and on about their accomplishments as if they’re interviewing for a job. I hang in there with each man, thinking the common denominator here is me. Yet, once I finally tear down my defenses and sleep with them, they’re often out the door, never to be heard from again.Maybe I’m just really bad in bed?

There’ve been a few men who’ve taken an interest that felt genuine. But unfortunately, I felt nothing romantic in return. It seemed wrong to get their hopes up by continuing to date. Knowing they held unrequited feelings made it difficult to entertain anything physical. Sure, I have needs. But I’d prefer to have purely carnal, unemotional sex with someone where we both know the score. I’d never want to give false signals to an otherwise nice guy. Nothing is appealing about that scenario.

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