Page 99 of Curveball
We stroll the lawn again, heading toward the garage and the area he uses for practice.
“Shit, I keep forgetting to get the garage door fixed. It sticks. Remind me to call the guy tomorrow, would you, babe?”
“Yeah, I can do that,” I respond. “And I want to thank you for helping Dylan, still, with his pitching. He says he’s learning a lot and his stats have improved.”
“Are you kidding? The kid’s a natural. It’s good to see he’s got a well-rounded training regimen, too. He hits the gym as well as the pitching mound.”
Oh, man, this is harder than I expected.
“Hey, I was thinking,” he says.
“Did it hurt?” I blurt out one of Dylan’s digs andreally, Palmer?
He playfully jabs me in the ribs and I laugh. Then, I lean down to remove my heels, since they keep sinking into the grass. The lawn is cool on my bare feet.
“You’re a smartass. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“So, you were thinking?” I prompt, rather than answering.
“Yeah, the guys want to have a party for us. We were talking about having it here because we have room for everyone. It would be fun.”
“You sure you haven’t reached your quota of fun yet?” I ask him skeptically. But also, honestly, Max and fun? Not always discussed in the same sentence.
“All right, maybe I deserved that in an earlier life. But you, wife—you make me want to do it.”
What is he saying? Are we only delaying the inevitable?
“Sure, we could do that. I’ll get with the event planner and see if she can?—”
“Nope. This party is for you—well, and me—so you’re not lifting a finger.” He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses it, then links our fingers and lets our connected hands fall between us. “If the guys want to do it, they’re going to do the work. It’ll be in a couple of weeks, so you have a chance to recuperate from this crazy mess.”
“Do you have a date picked out? Because Dylan’s birthday is right around then. I thought I’d plan something for him.”
“That’ll be great. We’re talking about the first day of the All-Star break, so it’ll just be the guys who don’t go to Atlanta, and whatever friends you want to invite. They’re all talking casual. I mean, the TVs will be on by the pool, since the home run derby will be that day. Have him invite friends from his team.”
This is getting to bea lot. I pull away and let our hands drop, and wrap my arms around my middle. It’s time to go into protective mode. But Max misinterprets my move, removes his jacket, and lays it over my shoulders. He puts his arm at my waist and guides me to face him.
“You getting cold, babe? Maybe we should head back?”
I lift my hand to the front of his snowy white shirt, his onyx studs glimmering from the lights in the trees. Other couples are strolling through the yard, but nobody is near.
“Max, I have to tell you something, and I’m not even sure I have the right.”
“Well, that sounds ominous.”
“It might be. You know I come with a lot of . . . baggage. I’ve already dragged you into so much of it. My life is not simple.”
“Palmer—”
“Just . . . This isn’t easy for me, so let me get it out. Please.”
“I’m listening.” But his voice has gone hard. Something is playing out in his imagination, and I’m afraid of what it is.
“I love you, Max.” I spit it out, the hard part. The rest of our conversation can happen or not, but that needs to be said.
Max takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing, but I hold up my hand.
“I need to finish. Please.”
