Page 31 of The Beat of My Heart
“Get the fuck out of here,” I say, shoving his chest harder than I intended, causing the people on the street to turn and stare. “Bibia Be Ye Ye? That is my theme song,” I shout, not because I’m mad but because I’m excited and freaked the fuck out a little. “I’ve never told anyone that. But it is my theme song. It seems to fit how my brain works when I have to be social. It’s like I’m floating around, never really fitting in, but I’m happy.” Throwing my hands over my face, I peer out through my fingers. “I’m totally crazy, you know?”
Charlie laughs and grabs my hand, it’s like neither of us can let go for too long. “You’re not, and if you are, then I am too because I called your theme song. Are we crossing?” he asks, gesturing to the blinking man, showing it’s time to cross.
“Yeah, come on.”
Making our way to the Back Bay station, I’ve noticed Charlie has clammed up. He really doesn’t like being underground, so I try to distract him.
“What would your theme song be?” I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate, “The Wolf.”
“Again, with Mumford, I like it. Frightened hearts, you know what I like about that song?” I ask him.
“What?”
“The beat is dark, dangerous, but the lyrics? The lyrics are full of hope and love. He wants to learn to love like he has been loved. It’s the juxtaposition of those two things that make a person whole, you just have to find a way to come to terms with both sides.”
Knowing that was way too deep for what we are, I’m thankful when I hear the muffled voice of the conductor announcing Kenmore station. On game days, they pack these trains, wall to wall. Tonight is no different. Floating with the sea of red and blue Red Sox gear, we make our way to Brookline Ave.
“Okay,” I tell him. “We have a few mandatory stops before we make it into Fenway,” I say, grinning. Fenway Park is one of the few places where I feel truly at home.
Feeding off my enthusiasm, Charlie says, “Lead the way, Angel.”
Chapter 11
-Fifteen Minutes Old, Snow Patrol
Trevor
Angel walks us up Brookline Ave towards a line at least fifty people deep. It’s a bar called the Cask N’Flagon, and as much as I want to let her lead, I am not waiting in this line. She shocks the hell out of me when she marches us right to the front door.
“Babycakes, what are you doing here?” an older man who looks to be in his sixties asks Angel, wrapping her in an embrace so tight he lifts her right off the ground.
What the fuck?
Angel is laughing as he whispers something while looking at me, and they have a conversation I can’t hear. Balling my hands into fists, I take a step forward. These caveman instincts are new for me, but he can get his goddamn hand off of her right the fuck now.
Placing a hand on my chest, Angel speaks, “Relax, Charlie. This is Teddy, he’s friends with my dad and has worked here for longer than I’ve been alive.”
Thrusting my hand out, I shake his, “Nice to meet you, Teddy,” I say.
In the thickest Boston accent I have ever heard, he says, “Ya too, Charlie. You got your hands full with this spitfire here, huh? You ever been to a game with her before?”
“No, sir, first time,” I respond.
Both he and his colleague double over, laughing, “Where are you sitting, Babycakes?”
Why the fuck does he keep calling her Babycakes?
Looking chagrinned, Angel says, “Third base dugout.”
Laughing so hard, I can’t understand most of what he is saying, he finally composes himself. “Oh shit, honey, is Reggie umping tonight, or am I going to get a call to pick you up at the gate again?”
Scowling and looking embarrassed, Angel tells him, “You listen here, Teddy, that was one time. One. Time. And they didn’t even kick me out of the park, they just reseated me.”
I have no idea what she is talking about, but I get the distinct impression I am in for one hell of a night.
“You better keep good tabs on her, Charlie. If you don’t know, she takes her baseball very seriously,” Teddy says ominously.
