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The pitter patter of Jason’s feet on the wooden stairs mingles with the solid clomp of Griffin’s descending footsteps. Something about the sound stabs a pleasant pain through my heart. Samantha gathers her stuff to leave, and we collectively walk toward the front door .

As we stand in the entryway together, the oddness hits me of ending a first date while standing in front of my soon-to-be son and my date’s younger sister.

But my life has taken a far-from-typical turn these past couple of months, so I suppose this is a fitting piece of the puzzle.

Jason holds my hand as Samantha zips up her boots and Griffin smiles down at me.

“Thanks for tonight,” he says quietly. He gives me a small wink that seems to communicate he’s similarly aware of the uniqueness of our present situation.

I smile warmly in response. “It was a good first date,” I say, casually emphasizing the word “first” to see how he’ll react.

Fireworks spark in his gray-blue eyes, setting off a series of sparklers in my chest.

“I’ll text you,” he mouths while his back is still to Samantha and the door. As he turns to face her, he brushes one finger down the back of my free hand with a feather-light touch.

I focus on the weight of Jason’s hand in mine to stop myself from melting to the floor.

After getting Jason in bed and the kitchen clean(ish), I indulge in my longest wind-down routine. However, I’m still anything but wound down, lying wide awake in bed. My eyelids won’t even stay shut longer than a few seconds at a time.

My mind is fighting a fierce battle with itself.

You barely know this guy. You can’t trust him yet.

Even though it’s only been a couple of weeks, Griffin has come across as understanding and trustworthy every time we’ve interacted. He was fun to talk with tonight.

Sure, you had fun, but fun isn’t the chief goal. You need stability, especially for Jason. Griffin is chaos.

At least he was honest about how chaotic his life is during baseball season. He’s aware and seemed concerned with how to alleviate that chaos for the people he cares about.

It doesn’t matter how good-looking or smooth-talking he is. Continuing a relationship with Griffin is not a safe choice.

Maybe it’s not safe, but what if it’s still the right choice?

You’re letting the butterflies from that lingering eye contact and sensual hand graze at the end of the night cloud your judgment.

What if I want the butterflies?

The mental back and forth continues for several rounds until I finally surrender.

Propping up on one elbow, I grab my phone from the nightstand.

The distrusting antagonist in my brain keeps snagging on the end of my conversation with Griffin in the car.

When he tightened up so much in response to my question about his injury.

I know he promised he’d tell me more about it sometime. But curiosity is killing the proverbial cat. The cat can’t stand the mystery any longer.

A quick Google search of “Griffin West injury” provides thousands of hits.

There must be hundreds of videos providing commentary on the injury itself, the rehab process, and the likelihood of his return to baseball.

One of the research techniques I teach the fifth graders is the importance of using original source documents as often as possible.

So, I decide to watch the original footage of the injury in real time.

I’ll wait to hear further commentary directly from the source himself.

The video opens with rapid clips of two strikes being thrown to the opposing team’s batter.

The announcer sets the stage for the importance of another strike to end the game with the final out before any runners from the loaded bases can score.

The pitcher throws, and the loud crack of the ball against the bat dissolves hope of a strike.

I lean in to listen to the announcer’s intense voice.

“It’s a popup to short left field, and West is racing to catch it.

Left fielder Ethan Farmer calling for the ball as he sprints in.

Seems to be a lack of communication as West isn’t ceding ground to Farmer, and both players are closing in on the ball.

West dives back for the catch, but Farmer’s still running full tilt with his eye on the ball and—ohhh, that didn’t look good, folks.

West’s left arm was fully outstretched in his reach for the ball when he collided with Farmer running full steam ahead. ”

There’s a pause in the announcing as the camera zooms in on the left fielder picking up the dropped ball as Griffin rolls around, banging his right fist on the ground. Two runners make it home before the ball gets to the catcher.

“This is not what we wanted to see to end this game,” the announcer’s voice picks up again.

There’s a gravity to his tone that’s a stark contrast to the excitement leading up to the collision.

“Griffin West looks to be in absolute agony as the training staff makes their way out to him. The Crowns will lose the game with the two runs scored, adding insult to West’s injury.

” Another drawn-out pause as the camera stays glued to Griffin’s position.

One of the training staff moves enough to briefly reveal Griffin’s face, etched in unspeakable pain.

“It’s possible that he could be out for a while, based solely on the amount of pain he looks to be in.

It would be a huge blow to the team and their chance at a World Series run if West misses the rest of the season,” the announcer says, voice somehow more solemn.

“We’ll keep our eye out for news from the Crowns training staff but . . . this is looking pretty severe.”

I just spent the evening with a smiling Griffin.

I know that he healed, he rehabbed, he’s starting the season back with the Crowns.

Considering the way my heart is pounding, I understand why Griffin is averse to talking about that moment.

I only watched the video, and adrenaline is sending shivers through my veins.

What must it be like to relive that moment?

I managed to pick off every last bit of clear polish from my fingernails, and I know how the story ended.

Clicking my phone off, I lean back against the headboard. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it. Everything in me wants to call Griffin to come back over here so I can apologize for even bringing that up tonight. And maybe hug him.

Yes, definitely hug him.