16

GROWING PAINS

Amanda

“Maybe you just shouldn’t come to the wedding!”

I rub my temple as the bridezilla from hell screams at her mother yet again.

“You’re lucky to even have this wedding, missy. After all the grief you put me through.”

I wonder if there’s a way to screen for people like this in the future. They’re paying me a good amount, but I’m not sure it’s worth it.

“What if we did a classy, biodegradable confetti? Then you won’t have to worry about glittery plastic or spending extra money on rose petals.”

Yes, this is what their fight is over. The confetti guests will be given to throw at the bride and groom. I’m proud of myself for keeping my face neutral when I would like to be throwing things at them right now. Ugh.

They look at each other tentatively and smile. Then they collapse into a dramatic hug saying how much they love each other and shifting gears to another wedding topic—how ugly the bride’s sister will look in her dress .

This is my personal hell.

Thankfully, with that last crisis averted, our meeting ends, but no sooner am I out the door of the café when my phone rings.

Cursing to myself, I dig through my bag and fish out my work phone. “Hello, this is Amanda.”

“Amanda, hi. It’s Alannah.”

“Hi, Alannah. What can I help you with?”

“I wanted to talk about the flower colors and then the lighting. I’m standing in the middle of the space now, and everything is so harsh. We want something that’s soft, warm… inviting.”

“We can make that work. We don’t have to use all of their lights. Light strands can give great warmth and ambience without being aggressive.”

“Hm. Do you think we could get some strands of colored lights in addition to some white ones? Pink and blue for the trans flag?”

“I’ll start looking as soon as I’m home and can get on the computer. Now, what did you need to discuss about the flowers?”

She launches into a conversation about displays, colors, and making sure nothing is too gaudy as I walk back to my car.

The second I hang up the phone, I pull out my notebook and scribble down everything we talked about so I don’t forget anything. In the midst of it all, my regular phone alarm goes off, reminding me I’m meeting the girls for lunch.

Shit. That meeting this morning took longer than I planned for. I quickly look up some of the lights Alannah mentioned and send them to her so she can get an idea, then let her know I’ll email her more details later.

When I open my calendar to add a reminder for myself, I cringe. A mixture of blocked out colors stare back at me. Jamie’s travel schedule, the schedule of when I’m traveling with him, my scheduled events, everything I need to do for those events, plus small snippets of time blocked out for family and friends.

It’s Wednesday now, and I’m in Ida for the rest of this week. Jamie will be back tomorrow night, so after the wedding on Saturday, I’ll head back down to the city. On Tuesday, we leave to go to Arizona, and I’ll be working other than at Jamie’s games. I still try to go, even when he’s not pitching. Then I’ll be back to Ida for the last volleyball tournament that Saturday. Thankfully, I won’t be missing anything next week since our last Wednesday game is tonight. Then on that Sunday, I’ll head back to New York City to do all the final preparation for the gala the following Saturday night.

Inconveniently, Jamie will also be pitching that day, but their game is late afternoon, so he should still be able to go to the event, and I know several of the Metros are on the invite list.

My head is spinning with how chaotic the next two weeks will be, but it’ll be worth it. Well, I don’t know about this wedding, but I’m honored to be a part of the gala, and the planner who did most of the planning for the event was fantastic. She kept detailed notes and information, so there wasn’t much I had to do besides some final things and little changes. The only hiccup was finding another set up and tear down crew because the others had only been in contact with the other event planner and had booked another event that night when they hadn’t heard from her, but I got it taken care of.

Because I’m a badass.

I lean back against my car seat and close my eyes, reveling in that feeling for a moment.

But then my phone goes off in my hand and I let out a whimper. This bad bitch is exhausted.

When I look at the screen again, I find info from the contact form on my website. It’s someone looking to book a consult sometime in the next two weeks. I let out an unhinged laugh, then email her back that it’ll have to be the first week in August instead.

I let out a breath, shoulders still a little tense, but when no other notifications come through, I put my work phone away, then grab my regular phone and snap a selfie.

Me: [picture message]

Me: My day is crazy, and I’m afraid if I put my phone down, I won’t pick it up again, so I wanted to wish you good luck now. Miss you.

A second later, I get a text back.

Jamie: [picture message]

Heaven help me. He’s wearing a backward ball cap and he’s shirtless with sweat glistening on his chest.

Jamie: Busy day here too.

Me: Is that picture trying to threaten me with a good time?

Jamie: Maybe. I think I’d like to threaten you over the phone tonight. Sound good?

Me: Sounds perfect. Talk later. Love you!

Jamie: Love you too, babe. Keep kicking ass.

With a sigh of relief, I set my phone to the side, then I remember that I’m about to be late for lunch with the girls and haul ass out of my parking spot.

“I love ice cream,” I sigh happily as I sit down at the table with Chelsea and Dani. We’re at Dani’s friend’s ice cream shop, enjoying some delicious homemade ice cream after kicking ass at our volleyball game. The physical outlet was definitely needed after all the mental gymnastics and planning I’ ve been doing.

“Same,” Chelsea and Dani agree.

“Thanks for working with me about the volleyball stuff. I’m sure it would’ve been easier to replace me.”

Dani’s brow furrows. “We weren’t going to replace you. If anything, we would’ve just quit. We’re a team. We go down together.”

Chelsea sets her spoon down and looks at me. “Yeah. You’re not replaceable. We love doing this with you.”

“Thanks.” As usual, I suck at taking compliments, even if I did need to hear that. The stupid, insecure part of me is afraid my friendships will fracture or fade since I’m not around as regularly, but the girls have only held on tighter.

“Are you doing okay?” Dani asks.

“Yeah. It’s just been… crazy. I think I might even be happy when it’s time to go back to school. My schedule will probably be less chaotic. But I love that I get to be here for nights like this and for the tournament next Saturday.”

“Make sure you’re still taking care of yourself.”

What is that?

But I nod, then lift my spoon. “Ice cream is a great first step.”

I know I’m running myself a little ragged, but it’s worth it to build my business, spend time with the people who matter, and support Jamie. Once these events are done, it’ll slow down—at least a little. It’s temporary, and that’s why I can push myself.

Plus, the rest of the night will be all relaxing, snacking, and enjoying some downtime.

No working.

No working.

None at all.

Unless I have a really great idea.

I had a great idea about how to organize the lights and flowers for the gala, so I spent the last hour doing a quick mockup so I could send it to Alannah.

As I plop on the couch, turn the TV on, and find Jamie’s game, I cringe realizing I missed the first inning—and the score is already one-one in the second. I cross my fingers and throw up a prayer to the goddess of sports—that’s totally a thing, right?—and hope the team can turn it around because my man needs a win.

Jamie

I want to throw my glove into my cubby and scream as we walk into the visitor’s clubhouse, dejected after a bruising loss.

A loss that I helped us earn. Sure, our reliever gave up three runs in four innings, but I gave up four runs in five. Fuck my life. It’s my third loss of the season. My third loss in a row. And the worst part is, other than a couple of games, mine have consistently been the ones we’ve lost. I thought I was starting out strong, but it’s looking more and more like overconfidence.

At least that’s what every fucking article says about me. All those shitty analysts, most of whom have never played the fucking game. Why don’t they give it a try before they crucify the rest of us?

I’m exhausted and pissed, and I want nothing more than to go home to Amanda’s arms, but we’re on the road and she’s not here. Which shouldn’t piss me off, but it does. I know she’s had a lot going on lately, but she could have scheduled things differently and come on this trip, and when I’m feeling fucking awful like this, I hate that she’s not.

“Let it go, Jame,” our right fielder Beau Airington says. He’s a typical fun-loving playboy, who even after a loss like this isn’t grumpy like the rest of us .

It’s easy for him to say that. He’s not the pitcher. He’s not the one the win or loss sits on.

When a player gets a hit that turns the team around, he’s praised, but he doesn’t get a W next to his name. And if one botches a play, he’ll be the talk of all those sports shows, but there won’t be an L next to his name. The pitcher carries greater responsibility, and I’m failing the team.

I can’t remember the last time I had three consecutive losses. A team I was on? Sure. But me? Nope. The Metros put their faith in me, and after two decent games, I’m letting them down.

“Seriously, don’t take it so hard. You’re still finding your groove,” Ryan says. “Look around the league, and you’ll find you’re not even close to being in the bottom half when it comes to stats. You’re doing well for a rookie.”

I’m not doing well for me, though, and that pisses me off.

“Come on, shower and we’ll take you out for dinner, maybe some drinks, and get your mind off it,” Beau says.

“I appreciate it, but I’ve got a meeting to get to, and I’m exhausted. I just want to get back to my room as soon as possible, order room service, and pass out.”

Beau claps me on the shoulder. “Let us know if you change your mind.”

I give them a nod, then head for the showers. I want this fucking day to be over with.

I don’t know why Emily needed to travel with the team or interview me here. I’m trying to be nice to her because she’s doing her job, and I know this is what I signed on for, but I’m in a shitty mood and don’t particularly want to talk about baseball or my life. No part of me is ever going to like exposing the inner parts of myself to the world. It’s not who I am. The only person who gets those pieces of me is Amanda.

And she’s not here.

Emily and I meet at the hotel bar, and I do my best to keep a smile on, be as friendly as I can manage, and give her more than three-word answers. But when she says that’s good for the evening, I practically jump out of my chair—or I would if I had any energy—and head for the elevators.

By the time I make it back to my room, I have a text from Amanda telling me she loves me and to call her when I’m ready. But when I open the door, cold loneliness washes over me along with bitter anger.

I’m not sure who or what I’m mad at, but all I want to do is sleep it off.

I strip out of my suit, then flop onto the bed and reluctantly pull out my phone and call Amanda.

“Hey, baby,” she answers, her voice soft and dulcet.

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry about the game. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Enh.”

“Or we could switch to a video call. I can show you my boobs. They usually cheer you up.”

In some ways that’s tempting, but looking at what I can’t have when I really want it sounds like cruel punishment, which is why I didn’t video call her in the first place. I didn’t want to see her face and miss her more. That thought makes me feel guilty, which adds to my cranky mood.

“I appreciate that,” I force out. “But I can barely keep my eyes open. I think I need to crash.”

There’s a long pause. Something about that probably hurt her feelings, but I can’t think about that right now.

“Whatever you need.” Her voice is still soft, but it’s resigned now. “If you want to talk tonight or tomorrow before you leave, I’m here. I can’t wait to see you on Saturday night. I love you.”

I can hear the uncertainty in her voice when she says it, and it makes me feel like a jackass. She’s worried I won’t say it back. I don’t know how she could ever think that after almost two years together. But saying the words that resonate from deep in my soul is the least I can do.

“I love you too. I’ll text you before I get on the plane tomorrow. ”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

I hang up the phone and stare at the ceiling for a moment. Glancing over at the hotel phone, I consider calling for a meal, but I have no appetite. Instead, I set my alarm, flick off the light, then roll over and pray sleep will take me.

Tomorrow is another day, and I need to get up, work harder, and figure out my shit before I cost myself my spot on the team. They could decide I’m not worth it any time. I could get sent back to the minors. Or traded. Fuck. I’ve got to get my head together before I lose the dream I’ve worked so hard for.

Amanda

I’m wearing my comfortable and sexy silk pajamas as I wait for Jamie.

I went straight from the wedding to driving down here. Every time I make the drive, I remember how much I loathe driving in the city, and I’m starting to wonder if it would be possible to afford a car service to drive me back and forth—some of the time, at least. Today it would’ve been amazing, since I was exhausted.

I took a quick nap on the couch as soon as I got back here, then took a bath and ordered some takeout. It got here ten minutes ago, and I’m keeping it warm in the oven, since Jamie should be home from the game any minute.

At least he’s not pitching today, so I’m hoping he’ll be in a better mood. It was hard not being able to comfort him, and even harder that he wouldn’t let me in. When he faced losses in high school or with the Knights, usually we talked for an hour, had some kind of phone sex, and he felt a lot better. Me not physically being there wasn’t as painful as it seemed to be on Wednesday.

It made me feel crappy, especially since I’d had a good—if chaotic—day. I never mentioned that we won our volleyball match or the breakthrough I had in the final layout for the gala. It seemed wrong to talk about my success when he’s struggling. Which is also weird for me because I like sharing everything with him. I’ve gotten used to that.

I try to ignore the prick at my heart when I think that.

This is temporary. Growing pains.

The door swings open, and Jamie walks in. When he sees me and a relieved smile appears on his face, my worries melt away.

I hop off the kitchen stool and walk over to him. He drops his bags and pulls me into a bear hug, holding me close and burying his face in my neck.

“How was the game?”

“We won. Probably because I wasn’t pitching.”

He moves to pull away, but I hold him tighter. “Don’t do that. You’re an amazing pitcher, and you’re great at proving yourself. It might not happen all in your first month, and that’s okay. You’ve got what it takes to meet this dream and soar higher, to even bigger ones.”

He sighs, leaning into me more, fingers curling in my hair. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

We stand like that for a moment, in a cozy cocoon of our love. This is the love that we’ve walked through distance and separation for. One that grounds and heals us both.

“Will you try to be at every game I pitch? I’m just… better with you there. And even when I’m not, I need you after. Please.”

I run my fingers through his hair, trying to tamp down the slight frustration I feel. I appreciate that he wants me there. I’m his partner. But I can’t drop every single thing in my life to serve him, and for a good chunk of our relationship, I sacrifice significantly more of myself than he has to. I sacrifice having him there to support me and cheer me on. Sacrificing the things that I love, that make me who I am, isn’t something I’m willing to do—not anymore than I already have.

But… there’s probably a better way I can balance my schedule. And with volleyball almost finished, there’s no reason I can’t try to be at every game he pitches—at least until I go back to school in a little over a month.

“I’ll do everything I can to be there.”

“Thank you.” He pulls away with a soft kiss to my head.

“There’s Italian takeout in the oven.”

“Perfect. I’ll just go change into something more comfortable.”

“And hopefully more revealing,” I tease. He chuckles and goes to walk away, but I grab his hand. “I love you.”

He turns back and kisses me. “I love you too. God, I’m so much better when I’m with you.”

He squeezes my hand and heads for the bedroom, and as happy as I am to be back in his arms, I’m worried about the weight he’s putting on me, and what’ll happen when I can’t be there for him.

Growing pains , I remind myself again, but it doesn’t stop that needling little worry in my heart.