Chapter 42
Sierra noticed an improvement in Evan’s game between their lunch date and the three weeks leading up to the end of August. Over that span, he had a twelve-game hitting streak and batted over four hundred. The way he was going, there was no way he wouldn’t earn a Gold Glove for his almost flawless fielding.
He’d also made an effort in their relationship. While he was on the road, he texted or called her every day. When he was home, they walked the dogs together and ate occasional meals together, sometimes going out and sometimes just staying home. They didn’t always have sex, and she suspected that it was a conscious decision on his part when they didn’t. She could only appreciate the message that he was trying to convey…that she meant more to him than just being a sexual partner.
As soon as the first of September rolled around, however, he sank into a slump. She watched each game of the home stand leading into Labor Day weekend on her television and saw how his focus deteriorated.
He withdrew from her, too. Just when she thought they’d reached a significant turning point in their relationship, he stopped coming by her apartment or calling. He hadn’t been in touch at all for the past two days. Something was up, and she knew it.
On September fourth, Evan went oh-for-four. It was an afternoon game, the last day of Atlanta’s home stand before they once again headed to Philly. Sierra had heard from her aunt, so she knew Evan intended to come home that evening, despite the fact that the team was traveling that afternoon for another week-long road trip starting in Philly. According to her aunt, he’d asked for and been granted this personal time under the condition that he paid for the flight in the morning and wasn’t late to the stadium the next day.
While she wanted to hope he’d spend some time with her, she knew that wasn’t in his plans. She’d followed a hunch the day before and done a little research.
Today was the first anniversary of his mother’s death.
He got home from the game around five-thirty. She shut off her laptop, where she’d been killing time editing photos, and moved into her bedroom so she could hear him. Unlike usual, he didn’t greet the dogs. She heard their nails clacking excitedly on the hardwood floors, but he was oddly silent.
The sound of a glass striking a hard surface reached her ears, followed by the sound of something being poured. There was a moment where she couldn’t hear anything, then the sound of the glass hitting the hard surface again, followed by the sound of pouring liquid.
Her heart aching, she walked to her kitchen and pulled down a small glass tumbler. She gave Leo another pat before she left her apartment and walked to Evan’s.
It had been a while since she’d let herself in, but she did so now. Fortunately, he hadn’t bothered to lock the door. He glanced up when the door opened. She watched his expression grow more shadowed as she entered and closed the door behind her.
Walking up to the counter where he stood, she picked up the bottle of whiskey in front of him and refilled his glass with a couple of ounces, then filled hers with the same amount. Setting the bottle down, she handed him his glass and lifted hers.
“To Addie,” she said, “an incredible woman and the mother of an amazing man.”
His lips parted, but he didn’t speak. She tipped her glass back and drank the whiskey down. It was smoother than she’d expected. Warmth unfurled in her belly as the alcohol hit it.
After a moment, he lifted his glass and tossed back the shot. When he put it back on the counter, she picked up both glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other.
“Why don’t we go outside?” she suggested. “It’s not that hot out this evening.”
Without waiting for a response, she headed over to the balcony door. She started to put the whiskey bottle under her arm so she could get the door, but Evan beat her to it. Once he had it open, she stepped outside. She’d brought over a camping chair a couple of weeks ago so they could both sit outside and it was still there. Sitting in the chair, she handed Evan his glass. He took it and sat in the other chair.
She refilled their glasses, but just sipped this time. She was relieved when he followed her lead. They sat quietly, watching the activity on the sidewalk and in the park. A light breeze kept the humidity from being too stifling.
By her third glass of whiskey, she was feeling the buzz all the way to her fingertips. Although everything in her wanted to break the silence, she didn’t. This wasn’t about her or her needs. Not today.
Evan got up after they’d been sitting for over an hour. He returned with a bag of pretzels, tilting the bag in her direction so she could take some.
The starch helped offset the alcohol a little, but she knew she’d have to figure out something for them to eat for dinner. Evan, in particular, needed food. He’d be in no shape to travel in the morning if he kept drinking like he was. Since almost half the bottle was gone already, she figured he wasn’t planning on stopping until he’d finished it.
After another hour, during which time she consumed her fourth glass of whiskey, she got up to use the bathroom and order a pizza. She poured herself a tall glass of water and drank it down, carrying a second glass out to Evan.
“Drink this,” she told him.
His eyes were glassy when they met hers. “Why?”
“Because my aunt won’t be happy if you show up tomorrow as wretchedly hung over as you’re bound to be. Let’s pace you.”
His eyes moved away from hers. “I don’t need help getting drunk.”
“You do need help, Evan. Please let me provide it.”
Sighing, he took the glass and downed the water. “There. You happy?”
“No,” she said in a soft voice. “I’m heartbroken for you. I’m mourning a woman I never met, but wish very much that I had.”
He didn’t reply. His gaze followed her as she sat back down and refilled their glasses. She didn’t comment when he drank his in one swallow. If this was what it took to get him through the day, she wasn’t going to judge him. It was what he did from there that mattered.
They moved inside when the pizza arrived. She convinced him to drink another glass of water with the food. He drank two, which pleased her. After they ate, they took the dogs for a walk, giving him a little more time to sober up. He never said a word and she didn’t try to make him.
She brought Leo with her back to his apartment. The dogs tumbled over each other as they ran into the foyer. They hurried over to the water bowl. Evan moved just as quickly to the bottle on his new coffee table.
As he poured himself a shot and tossed it back, she filled the dogs’ food dishes, adding a plastic bowl for Leo. Once they were settled, she joined Evan on the sofa. She poured herself more whiskey, if for no other reason than to keep him from ingesting the entire bottle.
Since he didn’t turn on the television, she went ahead and did so. She turned on Food Network, feeling the subject matter would be inane enough that it wouldn’t impact whatever he was trying to achieve that evening. He stared at the screen without seeing it, clearly lost in his own thoughts.
By the time midnight rolled around, there were only a few ounces of whiskey left. She hadn’t been able to pace him as much as she’d wanted to, but she had interspersed a few glasses of water among his many shots. His eyes were bleary with alcohol, pain, and exhaustion. She’d be able to coerce him into bed soon.
“Do you have any pictures of your mom that aren’t on your phone?” she asked.
It was the first time she’d spoken in hours. He tilted his head and peered at her through the wave of dark hair that fell over his eyes.
“What’re you still doing here?’ he slurred.
“I’m being your friend. Can I see some pictures of your mom?”
“You sure like pictures,” he observed with a drunken wave toward his bedroom. “Top shelf of the closet.”
She rose and went in search of the pictures he mentioned. He didn’t have much on the shelf, so the single photo album was easy to spot. It was high enough that she had to stretch up on her toes to reach it. She almost dropped the album on her head, but she managed.
Carrying it with her over to the bed, she sat in the light of the nightstand lamp and started flipping through it. The pictures began when Evan was born, featuring his mother in a hospital bed, her face glowing as she held him. They progressed through his childhood, not stopping until the photo of her standing beside him in his Dodgers uniform. It was from a slightly different angle, as though she’d asked someone to take it with her camera while someone else took one with Evan’s phone.
Every page of the large album was full. It contained more than just photos, she realized. There were also birthday cards she’d given him over the years, various awards he’d earned, newspaper clippings about his games, and other things that told her this had probably been put together by his mother.
“What’re you doing?”
She looked up when Evan staggered into the room. He used one arm to brace himself on the doorframe so he didn’t fall on his face.
“I’m getting a glimpse of the woman your mother was,” she said.
“Why’re you crying?”
“Because you’re hurting, and I know how I’d feel if it had been one of my mothers who died.”
“At least you’d have another one,” he said.
She couldn’t be upset over the comment, no matter how insensitive it was. He wasn’t saying it in an effort to point out that she had two mothers, or to try and negate any pain she would have felt in his place. He was pointing out that once his mother had died, he had no one.
“So, your father…?” she ventured hesitantly.
“He’s got another family back in Australia,” Evan said, his expression shuttered. “Wife, kids, the whole shot. He doesn’t give a shit about me.”
Pain struck her anew. He really didn’t have anyone else. Well, anyone besides her. She knew he wouldn’t want her pity, though.
Setting the album to the side, she rose and walked over to him. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I’ve got to take a piss.”
“All right. We’ll start there.”
While he was in the bathroom, she shook out a couple of aspirin and filled a glass with water. She managed to get him stripped down to his underwear, then made him take the aspirin and drink the water. Once she had him lying in bed under his sheet, she filled another glass with water and placed it on the nightstand with two more aspirin.
Sitting on the bed beside him, she said, “When you wake up in a few hours to go to the bathroom, take these aspirin and drink this water.”
“Yes, Mistress Sierra.” He snorted on a laugh. “Who’d’ve thought you could be so demanding?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Who’d’ve thought? I’ve set your alarm so you wake up on time. I assume you already have airport transportation arranged?”
“Yeah. Seven o’clock.”
She nodded. “You’ll have a headache, but you’ll be ready. Try not to puke on the plane.”
“We Aussies are made of tougher stuff.”
“Mmhmm. You’re already packed?”
“Yeah. Bag’s by the front door.”
She’d figured that was the bag she’d seen, but wanted to confirm. Leaning down, she started to kiss his forehead. He dragged her down to give her a deep, passionate kiss instead. She didn’t fight him. They both knew it wasn’t going any further than that.
“Why’re you really here?” he asked when they parted.
“Because I love you.”
He didn’t respond for a moment. Finally, he said, “I wish you didn’t.”
“I know.”
His eyelids drooped closed. She figured he’d finally passed out. She turned off the nightstand light and picked up the album, carrying it with her to the door. He spoke before she walked out of the room.
“I can’t stay in Atlanta,” he said. “I’m leaving after this season is over.”
“I know. Good night, Evan.”
He fell asleep without responding.
Chapter 43
He didn’t puke on the plane, but it was a close thing.
It had been a couple of years since he’d last gotten that drunk. Lately, he’d been limiting himself to no more than a few beers. Yesterday, he’d just wanted to obliterate everything.
Part of him wondered what might have happened if Sierra hadn’t come over. He’d been in the darkest place he could remember in a long time. While he liked to think he wouldn’t have done anything stupid, he couldn’t deny that there was a possibility he might have. Hell, he could have drunk himself to death if he’d finished the entire bottle of liquor, as he’d initially intended.
She’d also kept him from the deadly hangover he surely would have suffered. The infusions of water and aspirin left him feeling less ill than he would have been otherwise as the plane took off for Philadelphia. Sleeping on the flight helped, too. By the time he reached the team’s hotel, he was feeling more human.
Once he’d gotten his room key and made his way upstairs, he still had thirty minutes to kill before he left for the stadium. He set his bag on the bed and unzipped it so he could set his few toiletries on the bathroom sink.
A package wrapped in blue tissue paper rested on top of everything else. Frowning, he pulled it out. He rifled through the rest of the bag’s contents to make sure it was, in fact, his bag. Confirming it was, he studied the unassuming blue package without opening it.
How had it gotten into his bag? He didn’t remember the bag being outside of his view at the airport or on the plane. Had his mysterious harasser somehow struck again?
Since joining the team almost three months ago, he’d received about a dozen threatening notes and messages at the stadium and at home, including the weird typed note and shredded Harley seat. They all basically told him to go screw himself and get the hell out of Atlanta.
He was almost certain it was Jensen or someone Jensen had hired. No one else on the team acted belligerent toward him or knew where he lived. The indirect threats were just the kind of pansy thing Jensen would do, too.
Up until now, he’d just ignored the threats. He was planning on leaving anyway, he reminded himself. The problem was, they were starting to piss him off. If the asshole wasn’t careful, he might just choose to stay in Atlanta to spite him.
Deciding to get it over with, Evan tore the tissue paper open. Inside was a thick but lightweight dark blue leather folder, approximately six by nine inches in size. He realized that it opened up. Pulling the edges apart, he looked down expecting to see a message scrawled in dramatic lettering warning him that his firstborn child would be born with the pox if he didn’t leave Atlanta immediately.
He found himself looking at his mother.
On the left side of the folder was a photo of her kissing his forehead just after he’d been born. Something had been done to manipulate the photo so that it looked as though the two of them were bathed in light. The background was barely noticeable. All he could focus on was the love in his mother’s eyes.
On the right, the two of them stood together before his first game in L.A. Her smile was brighter than the stadium lights. It had been taken a couple of weeks before she first heard about the cancer. She looked vibrant, healthy. No cares in the world.
He still remembered how hard she’d hugged him as they posed for the photo. She must have told him how proud she was about a hundred times. She’d even insisted on paying for their dinner after the game. They’d gone to a local dive for beer and wings and had the time of their lives.
The memory made his eyes burn. Like with the other picture, it had been enhanced so that he and his mother were front and center. Everything else faded into insignificance.
Across the bottom of both sides of the folder, written in his mother’s hand, was a message.
My Dearest Son,
No matter how much distance may separate us, please remember that you’ll always, always be in my heart.
I love you,
Mom
.
Raw emotion clawed at his throat. His hand shook as he gently touched the images…artistic interpretations of pictures he’d avoided viewing since his mother died.
Sierra had done this, he realized. He easily recognized her work. She had stayed up until God-knew-when, scanning photos and greeting cards and creating this for him. She’d done it so he’d have it to look upon in these difficult days after the anniversary he’d been dreading for a year.
An anniversary, he acknowledged, that he might not have survived without her.
He vaguely remembered her coming back to him in the pre-dawn hours and forcing him to take the two aspirin beside his bed, since he hadn’t gotten up on his own to take them. She must have stuck the gift in his bag then.
She loved him. Even if he hadn’t remembered their conversation from right before he passed out, he knew it. This gift was one more way she’d shown him.
He remembered how she’d confessed her love, as though it was obvious and natural. He’d told her he wished she didn’t. Part of him felt that his response was the best one. He didn’t want to hurt her, and it was beginning to feel like that was inevitable.
Another, rawer, part of him wished he had yanked out his own tongue before uttering such a blatant lie.
Sierra had seemed to understand his lackluster reaction. She’d responded the same puzzling way when he’d told her that he didn’t plan to stay in Atlanta.
It must be that she didn’t believe him. She probably thought in her weird way that she’d convince him otherwise. She seemed to think they were destined to be together.
He considered her vehemence about the traitorous Camille and the hapless dogsitter, Geoff, and the intuitive feelings she’d expressed about both of them. She’d been wrong on those accounts, he reminded himself, and she was wrong about him.
Yet, despite his insistence that her intuition wasn’t as accurate as she thought, the gift he held in his hands made him do the one thing he hadn’t since learning of his mother’s death.
He grieved.
* * *
“Hey, man…I’m sorry I flaked out on you yesterday.”
Evan glanced over at Cole. His friend had spoken quietly enough that he was the only one in the locker room who heard him. Everyone else was a safe distance away, playing a boisterous card game before they had to take the field.
Going back to tying his cleats, Evan asked, “What do you mean, mate?”
“You know what I mean. I should’ve remembered the date. Everly reminded me when I told her that you hadn’t traveled with the team, and then I couldn’t reach you.”
Finishing with the laces, he stood up. “Don’t worry about it. I’m surprised your wife remembered.”
“She has a difficult anniversary of her own coming up tomorrow,” Cole said in a subdued voice, “so it was fresh in her mind. I’m planning on flying out after tonight’s game so I can spend a few hours with her. I’ll get back right before the game tomorrow.”
“I didn’t know,” Evan said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, well…we all know this kind of thing sucks ass. I should have been there for you. No one should be alone at a time like that.”
Turning back to his dressing area, he said, “I wasn’t alone.”
“Oh?”
He glanced over and saw Cole’s curious expression. Shaking his head, he put on his ball cap.
“Sierra came over.”
“Oh.” The word had a different inflection this time as Cole’s eyebrows rose. “Well, she’s a good friend.”
“Sierra’s more than just a friend,” he said, surprising himself.
Cole continued with, “Oh?”
“Hell,” Evan grumbled. “Shut up, Parker.”
“What’re you doin’, Uhre?” interrupted Theo’s voice from right around the corner. “Just standin’ here lookin’ pretty?”
“Naw, man,” Larry replied. “Dorsey and Parker were having a bromantic moment over there. I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt.”
With a couple of loud guffaws, the first and second basemen walked around the corner and grinned at Evan and Cole. Evan rolled his eyes.
“Stuff it, Uhre,” Cole said, but his lips twitched.
Larry and Theo laughed and walked past to see if they could get in on the card action. Evan looked again at Cole.
“When are you planning on leaving tonight?” he asked.
“Assuming we end on time, Sandy got me on an eleven-thirty flight,” Cole said, referencing the team’s travel secretary. “Gets into Atlanta just after one. Why?”
“I’m thinking you just might have a travel buddy.”