Chapter Twenty-Four

Being back home for the first time in nine months feels good. I have Avery with me in Tennessee, though our time is limited with my school schedule and her in the gallery non-stop. I call upon her words, her voice husky as I’m thrusting inside her. She reminds me this is merely a pit stop in our lives— a goal to secure our future.

Breck is sitting in the chair watching Avery hold Nolan and I can admit, I’m stunned into daydreams watching her cradle a baby. I’ve seen it many times, our friends procreate like wildflowers, but as time creeps by and I know this will be in our future, I seem to study her longer, different thoughts rush through my head and my heart swells with love and pride.

“I swear, if Lee Lee sends me another fucking text adding another fucking thing to my checklist, I’m gonna dye her dress black.” Avery huffs.

Brecklynn giggles. “She’s over the top. You’d think she was planning a royal wedding and not her own.”

“We all know Emberlee has a bit of diva in her— she thinks she’s royalty.” Avery smiles, there isn’t an ounce of malice in her words.

“Is Saylor coming?” Brecklynn turns and sees me. “Hey there.”

I step onto the deck and go to Avery after giving Breck a quick hug. “You look good like that.” I whisper for her to hear.

“One day.” She reminds me and I’m happy to know she feels the same. One day— but not at this moment. Turning to Breck she lists the plans. “Saylor is heading over. I’m in the mood to fuck some plans up.” I shake my head and kiss her bye.

“I’m heading to Deacon’s. See you later.” Deacon has a rare Friday off and we’re gonna hit the field, see if we can find our groove. Mason and Brody won’t get here until Monday morning and it sucks we can’t have a bachelor party. The girls find time, no matter the distance, to get into shit and visit— the guys haven’t been able to. I know it’s only a short blip in time and our bond and relationships don’t suffer but I miss kicking back, talking shit, and drinking beer.

Coach Gill is running calisthenics with the team and I chuckle remembering the grueling hot sun beating against us while we did this same grueling practice.

“Douglas. Monroe.” His voice carries from the dugout.

We lift our hands in greeting and make the quick trek to greet him. “Coach.” I shake his hand. Deacon follows suit.

“Good to see you. Wanna help these grunts? Show em’ how it’s done?” His grin is sinister.

Deacon is enthusiastic. “Hell yes.”

I’m hesitant. I’ve filled the forms out to play for a rec team but I haven’t committed to actually playing. I haven’t picked up a ball, a glove, a bat— since that night. I stood on this very field for Breck and Mason’s wedding and that’s the only time I’ve set foot onto any clay since that night. “You okay?” Coach pulls me from my mind.

“I’m good.” I lie. The game didn’t do the damage, a poor sport did. And the intent wasn’t to harm me, but the action did just that. “It’s surreal to be here.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Deacon stares, knowing where my thoughts are.

“Yes, he does.” Coach gruffs, hard as nails. Nothing has changed.

I nod. “Yeah, I do.”

“Listen up, boys. These two men here— best of the best. Could have gone to the majors but didn’t. Doesn’t change their love of the game. And sure as hell doesn’t diminish their skill. We’re gonna have some fun. Take your positions.” Coach hollers to the team and I look at each one. Some I’ve played with, they were under classmen. Some are fresh meat. I’m excited to see the talent.

The kid taking catcher’s position is new. “We didn’t need one for four years. Had no options. He comes recommended by his high school coach but we’ll see if he can handle the heat. Pitcher’s good. He isn’t Adler good but replacement graduated. He’s a sophomore so I’ve got some time to get him up to par.”

Deacon and I step back and watch a few scrimmage plays. They aren’t bad but they aren’t functioning as a team. Each is trying to impress their audience and signals are getting crossed. It’s something I haven’t faced because each time I played I had Mason and Deacon. The last year it was just Deacon but our bond carried through to the rest of the team.

“Fucking showboat.” Deacon gripes staring at the shortstop.

“Yeah. Go teach him something.” Coach claps and gets their attention. Pointing to the guy that’s raised Deacon’s hackles he points to the bench. “Take a seat.”

If there’s one thing coach doesn’t deal with— ego. Even Mason checked his shit at the field. “You ready?” DD smiles and rubs his hands together.

“Yep.” Fist bumping, we walk to the pitcher’s mound. Everyone circles us. “Listen up. You aren’t playing as a team. You win as a team. You lose as a team. And you play as a team. It’s the only way. You,” I point to the pitcher. “You may not like every call your catcher gives but you don’t discount his knowledge. Trust he’s studied the batter. Trust he believes in your abilities. Don’t think you know best. My best friend is a pitcher and I watched more tape of opposing teams and the batters’ weaknesses so he could excel. Know your teammate is doing the same thing.” He nods. “You,” I focus my lecture on the catcher. “Don’t let him down. Learn the stats and lead your team to a win. It starts at the plate and you’re the person responsible for getting them off the plate— without a hit.” He agrees.

“You,” Deacon points to one that was playing in outfield. “Step up and play shortstop. You have great foot work and can catch a fucking piece of Jell-O.” The kids’ eyes widen. “Don’t be scared. Play the game you love.” We go through other positions and tell them to play.

“I’ll be damned.” Coach says as the players execute play after play. A scrimmage game ensues and Deacon and I split up— playing opposing sides for the first time. I step up to bat and take a deep breath. Feeling the weight of the bat, smelling the cut grass, looking into the distance to see Deacon’s face. A yell pulls my attention and sure enough . . . my girl is in the stands cheering for me— loud and with pride.

“Hit it outta the park, Monroe.” She shouts.

“Don’t let him, Douglas.” Saylor screams.

“Go both of you.” Brecklynn claps. I know Deacon won’t make it easy for me, so I watch the pitcher wind up— he isn’t a chump but he isn’t Mason fucking Adler. And I’ve grown up with Mason’s arm, so I smirk. Cocky, maybe. But definitely earned. He releases and it’s a fastball but doesn’t pack the heat that’ll sting my shoulders as I connect. Swinging, the thwack jump-starts my heart. The screams from my girl jolt me into action. I round first, look up and see outfield scrambling. My foot hits second and they’ve grabbed the ball— at the fence line. Pushing faster, I hit third. It’s leaving their hands to throw back. Propelling my legs, the blood pounding in my ears, I run. As I cross home, the ball hits the catcher’s glove but a millisecond too late.

I grin and seek Deacon. He’s got a gleam in his eyes of pride. That’s us. All of us.

If one of us makes a mistake, we all learn from it.

If one of us succeeds, we all celebrate it.

Avery’s voice is what I hear. I strut to the stands and go to bended knee. “Will you marry me?” This is my do-over from that fateful night. I’ve asked her before, but I’ll ask her every day.

“Get up, fool.” She laughs. “And yes.” She winks.

Avery takes Nolan from Brecklynn as her sobs echo. She hands the sleeping baby to Saylor and takes Breck’s hand pulling her close. The bawls are loud as they surround the casket. Shouts, screams, sobs— they’re burned into my ears. The sea of black and tears of women crush me. I can’t stop watching.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask from the doorway.

“Steel Magnolias.” Avery hiccups.

“I can’t believe you made me watch this.” Brecklynn cries. “Pause it.”

“You’re back early. Miss me?” Avery asks.

“Yeah. And Deacon’s outta beer. Kinsley didn’t want to sleep and I’m thinking I should’ve stayed there. Who the fuck is Wheezer?” The scene is gripping.

Saylor chuckles. “Someone you wanna whack. I’m leaving. Caveman will get restless.” She gives me Nolan and heads home.

“Start it.” I utter as I scoot into the couch next to Aves and Breck.

“Chick flick.” Avery goads.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and continue to watch. I make a mental note to watch it from the beginning when Avery isn’t here to witness.

Man card and all.

“Baby,” I try to keep my features schooled. “If you do this, Emberlee will hate you. You may lose a day in your sainthood.”

“Whatever. I have some to spare. And she won’t hate me. She’ll be angry. Scream. Maybe cry. But it’ll be worth it. Have you seen the emails she’s sent?” Avery schools me.

“Yeah. D-I-V-A.” Saylor smiles. “And I owe her.”

“Fuck that. I have to endure the next months of her hormones. Y’all don’t live close to her. We’re doing it. If I’m gonna listen to her bitch, I’m gonna give her a reason.” Brecklynn joins and makes it the Three Musketeers.

Mason, Deacon and I go along for the ride. After all, I’m not the one feeding, fucking, or paying her bills, so she’ll get over it. I think. You never know what to expect with Emberlee.

“We’re dead.” Deacon whispers.

“I know.” I can’t believe we are buying into committing this act.

“I travel a lot. I’m good.” Mason boasts. “At least we aren’t stripping like we did for Deacon’s proposal. My agent would have a fit.”

“So would your wife, asshole.” Brecklynn grabs his ear and laughter ensues.

“How’d you get her dad to go along with your scheme? I don’t see the General down with this?” I question.

“Ah. Power of the pussy.” Saylor makes my head spin. Deacon growls and she flips him off. “I didn’t offer him my pussy. I have a pussy, therefore, it’s powerful. I pushed a kid from there. He misses his granddaughter, so I offered him our kids a few hours a week. Fucking winning.” Shortstop never ceases to amaze me.

“I’m in awe, Shortstop.” Mason marvels.

“Watch and learn.” She winks.

“I’m gonna be gray at thirty.” Deacon mutters.

“And you’ll be hot.” Saylor winks. “I’ll still be pole dancing for you.”

“WHAT?” Mason is loud. “Your wife’s a stripper? You need a loan?”

“Fuck off. Saylor, quit talking.” Deacon grips her hand and she doesn’t talk but she does giggle. A lot.

“Here goes nothing,” I mutter as the first strains of ‘Blame it’ by Jamie Foxx starts.

It’s a good thing Brody is marrying her— although after his part in this fiasco I’m not sure he’ll remain alive very long. I know she’ll be taken care of. I’m sure he has good insurance.