The Sweetest Game (17 page)

Not only was I the wife of a major league baseball player, but I was the wife of Jack Fucking Carter. And I wanted to take care of my man, the same way he chose to take care of me. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Jack would do anything for me if I asked him to. The thing was, I had nothing I wanted to ask. Not anymore.

My fears in our relationship had been settled long ago. The point I tried to prove to him, to myself, had been proven. It wasn’t giving up on my dreams to be there and support Jack. Somewhere along the line in our relationship, Jack and his life had become a part of my dreams too. Being with him fulfilled me in ways I’d only fought against before.

The simple truth was that it hurt a lot more to be away from Jack than it did to walk away from work. No one was more surprised by this revelation than me.

About an hour after I arrived home, the doorman called to let me know the packing boxes I’d ordered had arrived. Thankfully, he hauled them up for me and brought them in, stacking them higher than my kitchen table.

“Do you need packing tape, Mrs. Carter?”

I looked around and tapped the side of my head. “Probably. Do you have any I can borrow?”

He smiled, and his bushy eyebrows squished together like a giant gray caterpillar. “We have plenty. I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you, Thomas! Just walk back in,” I yelled.

Jack had been right. Trying to do this all alone royally sucked. I looked around at all the things we’d acquired over the years, and realized there was no way I could do this alone, and in a short time frame.

How did the other wives do this, especially when they had kids? They had to have hired help, right? An idea forming, I dialed Trina’s number and waited.

Thomas popped his head back in, dropped two tape guns on the table, and waved before letting himself back out. I mouthed “thank you” to him as Trina answered.

“I cannot believe you’re leaving me,” she said without preamble, her accented voice startling me as she dove right in without saying hello.

I sighed. “I know. I’m trying not to think about it.” Leaving Trina and Matteo was going to be hard. Maybe I could convince them to move with us? After all, we could use a driver in LA. As wonderful as it would be for us, I shook away the absurd idea.

“So, what’s the matter? I know you’re not just calling to chat this chubby girl’s ear off.”

“Trina, you’re seven months pregnant! You’re not chubby! You can’t even tell you’re pregnant from behind. Which, by the way, is why girls hate you.”

“Girls hate me?” she scoffed, horrified at the very idea.

“I mean. If they did. That would be why,” I said with a laugh.

“So, what’s up, lovie?”

“When I move, can I call you anytime I want so you’ll talk to me? You can read me the phone book, I don’t care. I am going to miss hearing your voice so much.”

Trina’s British accent was absolutely precious; I might have developed a girl crush on her for that alone. Plus, the words she used were adorable. Everything was “brilliant” or “lovely;” when she was really sad or upset, she was “gutted;” and I was still trying to figure out what she meant by “gobsmacked.” I thought it meant “shocked,” but I’d never been sure.

“Only until the baby comes and then I’ll probably put a hit on you if you wake me,” she said with a giggle.

“Deal. So, the real reason I’m calling is because I don’t know how I’m supposed to pack up this entire apartment by myself. I’m literally freaking out here, because there’s no way I can do this alone. How do the other wives do it? What do people do? Help me!”

“You must be joking. Cassie, tell me you aren’t sitting at home surrounded by a bunch of empty boxes wondering where to start?”

Turning my head slowly, I scanned our beautifully decorated apartment, looking at everything with a newly critical eye. Suddenly everything I’d carefully purchased and placed there with so much love looked like the bane of my existence. “Actually, I’m staring at a stack of boxes that still need to be built. Then I can surround myself with them and wonder where to start.”

She tsk-tsked me before adding, “That will take you months to do by yourself. You have to hire movers, luv. They’ll come pack your things and then drive them across the country for you. You just tell them where to deliver it all.”

I sat up straight, excited at the very thought. “They’ll pack for me? Shut the front door.”

“Shut the front door? I’m going to remember that one,” she teased. “But yes. You should call your contact in the Mets office and ask if they have anyone they recommend. They really should help you with this, Cassie, but I know that they sometimes won’t. If you hit a dead end with them, get the number for your contact person in Anaheim and beg them for help. One of the goddamn teams should help the poor wife who gets stuck doing all the shit work.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “I know, right? It’s really insane to me that Jack gets traded while he’s on the road. He can’t come home. He has to leave with whatever he has packed, and then I’m supposed to handle moving our entire house across the country because he still has eight more weeks of baseball to play.”

“That was one of the things that always killed me with Kyle. I know that I was on the road a lot, but I didn’t have to take every modeling shoot that came my way. But those guys,” she paused, as if disappointed somehow. “They don’t get any time off for anything. Kyle used to tell me how sad the players on the team would get who were dads, you know?”

Huh?
“No, I don’t know. Tell me.”

“Oh, just that the dads on the team were always really sad. He said they felt like absentee fathers all the time because of everything they missed. You know, like birthdays and holidays, and all the things that are important to little kids they always miss out on.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard a few of the wives say things like that before. It’s a brutal business. You have to really love the sport to want to play it that bad.”

My eyes landed on a mason jar filled with quarters sitting on a shelf. I stared at it while Trina’s voice filtered into my head, as my attention wandered slightly.

“And you have to really love the man playing it to want to stay with them through it all,” she offered, giving me a compliment.

“It’s either love or all the wives are crazy. Probably the latter.”

“Probably.” She yawned, which forced me to yawn in response. “Sorry. I’m exhausted. This last trimester is kicking my ass. I’m tired all the time.”

“You go. Thank you for the advice. I’ll figure out what I need to do tomorrow. I’m really tired too. I’ll blame you.”

“Sympathy tiredness?”

“Yeah! I’m tired for you and your baby through the phone,” I teased.

“Love you,” she said, then yawned again.

“You too. Night.”

Once you’re no longer a part of an organization, you cease being their responsibility, or their problem. The Mets offered me nothing in the form of help or suggestions, and when I finally got off the phone with my contact there, I wanted to cry. The fact that I’d left a message for her that morning, then sat around all day waiting for a response and she didn’t return my call until late that evening, probably had a lot to do with it.

I was so emotional lately, everything had me on edge. Of course, I blamed my overly delicate nature on Jack being gone all the time. But when a freaking tissue commercial caused me to burst into tears, I was convinced I’d gone crazy.

My cell phone rang and Jack’s dimpled grin flashed across my screen. “Hello,” I whined, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

“Cassie? Are you crying? Why are you crying?” Jack’s warm tone instantly turned protective.

“Nothing, babe. It’s just this stupid commercial where this guy comes home from the war and sees his family and they don’t know he’s coming and he surprises them—” I cut off, tears falling in full force again.

“You’re crying because of a commercial? Did I hear you right?”

I sniffed. “Shut up, Jack. I’m crying because I’m emotional. You’re not here and I miss you so much. Our apartment is huge and we have a lot of shit and no one is helping me and all I want to do is be with you. But at this rate, I’ll be here until next season.”

“Ahhhh, Kitten.” He started to laugh and I swore I’d kill him if he didn’t stop. “Do you want me to send someone there to pack our shit? I’ll fly you out to Seattle right now and I’ll get someone to handle all that. You just say the word and it’s done. You don’t need to be doing that all alone. I told you that.”

“That’s so hot,” I mumbled through my whimpering.

“What is?”

“The way you protect me and want to take care of me. I love youuuu,” I told him, my declaration dragged out with my sobs. I couldn’t stop.

“I love you too,” he said. “Stop packing or not packing. Whatever you’re doing, just stop. We’ll figure it out later. But right now, we need to book my kitten a flight to come see me.”

I sucked in a shaky breath. “Okay. That sounds good.”

“We really don’t have to move out right now, you know. Hell, we can keep the apartment in New York for all I care. We’ll just never use it as often as we’ll want to. But if you want to keep it, we should.”

“I do want to,” I said. “But then again I don’t. It’s not realistic and it’s a waste of money.”

“Your decision. I’ll support whatever you want, okay? I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” I cried out.

“I can tell,” he said, his voice all funny like it was when he tried not to laugh. “Okay, babe, I have a ticket for you to fly out to Seattle first thing tomorrow morning. It’s real early, so you need to go to bed. I’m e-mailing you and Matteo the itinerary now.”

“How did you do that already? We’re still on the phone.”

“I’m Harry Potter, remember? I’m fucking magic!”

I laughed and he chuckled into my ear. “There’s my girl. I’ll see you tomorrow. Now, go get some sleep.”

“Thank you. I miss you,” I confessed with my whole heart, wishing he could feel just how deeply I meant the words. My love for Jack felt like it filled my body to bursting at every seam that held me together. I was overcome with emotion on every level.

“I miss you too. I hate being away from you. I’ve always hated it, but this is different. You’re not home when I get there and it makes me crazy.”

“Me too.”

“Stop crying, please. It fucking kills me to hear you crying.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’ve finally cracked. I always knew you were crazy. I mean, I did get you to marry me.”

I wiped my eyes, and couldn’t stop the smile that formed on my face. “I’m in bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good girl. I can’t wait.”

My plane landed in Seattle a little before eight the next morning. We disembarked via air stairs and walked across the paved runway before entering an annexed building. I glanced up at the clouds hovering in the sky. They threatened to drown me with the raindrops they carried. The air held a gentle chill that New York lacked this time of year. Even in a summer rainstorm, the East Coast air was hot and sticky. Not so in the Pacific Northwest. It was quite a change for me.

I walked through the small building, took the escalator down, and waited patiently for the shuttle that would take me to baggage claim. Within seconds, the double doors opened and I stepped inside. My stomach flipped as nervous energy surged through me at the idea of seeing my husband. I missed him so much.