by K. S. Adkins
Venessa said it seemed like lies physically hurt Lina and that’s why she thought she stayed mostly to herself. Looking closer, she didn’t engage the adults much, but those kids. Fuck, she loved those kids. Especially one little girl with brown hair that was attached to her. Feeling like a complete dick, I realized I misjudged her. That night when I went home, I decided the next day, I would look at her with fresh eyes.
Lina kept to herself. I wanted to know what I could do to be the one she let in.
For a week she’s been watching every move the DPD makes. She’s using programs she shouldn’t have access to and has made a point not to answer any calls from the girls. Bottom line is, she’s even more focused now then she was before. Jules is in prison and from the sounds of it, the good captain wasn’t letting her out anytime soon. This morning she called Bishop filling him in on what she knows and he made it very clear the team is on its way, including Jules’ boss Mack and that she’ll be out by dinner. Bishop asked her to keep feeding them intel and she’s agreed. He asked her to keep it to herself and not share with the others and she agreed with that too. How do I know this? Well, because I haven’t left her side all week. I can’t. If I did, she would waste away up here. So for now, I offer silent support, cigarettes and the occasional meal when she gets hungry. This is important. I know she has to see this through and I would do whatever it took to help her.
Hours later when her phone rings, she lets out a small “yes” when she disconnects which tells me Jules is free. Getting her attention took some doing, but when I yanked her by the waist forcing her to straddle me, her eyes focused, and she was mine again. “Max will be happy,” I tell her rubbing her neck.
“Things will move faster now,” she says, leaning into me. “This is the scramble. All the players trying to find their spots at once. Like duck, duck, goose, but not really.”
“You need to take a break,” I tell her. “You did well, but it’s time to call it a night.”
“I can’t,” she argues. “I just said it’s a scramble, we have to be diligent. I’m the goose at this party.”
“You’ll be goose,” I counter. “After you rest.”
“But---“
“You are coming to bed, with me, right fucking now Lina,” I demand while pulling her toward our room. “I’m not doing this with you tonight, you’re benched, got it?”
“Okay coach,” she yawns into her hand not fighting me as she undresses. “Maybe we could cuddle?”
“You want to cuddle?”
“Or not,” she whispers, climbing in next to me. “I like it, with…you.”
“We can cuddle, Sherlock,” I whisper, pulling her to me. “I like it with you too.” When she doesn’t answer me I pull her hair back and see she’s out, mouth open and completely exhausted. Slowly removing her clothes, I take her down to her underwear, get out of bed to put them in the hamper and when I came back I can’t resist taking another photo of her. She’s clutching my pillow like she knows I’m gone, but the pillow is the next best thing. Stowing the camera in the drawer, I get back in bed when she attaches herself to me and speaks in her sleep “nie opuszczaj mnie nigdy” and I pull her tighter. She asked me to never leave her. If only she knew it wasn’t a possibility. It’s not me leaving her that concerns me, it’s her leaving me.
As I drift myself, I know it’s time to tell her the truth.
“What do you mean you don’t like baseball?” I sputtered. “Everyone like baseball!”
“No,” she said, handing me the tickets back “Everyone does not like baseball. I especially don’t like watching the Tigers.”
“Do you know how hard I had to work the scalper with one leg over to get these bitches?”
“Lina,” she said, smiling. “I’ve never liked baseball. This was sweet of you, but the little bit of time I get with him I don’t want to spend at Comerica park.”
“Unfuckingreal,” I groaned. “Fine.”
“Maybe you have someone you’d like to ask?”
“Negative,” I mumble. “It’s cool, Red, no big deal.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No, I’m not mad. You’re right, they’ll probably lose anyway.”
“Lina wait,” she said, as I walked away.
“Red,” I throw over my shoulder, “go to Max. It’s fine I get it. Tell him I said ‘sup.’”
I don’t know why I was upset. I had no right to be. She’d tried her best to make time for me, but I thought the three of us catching a game would be fun. She wants his attention. I may not have a Max in my life, but on some level I understand it. Looking at the tickets in my hand, I approach a man sitting on cardboard and hand them to him. “Here,” I offered. “Scalp these and don’t take less than $40.00 a pop. These are third base line seats.”
“God bless you,” he said, emphatically.
“Yeah right,” I snorted, walking away. God doesn’t even know I exist. Even if he did, he doesn’t work in my neighborhood.
No more breaks, now it’s crunch time. Just as I was sitting down to start making calls, Anthony comes into the room wearing a Cabrera jersey and tosses a foam finger at me. Looking at it, then back at him, I can’t figure out why I’m holding an orange foam finger in both hands. I’m still tired despite sleeping in, so I ask him what I missed.
“Detroit plays New York today,” he says, lighting up. “Granted, they’ll get crushed, but it’s a perfect day for a game. I bought tickets which means you and I are spending the afternoon heckling the home team.”
“You bought us tickets for a ball game?” I ask, choking up. “But I don’t have a jersey.”
“Who’s your favorite player?”
“I don’t have a favorite, but Felix Hernandez’s facial expressions are fun to watch.”
“He plays for Seattle,” he laughs. “Okay, so who’s your favorite Detroit player?”
“I can’t answer that,” I offer, “because I don’t have one.”
“Do you like the Tigers at all?”
“It’s not about the team so much as it is the game, I guess. I just love watching baseball.”
“Holy shit,” he whispers, standing me up, giving me a look I can’t decipher. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Cabrera is your favorite?” I ask, lighting my own cigarette.
“Actually, no,” he says, laughing. “It fit and it was on sale.”
“That’s fucking funny,” I giggle, waving the foam finger in his face.
“I’m a funny guy,” he says, leading me around the desk.
“Are you ready for bad food, warm beer, and my company?”
“You had me at ‘my company,’” I tell him, kissing his mouth. “Thank you for doing this. I never had anyone to go with before.”
“Well, now you do,” he whispers, kissing me harder. Changing into more baseball friendly clothes, I meet him in the kitchen in record time. He tosses me a mitt and my confusion over it must have spoken for me.
“I like being prepared,” he says, grabbing his keys.
“Obviously,” I laugh, tucking it under my arm.
“It’s a lefty,” he points out. “If you can shoot left handed, you can catch a fly ball left handed too.”
Snuggling into his side, because I am so damn happy he did this for me, I tell him, “I can do all sorts of things left handed, Coach.”
“I know,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Believe me, I know.”
Driving over to the park we find a spot in the lot so the walk is minimal. It’s a weekday game, so the crowd is small. Grabbing two beers, two dogs, and some popcorn, we settle into our seats to wait for the big event. I meant it when I said I loved baseball. I love watching it, analyzing it, and wondering who will come out on top. Baseball is one of those sports where no matter how well stacked the team is, upsets happen all the time. I love watching the upset. The ‘how in the fuck did they pull that off’ games? But even though I’ve roamed these streets all my life, I’ve never been here. I always admired it fr
om a distance and I thought I was content with that. It was a dream I had given up on.
But here I am.
It’s beautiful.
It’s electric.
And it’s real because of him.
My parents are taking me to Tiger Stadium for the day. My Pop’s has had it planned for weeks. He even took the weekend off for it. My mom took me shopping for a new mitt, a jersey, and the hat of my choosing. This was my first professional baseball game and I was beyond excited. The Tigers play New York and according to my Pop, if they pulled it off, it would be a huge victory for Detroit.
Walking through the halls, past concession, and toward our seats, I struggle to take everything in. It’s so bright and loud that I can’t hear what they’re asked me. When Mom points to the vendor, I smile in answer, then wait for my hotdog. Carrying my food and drink down to our seats, I settled in for the big game. If there’s an empty seat, I don’t see it. The place was packed.
While Pops and I are dressed in baseball gear, Mom isn’t. She wore her street clothes. “Mom,” I asked, nudging her, “who’s your favorite player?”
Leaning toward me she smiled “I don’t have one,” she said, looking around the park. “It’s not about the team so much as it is the game, I guess. I just love watching baseball.”
“Everyone has a favorite player,” I argued.
“Maybe most do,” she said. “Some are more fun to watch than others. I guess I like watching the facial expressions of pitchers, but not one in particular.”
Moments later the game started and I swept away by it. Maybe kids my age were too cool to hang out with their parents but not me, I loved it. My parents were awesome.
Instead of relaxing at home they brought me here so I could see my first game. I’d remember this game for the rest of my life. Until years later, my mother promised when she said another game would take its place.
I’m reeling.
There are no words for what I’m feeling right now. Déjà vu isn’t something that’s ever happened to me before, but thirty minutes ago it did and now, I can’t shake it. That’s not true either. Fuck, I’ve had so many flashbacks since meeting Lina, it’s terrifying. Almost twenty-five years ago, my own mother spoke the same words to me that she just did. Lina has many of my mother’s traits and many of her own. My mother was a caring woman, a good listener and she was extremely honest. She didn’t sugar coat and she was selfless. Looking over at the woman next to me, I can say the same. Lina may not be the most conventional woman around, but she’s perfect the way she is, perfect for me, and I recognize that on every level.
After parking, paying the attendant, and heading to grab drinks, out of nowhere she grabs my hand and squeezes hard. “Wait,” she says firmly.
Looking down at her I ask her, “Something wrong?”
“I don’t know, is it?” she asks, looking worried. “Am I doing something wrong, coach?”
“What? No!” I assure her.
“Are you sure? Because you haven’t said a word since we left and you keep looking at me funny.”
“Christ,” I groan, leaning in to kiss her. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of my parents, bringing you here brought back memories, is all. Good memories.”
“Oh,” she says, looking relived. “Okay then.”
“Lina wait.” I hurry before she let’s go of my hand. “It’s not possible for you to do something wrong, remember that.”
Laughing, she pats my ass and shakes her head. “You’re setting yourself up for disappointment, coach,” she says. “I almost always do something wrong.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that, so I let it go. Grabbing two beers, I watch her pile so much onion on her hotdog I’m shocked it didn’t break in half. Making it to our seats she flops down, takes a huge bite, followed by another, and before you know it, it’s gone.
“Delicious!” she says, beaming. “Great seats, coach! So, let’s make a wager before it starts.”
“You’re on,” I tell her smiling. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking Detroit will take this one,” she says, sipping her $9 beer. “Final score 4-3. If I win, you come to practice with me and slap on some skates when this cast is off. Your turn.”
“Deal,” I tell her. “New York wins 5-1. If I win, you have to blow me.”
“Blow you?” she asks, laughing. “You don’t need to win a bet for that.”
“Let me amend. You’ll blow me in the lot where we’re parked.”
“Shall we shake on it?”
We did shake on it, then we sat back and witnessed New York wipe the floor with Detroit. Every time New York scored, I’d watch as she squirmed in her seat. She didn’t want Detroit to win any more than I did. When it’s over, she whispers, “A bet is a bet,” then takes off running and without hesitation. I chase her. The moment I am in my seat, she goes for my jeans with purpose. Freeing me, she licks her lips and looks up at me. “I’ve never been so happy to lose a bet in my life. I should have mentioned, I’m horrible at betting.”
Staring me in the eyes while she begins her descent, my nose starts to twitch, then suddenly she draws back too. Looking around the car, then back at me, she asks, “Anthony, what is that smell?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“It’s fucking gross,” she groans. “Oh god, you didn’t blow ass did you?”
“No,” I laugh. “I did not blow ass.”
Turning, she starts checking between the seats, then when she finds nothing, leans over the arm rest to look in the back. “Oh, so this is embarrassing,” she says, coming back to face me.
“What is it?”
Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she starts laughing. Not just a little laugh either, full out tears down the face, shaking, and howling laughter. When she starts stomping her feet on the floor board, I can’t help it, I join her. Removing her hand, she pulls her shirt forward and I look inside.
“So it might be me,” she says, howling so loud she started to hiccup. I just sat there with my eyes watering.
It was her.
She had a cleavage full of onion and the smell was horrific and hilarious. When my own laughter took me over, she squeals, “Unlock the doors, coach! I need to air the girls out!”
Taking it all in, I watch her climb out and shake her tits in the parking lot, while onion goes everywhere. Sitting there with my cock hanging out laughing, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. She did pay up on her bet though, but it was well after a shower and two rounds of mouthwash.
“He doesn’t even pay her,” he laughed outside my door,
“She’s practically homeless. She’s lucky he lets her in here,” the other one says.
“Yeah, well, if you ask the captain, he says she’s the real deal, said she owes him for bailing her and her friends out. He cashed in but he ain’t got too much longer. She graduates and leaves for college soon.”
“College girls,” he laughed. “Remember those days?”
“Have you seen the tits on her?” the other laughed “Please let her be legal.”
“Cap says she’s too smart for her own good. Our numbers have never looked better.”
“Good,” the other said. “Less work for us.”
“I’m sick of working for pennies. If she owes him, let her do the fucking work.”
Listening to their banter made me sick to my stomach. Men weren’t good for much, I’d come to figure out. There wasn’t anything they could do for me that my own hand couldn’t. These two fuckwits were the protectors of my city. Pathetic.
The captain clears them away and, like always, comes in singing my praises. “We got another one,” he said smiling and I want to roll my eyes because I got another one, he just took the credit for it. I’d have walked a long time ago if I didn’t actually like what I did. But it’s to the point where it’s gone beyond being used. Now it’s pissing me off.
“Can you give me a reference for the criminal justice program I’m app
lying for?”
“Of course,” he said, lying to me with a smile on his face.
“Okay,” I told him, handing him a piece of paper. “That’s the address it needs to go to with my name as the subject.”
“I’ll do it first thing in the morning,” he promised me, but I felt it. The lie came so easily for him that the next morning I never mentioned it or asked for another favor again.
After a fun-filled afternoon yesterday, I promised Anthony I’d take a break from working, and I did. Mostly. But this case isn’t going to solve itself so, this morning when Anthony caught me trying to sneak into the spare room, he shut me down hard. Cocky bastard. The only reason I didn’t kick him in the shin was because he said Max wanted help putting his grill together so Jules and I decided to grab lunch before she takes off on her honeymoon (finally). Anthony leaves first while I wait for her to pick me up. The curious part of me wants to go through all of his cabinets and look under his furniture, but I hold back. I freak when people touch my shit. No doubt he wouldn’t appreciate it if I did it to him.
Sitting on the porch, I just finish my smoke when she pulls up. The ride over to Supino’s is interesting as she explains the games the captain was playing—her team busting her out, her reinstatement into the DEA and the best part? She’s now the head of security for Lush. That is tits on so many levels I can hardly process it. But once we’re seated it isn’t about the big changes in her life. It is about the big changes in mine. Jules can hardly sit still, so I decided to put her out of her misery.
“Go ahead,” I tell her, reaching for the bread because it’s fucking garlicky. “I know it’s killing you, so ask.”
“You and Tony are a thing?” she asks, stealing from my plate. “It’s a good fit, Lina, why are you so standoffish about it?”
“I’m not standoffish,” I defend. “Who even says standoffish? I have my reservations about it. I don’t do relationships for a reason Jules, you know that.” What I don’t tell her is my reservation is that I’m back up to Venessa. I feel like her replacement. She’s not available, so maybe he’d take a shot at second string.