Why was that area such sacred ground to me?
Because it was not only letting someone inside my body, taking my “purity,” my “sanctity,” and everything that I guarded, but it also meant someone got too close to the core of me—perhaps I thought of it as my intimate spirit.
I wanted her to myself as long as I could.
And whether it was a piece of tissue breaking open, my hopes that were stepped on, or my heart that was broken, I had to hold the protection to them all—very tight, and very near.
When I had to walk by my sister’s room and the door was open, I moved as fast as I could.
At the dinner table, I hardly looked toward her, although I sat next to her.
Blaming Jenise for being weak, I turned my back on her. I was so convinced she wasn’t fighting hard enough, that I withheld forgiveness.
I withheld forgiveness, as if it were mine to withhold.
I couldn’t understand why she took so long to recover.
There was no time for therapy; she needed to get on with it.
How could she talk about our secrets?
We don’t talk about those!
It changed our relationship for years. Not because she didn’t reach out to me—she did—but I wasn’t receptive, nor I suppose mature enough, to understand.
She “abandoned” me and left me on my own to deal with our family. I didn't understand and resented her for it.
Regardless of my opinions and childish fears and judgments, and no matter how our parents tried to ignore another trauma in our family, my sister became a giant.
She took the baby steps she needed to regain her life. Through willpower and courage, she recovered. Thrashing and clawing her way back, refusing to be swallowed up or defined by the violence of her youth, her strength returned.
And I’d soon find out . . . not only did she overcome her darkness, she also became fearless.
My sister became my hero again and was one of the great loves of my life.
Chapter 4
Examples of Sharing
“You don’t date?” Alex overheard my reveal to Tara and once again joined us behind the outfield fences.
“No.”
“Why ever not?” She raised her eyebrows as if the news was too incredible to believe.
Being raised in an alcoholic family caused me to hide away and shut down rather than take a chance on the extreme joy or intense pain of life. When big emotions showed themselves, it was never a good thing in our house.
What I learned from my parents about relationships was they turned into disasters. Being with someone was more about “managing,” “avoiding,” and “protecting”—it was survival. I never saw my parents' softness as they looked in each other’s eyes. Did they reach for each other’s hand? I don’t remember it.
Their kisses, if there were any once dad started drinking, were few. They never held the door open for each other. Their eyes never had the soft look I saw with my relatives, or my friends' parents, or in my girlfriends’ eyes when they were with their boyfriends.
What about their terms of endearment? I never heard “baby,” or “sweetheart,” or any other pet name used by couples in love.
My parents met through a friend who introduced them when Mom had newly moved to San Francisco. I’d heard from my aunt that my father fell in love with the strong woman Mom was—strength rooted in her pioneer ancestors who'd settled in the high desert of Arizona.
My father was newly returned from serving in the army and just beginning his career as a mechanic with Municipality. His family origins were from Ireland and although he didn’t talk about their history much, I knew his parents went through the Great Depression.
Who knows what went wrong. Neither of them made time for each other, or remained tender. They closed their doors and windows, and let their hearts become hard.
Now a diseased man, my dad pushed and hit Mom. By his love for the bottle, he told her she wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t even second best. Dad's friends at the bar took that spot.
So for me, the lesson from my parents was: never let anyone in—especially when it came to a boy. Being someone’s girlfriend or wife meant compromising and giving up.
It was like I held a sword at my side, ready to slice anyone from my life as soon as I felt threatened. I dared not give them a chance to explain because of the hurt I knew would follow.
“Boys are too much of a risk, Alex. I don’t want to take a chance. Hey, Ryan Tilton is still looking over here. With all the women around him, I wonder who in the world . . . Alex, does he know you're with Darrell?” I laughed nervously.
I turned to see if a stunning woman sat behind me. When I saw there were only families, groups of boys, and men sitting near us, my mind started spinning. I fidgeted. I had to take my thoughts away from what might be happening on the field.
"He knows," Alex said sternly.
“God, I hate my body, you guys.” I wrung my hands, and shifted in my seat.
“There’s nothing wrong with your body.” Tara rested her hand on my knee.
“I’m bigger than all my friends.” Hoping for empathy, I continued discussing my insecurities. “When I sleep over at a girlfriend’s house, I can’t use her stuff. All my friends can exchange their clothes with each other, but I’m screwed if I don’t have something of my own.”
Tara covered her face with her hand, trying not to laugh. She didn’t understand my anxiety—it was extreme. Although I was told I was attractive and had a face that made me look like a young woman in her early twenties, I didn’t have that kind of confidence. My brain interpreted statements such as those to mean, “because of your body, you don’t look like the others. You don’t fit in.”
At seventeen, all I wanted was to fit in. I was tired of having to handle things differently.
“Your body is beautiful, just like you.” Tara turned when she heard her name and blew a kiss to her husband, who was walking by. "Sorry about that. I can never resist him. Anyway, you girls are so ridiculous at this age. You criticize everything. In a few years, you’ll look back and see you had nothing to worry about.”
“It’s true,” Alex jumped in. “I understand your feelings, but one day soon, you’ll be happy with your body. And your friends may tease you now, but I’d just about guarantee they wouldn’t mind trading places with you.”
“They make fun of me all the time. I try to cover myself but . . .” I crossed my arms as if sitting there naked.
“Don’t worry.” Tara put her arm around my shoulder. “If they poke fun at you, that’s just fear talking. Let it go and enjoy your gifts, honey.”
“And um, I’m sorry but there’s no covering up those things.” Alex looked at my breasts and my butt. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with them.”
“Oh, thanks, Alex.” I rolled my eyes sarcastically. “I feel so much better.”
“You’ll grow into yourself, sweetie.” Tara squeezed my arm. “You already have the beauty and the smarts of someone who’s much older. Did you know all the wives were given copies of your business plan?”
“What? No. Why would management do that?”
“We had to give our approval because it meant a group of young women, even though you’re all minors, would be on the field in front of our husbands,” Tara continued. “If we weren’t comfortable, it wasn’t going to happen. You had to go through quite a few hoops, young lady. Were you ever told how many people looked at your proposal?”
I shook my head.
She explained that it went from intern to assistant, mid-level and then high-level management, ownership, the players, and lastly, their wives. I was stunned and pleased with my success.
“Nice job, Nick,” Tara acknowledged.
“Thanks, but I don’t understand." I crossed both arms on top of my head. "What man on a professional baseball team would want us? We’re only seventeen, and who would want them? Yuck, they’re too old.”
“Yeah, you may think the players are too old,
but not so old that management wasn’t paranoid. And uh . . .” she nodded to the outfield where Ryan stood. “Seems like you’ve already piqued someone’s interest.”
“He’s just curious about this grotesque thing sitting next to you,” I laughed, always poking fun at myself.
“You know what made up my mind?” She smiled at my joke.
“What?”
“Your uniforms." Tara pinched the material of my jersey. "The way you explained your loose pants, long-sleeved shirts, and the jerseys that went over them was so sweet. I just knew whoever wrote it was a good soul.”
“I still wish I looked more like my friends,” I insisted.
“Take the compliment,” she countered.
“Thanks.”
I was hopeful I’d found women I could trust.
I wanted to let them in.
I desperately wanted to be close to them.
Chapter 5
Conversations in the Outfield
One night, I arrived early to the ballpark, before any of my teammates. Instead of sitting in the bleachers waiting for them, I walked to an isolated area behind the centerfield fence where I knew no one could see me. It had been a particularly bad day at my house, and I wanted some alone time.
The Goliaths were on the field practicing. I heard Ryan Tilton and Kevin Reynolds talking. When I heard “cheer team,” I got as close as I could to eavesdrop. I hoped I’d hear them say we were doing a good job.
“Dude,” Ryan said as his mitt popped from catching a fly ball.
“Yeah,” Kevin said, “S’up?”
Kevin Reynolds, who played right and centerfield for the San Francisco Goliaths, was a 6-foot, 1-inch tall rusty blonde haired man with pale green eyes. He maintained a light beard, was blessed with long legs built for speed, and strong arms that could hit a baseball hard.
“Have you looked at the new cheer team?” Ryan asked.
He’s talking about us! Great!
“Where are they?” Kevin chided.
“They’re not here right now, asshole. When they come in, they usually sit in the bleachers. They move behind the leftfield fence when the game starts.”
“Why should I pay attention to high school girls? Do they have an older sister somewhere?” Kevin joked.
“Seriously. Tonight when they come in, look at the one who usually sits next to Matt Summers’ wife.” There was a pause. "There, Kev." It was as if Ryan took Kevin's head in his hands and turned it to show him where we sat. “Shit, they’ve been sitting there every fuckin’ weekend since they started performing. Don’t you effin’ notice anything?”
What? Who’s he talking about?
“Yeah, I notice a lot, Tilton. But I don’t bother looking at the bleachers for the good stuff. All the fine pussy is lined up at the dugout railings. I pick one, and I’m set for the night. If I don’t find a piece of tail that’ll let me discover her sweet, pink cunt, then I’ll find one hanging in the tunnels. Bleachers, is ghetto, dude. You know the good stuff is close by you shit for brains.”
“I don’t mean for pussy, jerkoff.” Ryan sounded irritated that his friend wasn’t tuning in and instead only talked about the next opportunity for sex.
“Aren’t they just a bunch of high school girls?” Kevin asked, and then yelled hello to someone nearby.
“Well, yeah, this year, but . . .” Ryan’s voice softened.
“Are you shittin’ me? Fuck, Ryan, I know pussy has no face, and that shit’s gotta be one tight cunt, but you’re not thinking about tappin’ that, are you? I think that’s called jail, asshole.”
Oh damn, Kevin, you’re gross.
“No.” Ryan sounded disgusted. “I have no intention of fucking a seventeen-year-old girl. Now shut up, and look at the one with the long brunette hair tonight.”
Oh my God, he is talking about me. Do I want to stick around and listen? What if they say something insulting? Should I go? I should go, but I’ve never heard men talk like this. It's fascinating.
“You mean the one with the big tits?”
“So you have looked,” Ryan's voice carried an uneasy smile.
“A little.”
“Then shut the fuck up about her breasts,” Ryan commanded.
“Her breasts? Kevin mocked. “Since when do you call them breasts?”
“Since—"
“I know what kind of connection you’re talking about Mr. Limp Dick," Kevin interrupted. "She’s just a teenager. You can't fuck her to find out—"
“I don't mean check her out with sex. Not this year, at least. Still, I have a suspicion she’s more mature than her age. She’s not like the others. At least . . . since I’ve been looking at her.”
He’s defending me? Is this really about me? Or is it about Colleen? Oh, if it is, wait until I tell her. I’ll never hear the end of it. She’ll be in the clouds!
“You should see her, Kev. She goes out of her way to help fans, and she’s great with kids. I’ve watched her get them baseballs, show them the play areas, and get the mascot to talk to them. There’s something about her that seems really great.”
Colleen doesn’t do any of that. I’m the only one who does. He must know I’m listening and this is a big joke. But would Kevin really be that gross if he knew I was right here?
“Really great? Fuck, Ryan. How old are you? Why are you suddenly so interested in some no-name pussy? You’re always with some knockout, gold-digging bitch or well-known snatch that’s been waiting for a hook up. Suddenly it's . . . this?"
Snatch! Damn!
“I know that's been my M.O., but I want to be with someone on a deeper level now. I’m tired of the bullshit; always having to be on guard, muzzle our dicks, and perform so she’ll tell the next woman how great we fuck . . . Don’t you want more than to look for the next pair of tits and pussy? All for an orgasm, and then what? I want to make a life with someone.”
I had no idea this is the way men talk. These guys . . . I can hardly keep from laughing. That last statement, though . . .
"Then it's another orgasm," Kevin laughed.
“I’m tired of those empty feelings." Ryan lowered his voice. "There’s something about her and I need to find out more.”
"Yeah. Doesn't feel so empty to me," Kevin added. "And how do you know next year she’ll be ready for you? Sure, she’ll be eighteen, but . . ."
"But what?"
"Were you ready for one person when you were her age?” Kevin challenged.
Ooh, good question, Kevin.
“Aren’t you tired of all the different women and just . . . I don't know, people in general who use us?” Ryan avoided Kevin’s question. "We shoot our cream night after night for a sensation that’s meaningless. It feels good, but . . . I want to feel the sweet softness of a woman without a fuckin’ cock sock. Pussy means nothing to me anymore. I’ve had it every night since college and I’ve never been able to trust a woman when she says she’s safe.”
“No. Not with ya there, bro,” Kevin quickly interjected. “I don’t understand how you can be tired of all these young, twenty-one and twenty-two-year-old bodies; no fuckin' way.”
“It’s all vanity. Nothing's real. As soon as we leave baseball it's all over with women."
"So what? I don't want real right now, buddy boy."
"It's like . . ." Ryan paused as if to gather his thoughts. "I don't get anything from the meaningless sex anymore. We get eye candy and a good fuck, and they get . . . whatever.”
“Whatever? They brag about us! It’s like we’re fuckin’ stallions and they're ready to be mounted.” Kevin’s voice began to get loud. “The cunt circus is endless!”
Oh . . . blech. Disgusting.
“And happiness?” Ryan asked.
“Are you saying because of her age you can get rid of the condom? Now that I get—young, fresh pussy, and no STDs."
“Shit, Kevin.”
“Don't shit me. I’m pretty fuckin’ happy just how I am. And what about Jesse? You’re just gonna tell her goodbye and
see ya? Good luck. She won't take that lightly.”
Jesse! Tara mentioned her. Ooh, juicy stuff!
“I’ve never given a shit about Jesse that way and she knows it.” The fence rattled as if one of the players crashed into it. "Don't kill yourself Becker."
"Sorry Tilton." The man yelled.
After a minute, I assumed when they were alone again, Kevin continued. “That’s cold. Jesse told me she loves you. Didn’t she move here to be near you?”
“I never asked her to follow me. She’s just a fuck buddy.”
“Yeah? I’d like to have a ‘buddy’ like her, ass wipe. That chick—fuck what a body on her. She’s a looker, too. The thought of that ass gives me a ‘Blue Steeler’ right now. Some college friend you met.”
“Get your own women,” Ryan snickered too carelessly. “I don’t give a fuck what you guys do, but not this year. I still need her pussy and I don’t want to think about you bein’ in there.”
Oh my God, they’re so sexed up! How can a woman ever catch up with this?
“Nicky!”
Tara! Oh Damn, I’m busted!
The two men suddenly got quiet. Before they could find me, I ran into the bleachers. I never looked back toward them.
“What were you doing standing down there by yourself?”
“Just being alone for a bit. My father was raging again.”
“Oh, Nicky.” She held my hand. “I’m so sorry.” She rubbed my shoulders and neck for a few minutes. “You weren't listening to Ryan and Kevin’s conversation, were you?”
“What? I didn’t even know anyone was standing near me.” My voice shook a little.
I changed the subject before Tara could ask me any more questions.
Chapter 6
The Transition: Part I
When the Goliaths returned from their road trip a week later, Ryan and Kevin, along with the remaining few players who hadn't introduced themselves, finally approached the cheer team.
Shadow Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 1) Page 3