I peer out over the ledge, begging for a glimpse of the real him, but I can’t spot him.
“Hey, Mom,” Bo starts with a wave to the camera. “Thanks so much for being here today. You’ve always been the best mom I could’ve ever hoped or dreamed for. You’ve supported me, loved me, taken care of me, and best of all… you chose me. So, thank you, for everything.”
My heart stops for a second, putting together what Bo just said and getting a vibe from Brenda as she clutches her chest, her focus dedicated to her son on the screen in front of us… the same one thousands of fans are watching from their seats and living rooms across the country.
He pauses, hesitating for a moment, and then continues. “I also would like to send out a message to my birth mother. We’ve never met, and that’s okay.” He pauses again. “I just want to say, thank you. Thank you for choosing to have me.”
The entire ballpark is silent, glued to Bo’s face on the screen and the message he’s delivering. My thoughts are everywhere. My head feels like there are a million little bees buzzing around and my skin feels prickly hot. Casey’s hand on mine is the first thing I register when I try to regain my composure as Bo’s video comes to a close.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” he says and the screen goes blank, the commentators voice coming back on to again wish all the moms a Happy Mother’s Day.
“You okay?” Casey whispers to which I can only shake my head.
Nope.
Not okay.
I don’t think it’s just the knowledge of Bo being adopted. It’s everything. It’s the rumors, the pressure, the prying, the secrets. There’s something I haven’t told Bo and with this latest surge of interest in my life, I’ve been worried that it’ll surface somehow. This entire week, ever since the airport, I’ve been meaning to tell him, but haven’t worked up the nerve or had the right opportunity.
And now, I just feel like I need to get away. This awesome box feels claustrophobic, the seats too close together. I feel like everyone is watching me, when for the first time in over two weeks, everyone is certainly not watching me.
They’re all still focused on Bo’s message.
Greg is now sitting beside Brenda, offering her a shoulder to let out her quiet sobs on. “It was just so beautiful… my beautiful boy,” I overhear her say.
“Char,” Casey whispers, leaning close. “Charlotte.” My eyes are kind of zoned out like my mind and I’m feeling queasy. All of this is just too much.
“It’s too much,” I whisper back to Casey, squeezing her hand in a silent plea for help. “I just… I can’t breathe and it’s… too much.”
Casey abruptly stands, drawing Brenda and Greg’s attention and she doubles over, gripping the arm of my chair. “Oh, God,” she says, panting. “I think I… I don’t know, maybe I ate something bad?” Her groan is Oscar worthy and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she needs to be rushed to the emergency room.
“Casey?” I ask, trying to mimic her concern, reaching for her hand and standing to support her. I want to kiss her. I could kiss her, but I’ll save that for later, when we’re away from Brenda and Greg… Bo’s adopted parents… and Bo’s heartfelt message… and the rumors and the public’s interest in my life.
I’ve got to get out of here.
“I’m taking her home,” I announce, turning to offer Brenda and Greg a regretful, but worried smile. “Maybe to the emergency room. I’ll just see how she’s feeling once we get her out of here.”
“Yeah,” Casey agrees, now putting most of her weight on me and she can tone that shit down, because if she thinks for one damn minute I’m carrying her ass out of here, she’s badly mistaken. Ten years ago, maybe. But not now. “I… I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”
“Oh, Honey,” Brenda says, springing into action and coming to Casey’s other side, her hand immediately going to Casey’s forehead. “Well, good news is it doesn’t feel like you’re running a fever, but you do feel clammy.” Turning to the guy who’s been waiting on us hand and foot, she calls out, “Roger, do you have a wet towel… and maybe a plastic bag, just in case?”
Roger snaps to attention and scurries off.
“Greg,” Brenda says, turning to her husband. “Walk the girls down and make sure Frank is outside waiting on them.” Turning back to us, she gives us a sad smile. “Don’t worry about us, we’ll catch a ride with Bo and we’ll call to check in after the game.”
I want to spill my guts right there, laying all of my burdens at Brenda’s feet, but I can’t. I won’t. Instead, I offer her a grateful smile and accept the towel and plastic bag Roger brings over.
“Please—” I begin, but Brenda finishes for me.
“We’ll let Bo know,” she says. “And text us when you’ve made it home safely. I know it’s just a short drive, but with all this crazy media attention, I’ll worry if I don’t hear from you.”
“Right,” I say, gathering the few wits I have left. “Yeah, I’ll text you. And thank you.”
Greg walks us downstairs and makes sure we get in the car safely. Once Casey is inside, I slide in behind her and Greg closes the door. Frank gives me a questioning stare through the rearview mirror, but my expression must say it all—don’t ask.
“Home?” he questions, starting the engine of the car.
“Yes, please.”
“So, are you going to tell him?” Casey asks, sitting up in her seat and looking as well as can be. I don’t miss the look Frank gives her as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road.
I let out a deep breath, the first one I’ve been able to release in a good twenty minutes. “I’ve been meaning to.”
“Really?” she asks, arms folded over her chest. “I mean, I know things are getting serious between the two of you, but you’ve never told anyone else before, so I wasn’t sure.”
“He’s different,” I tell her, my eyes turned to the window. “I shouldn’t let it bother me this much, but with everything else going on, I just…” I let out another deep sigh. “I think I need a break… I’ve been thinking about flying to L.A. and staying with Mom and Dad until the album is finished.”
“You hate L.A.” Casey’s tone is even, but there’s a bitterness there. She hates L.A. We both do, and I know this will look like a win for Terry, but I don’t know what else to do. Everywhere I turn here lately has been torture. “At least in L.A. I know what I’m up against. My armor will be in place.” Biting down on my lip to keep my emotions in check, because I know being in L.A. means not seeing Bo for a few weeks, but I think it’ll be good for him too. I know all of this has been a lot for him to take and even though he’s put on a strong front, it’s getting to him too.
“Being here,” I continue, “being in New Orleans… with Bo, I think it’s given me a false sense of security. I’ve been living in a bubble, but that’s not the real world, or at least not mine, not right now. I need to go to L.A. and do what I need to do. Bo needs to focus on making it to the All-Star Game and then we’ll see where we’re at.”
Casey’s laugh holds no humor, and she doesn’t even look at me when she speaks. “I can’t believe you.”
“What?” I snap. “What can you not believe?”
My tone is sharp, and I feel one of our old-time, childhood fights coming back to haunt us.
“You,” she says with a huff. “You find someone amazing, who is so into you… just for you—Charlotte Carradine—and things get hard and you push him away, put that thick f—” For a second, I think she’s actually going to say it… just let that fucking word fly, but she pulls back and collects herself. “Put that thick wall back up, blocking out anyone from getting through.”
“I’m not doing that,” I argue. “You don’t know what it’s like—”
“See,” she says, cutting me off. “I do know what it’s like. I’ve lived this life with you. I’ve sat back and watched you be used over and over again. I know all you really want in life is for someone to see you… not the rockstar or the childhood star.
Just you. And he’s giving you that. If you walk away from it, you’re… crazy,” she whispers.
“He deserves better than this,” I tell her. “The first thing Bo ever told me was that he didn’t want distractions. He’s on a mission to be the best fucking baseball player he can be and all of this shit I’ve brought into his life is ruining it.”
“You should let him decide that,” Casey quips. “And stop thinking that you’re not good enough for him, because that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” It’s funny that the thing that pisses her off the most is me devaluing myself. She’s always been that way. We can tease each other and cut each other down, but we never let other people talk about us, even ourselves. “You’re good enough… and you deserve someone wonderful like Bo Bennett.”
I want to believe her. I really, really do. But I can’t help thinking this relationship is seriously off-balance, and not in the I’m Lola Carradine sense, but in the I’m taking a lot more than I’m giving sense. And that doesn’t settle well with me.
Sometimes, you care for someone so much that you’re willing to let them go for their own good.
“I don’t like what you’re thinking,” Casey says with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest as Frank pulls up into the drive. I don’t miss the black car that’s been permanently parked along my street for a fucking month sitting about ten feet from my drive.
“And what would that be?”
“You’re thinking about Bo and what’s good for him… and you’re thinking, somewhere deep in that messed up head of yours, if you tell him the truth that he’ll think badly of you and you can’t take that, so instead of taking the risk and letting him make up his own mind, you’re going to do it for him.
We sit in silence as Frank parks the car near the side entrance.
“And just for the record,” she says, opening the door and stepping out. “I think that’s... bullshit.”
Chapter 21 - Bo
My call goes straight to voicemail. Again. I don’t bother leaving a message because I’m pulling into her driveway and will hopefully be seeing her beautiful face very soon.
I was disappointed to learn that Charlotte and Casey left before the game even started but that quickly turned to concern when my mom explained that they left because Casey started feeling sick. It’s weird that Charlotte isn’t answering her phone, though. I hope it doesn’t mean she’s up to her elbows in Casey’s puke.
I’m kind of a sympathy puker, so the thought alone has my stomach rolling a little.
After punching in the security code and driving through the gate, I park and quickly jog to the side door. I ring the bell twice before finally hearing a woman’s voice yell that she’s coming.
I was expecting and hoping to see Charlotte open the door but instead, it’s Casey. Her eyes are red and, maybe, a bit swollen but she doesn’t look ill. She also doesn’t look too happy to see me here.
What the hell is going on?
“Casey, hey, my parents told me you were sick. Are you okay?”
She’s looking everywhere but my face and I notice her jaw twitching a few times before she speaks. “Yeah, I’m fine…” she says, stumbling over her words a bit. “I, uh, guess I just needed some... fresh air. But thanks for checking on me.” She moves to close the door but I block it with my foot.
Fresh air? Like there isn’t plenty of that at the ballpark? Nope. No way.
“Casey, what’s wrong? Is Charlotte okay? Where is she?”
Casey’s shoulders sag in almost what looks like defeat. “She left.” Her words are short and swift, matching her second attempt to shut the door. This time, I grab the door with my hand and stop it by pushing my way in front of it.
“Casey, what the fuck is going on here?” I ask, feeling like I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone. “Did I do something wrong? Is Charlotte upset with me?” My questions come out sounding a little like pleas, but I’m not above begging; I have to know Charlotte is all right.
My thoughts turn immediately to the fucking paps, but now that I think about it, they weren’t even at the gate or on the street, like they have been recently, sitting like fucking vultures. And the last time I saw her, which was last night when we cooked dinner for my parents, things were great so, it doesn’t make sense for her to ghost me like this.
Casey finally looks me in the eye and I can see now that she’s definitely been crying. Actually, I think she still is.
“You’re not sick, are you?” Dread and unease settle into my stomach and I think I might be the sick one now.
“No, I’m not sick,” Casey sniffles. “I’m pissed. I’m also sorry because I can’t tell you anything. So, you should just go home, Bo.”
Anger builds in the pit of my stomach, mixing with the nauseous feeling that just came over me and it’s a bad combination. “That’s bullshit and you know it. What happened to Charlotte? Surely, you don’t think I’m gonna accept this and just go on my merry way? Fuck that.”
“Charlotte isn’t here and I don’t know when she’ll be back. That’s all I can tell you,” Casey says, regret lacing her words. “I’m sorry, Bo.”
Stunned, I take a step back. Casey uses the opportunity to grab the door again, shutting it in my face and leaving me completely dumbfounded.
She’s gone?
Charlotte just took off and left without saying goodbye. Without saying anything. That doesn’t make sense, and quite honestly, I have no idea what to do. My body feels numb as I turn and walk back to my car.
I don’t even remember driving home.
One minute I’m standing outside Charlotte’s house and the next, I’m sitting in my car in my apartment’s parking lot. I’m at a total loss—confusion, hurt, and worry are all swirling inside me and I don’t know what to think.
Did I do something wrong?
Does she want to break up with me?
Those thoughts sound so juvenile for what we are, but they’re definitely there, nagging, like little demons with claws, latching onto my brain. But what I desperately want to know, more than anything, is if she’s safe. That’s what is most important to me.
I grab my phone and dial Charlotte’s number for a third time and for a third time, it goes straight to voicemail. This time I leave a message because I can’t sit here and do nothing.
Clearing my throat, I will my voice to stay strong. “Charlotte, hey, um, it’s me. Look, I don’t know what’s going on but I just talked to Casey and she said she can’t tell me anything… but that you’re gone. It’s driving me absolutely fucking crazy not knowing you’re okay. If I did something to upset you, please give me a chance to make it right. Just talk to me, baby, I’m worried sick about you. Please let me know you’re safe, even if it’s just a text. I won’t be able to sleep until I know you’re alright. Okay? Please, Charlotte.”
I hang up and toss the phone onto the passenger seat before rubbing my hands over my face, trying to clear my mind. I have to act as if everything is normal when I go into my apartment because I don’t want Jorge and Luis suspecting anything’s wrong. Rumors running rampant around the team would just make things worse. For now, until I can figure out where Charlotte went and why she left, I want to keep it to myself.
I just want to go to my room and wait to hear back from Charlotte. Surely, she’ll throw me a bone at some point. She’s not a hurtful or vengeful person. Even if I did something to piss her off, I know she’ll do the right thing and at least message me, I just don’t know when.
It’s three hours later when my phone buzzes, startling me out of my video game stupor. Succumbing to the stupidity of electronic entertainment was the only thing to keep me from obsessively checking my phone every ten seconds. When I glance down at the screen, there are only a few words there and they don’t make me feel great, but at least they’re something.
Charlotte: I’m okay. I’ll call you later.
I want to press her for more of an answer, but I’m afraid in doing that I’ll somehow push her farthe
r away… she feels far enough as it is.
Bo: Where are you?
Charlotte: L.A.
L.A.?
L.A.
Maybe she had to leave to do something important on her album? But if that’s the case, then why was Casey so pissed and crying? My mind starts to spiral again with all the questions and worries, but I can’t let it. It’s now after eleven o’clock and I have an early game tomorrow and then we’ll be traveling to Minnesota.
I need to get my head on straight and somehow compartmentalize all of this, keeping it locked away until Charlotte calls me and we can talk it out. Tossing my phone onto the nightstand, I turn off the television and the lights and try to force myself into sleep.
But it doesn’t happen. I lay there for hours, tossing and turning and thinking of Charlotte. I even pick my phone back up and scroll through our last few text messages before the game. All good. She told me she was so excited about finally getting to see another game. Since the media has been breathing down her neck, she hasn’t taken any chances coming to the ballpark. It’s like they can sniff her out from miles away.
She also said she had a great time with my parents and that she and my mom had a talk. Whatever that means. Maybe I should call my mom tomorrow and see what their talk was about?
The last thing I do is open a search tab and type in Charlotte’s name. Photos from only three hours ago are all over social media: Charlotte in her new auburn wig showing up at the airport, Charlotte checking into the airport, Charlotte hiding her face from the cameras when she arrives in L.A., Charlotte looking distressed and completely out of sorts as she fights her way through what I can only imagine are a group of assholes begging for a piece of her. The last photo is of her in the backseat of a black SUV, driving off. It’s that one that allows me to finally fall asleep, knowing at least she got away from them. Hopefully, she’s tucked safely in bed in some posh hotel or maybe she’s visiting her parents… or God forbid, Terry… but it helps me to think that she’s not alone and that she’s relatively safe.
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