Page 20 of Rain Delay

I also preferred not to have word get around that the ex-girlfriend of the star shortstop was working with said star shortstop.

That’s where things needed to stay separate. Bringing my personal life into my work life was an impending disaster waiting to happen. As much as it angered me remembering how Wyatt acted with me last night, I was here to do a job. Being at the stadium meant I was in baseball mode, not relationship troubles mode.

I walked along the dirt pathway by the dugout, and that’s when I saw him. Wyatt in his element.

I’d always known he was talented; I never realized talent was only a small part of the equation. The rest of it was this grueling, obsessive level of preparation.

He looked so familiar to me, but also completely foreign at the same time.

He carried himself with this new sense of poise and confidence I had never seen on him when we were together. He was a little taller, if that was even possible; his arms shown off by the cut-off shirt he was sporting.

His one arm is covered in tattoos, mainly floral patterns, nonetheless, beautiful artwork. I needed to look away or I was going to get myself in trouble.

I forced myself back into work mode and started taking videos of Wyatt as he took batting practice. It felt almost invasive to constantly have a lens on him – I was capturing him in his element, all a part of the job.

As I’m skimming through the videos and photos on my phone, the sun casting over me gets covered.

“Need anything specific?” His voice comes from behind me.

I turned quickly and nearly stepped straight into him.

A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead, rolling over his eyebrow and into his brown waves. He’s slightly out of breath, but his eyes remained locked on mine.

“I think I got most of what I need for now,” I adjust my grip on my phone. “I’ll probably grab more during the game.”

He nodded. “Okay, cool.”

Silence stretched between us for a beat.

Then he added, “You good?”

The question caught me off guard.

No. Not even close. But, I was managing. He didn’t need to know that.

I saw as the sun cast this warm glow on him, almost painting him like a work of art under the warm sun beams.

I clear my throat, looking down at my phone to check the time, then looked back at him and gave him a quick od.

He fixed his hat, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alrighty. I’m gonna go get ready for the game.”

“Okay.” I reply to him before he steps past me, walking back into the dugout. I hung out by the railing, looking at my phone again, focusing back on the videos I was watching before Wyatt approached me.

After he gets in uniform, he brushes right past me, standing over by the edge of the grass.

He looked good. Seeing him in uniform brought back a flood of memories – ones I tried to suppress for years. He was more outspoken and bold. Looks wise, he was too handsome for his own good. Muscles had filled out his lean frame and it was really hard to not stare at him.

His glove was tucked under his arm as he stared at home plate. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t talking to any of his teammates that walked past him. He was completely still, looking at the plate, then around the field like he was scoping out how things were going to go for today’s game. Like he was trying to create some sort of floor plan.

“Wyatt?” I call out. It’s like I don’t even exist. Instead of replying, he crouches down, pulls a notepad out of his back pocket, and starts reading over whatever was written in there.

I watched how focused he was — how nothing else around him really mattered. He was in his element, his world, and no one could pull him from that.

This game was a hungry, all-consuming ghost that lived inside of him.

To be at the top, to be the best version of himself, but also be the best in the game, he had to give himself to the game entirely. No distractions. No hesitation.

I understand the sacrifices he had to make to get here. I understood why he centered his entire life about baseball.