Page 71 of Rain Delay

“Is it him?” Dad’s face hardened, the newspaper in his hand crumbling. “After everything? After the way things ended? I watched you walk around this damn house like a ghost, Eliana. I watched that punk focus on a sport over building a life with you and leave you in the rain. And now you’re working with him?”

“I didn’t request to work with him, dad,” I argue. “I went where MLB assigned me. I wasn’t going to break contract because I had some history with a player.”

“Seems to me like a damn good reason to want to request to work with someone different,” he snapped. “He’s nothing but trouble. You finally get on your feet, finally getting your life together, and you’re gonna risk it on a guy who already showed you where you lied on his list of priorities?”

“He’s changed…” I mumble.

Dad lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Wait, you’re living with him and you said he’s changed?” He points at his temple. “Think about this, Eliana. You’re letting him back into your head. You’re letting him distract you from being the best version of yourself. He’s going to play with your heart again, and so help me god if he breaks it again? I can only speak for myself when I say I will tell you I told you so.”

The silence that followed was heavy. I wanted to lay everything out there to my parents. I wanted to tell them how he’s been so kind and caring with me. I wanted to tell them about the way Wyatt looks at me now – like I’m the only person that matters in this world. The look I fell in love with years ago was back in his eyes, and I was happy for the first time in half a decade.

Based on the looks of my dad’s tightened jaw, none of that would matter to him. He only knows Wyatt as the Wyatt Mitchell that broke his baby girl’s heart.

“It’s strictly business, Dad.” I say, even though the ‘strictly’ part of my statement was a bold-faced lie. I hated having to stretch the truth with my parents, I just knew I would get a comment from my father that I wouldn’t end up liking.

“Business,” he repeats, his tone flat. He set the newspaper down, looking at the TV to see if the first pitch had been thrown yet. I glanced up at the TV to see that Wyatt was stepping up to the plate.

“Eliana, I’ve been a coach for years. I know when a player is following the rules, and when they’re improvising, working their way around the rules. You’re improvising, I know you too well. You’re trying to make excuses for a man who doesn’t deserve them.”

“I’m twenty-five, Dad. I can handle relationships and work-related struggles.” I counter, glancing back at the TV to see Wyatt had struck out.

He sighs, the anger draining out of him, replacing itself with this sense of concern. “He was a kid when he left, Eliana. Regardless of age, he was an arrogant boy who felt the world owed him a championship ring or MVP upon stepping foot on the dirt at Coastal. Maybe he’s grown up, maybe he’s been handling the pressure of being in the big leagues, that doesn’t mean I still won’t be concerned.”

I trace the tattoo on my ankle, finally looking up at him. “He’s not the same person that he was at twenty, and neither am I.”

“I hope you’re right, Ellie,” he reached over, grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze. “I just remember how crushed it made you feel when he went to Philly. You sat on that back porch until two in the morning when you got home from his place because you thought he would change his mind. He never did. A man’s character isn’t built by the number of games he’s won or the accolades he’s got under his belt, sweetheart,” he sighs. “It’s about if he can wait through a rain delay; where time stretches and nothing is for certain, and he still chooses to stay, because the end result is worth the wait.”

My throat tightens. I remember the day all too vividly. The way I stormed out of Wyatt’s house. When I drove home, crying my eyes out and then sat on my back porch, this small piece of me hoping that he would return.

“He’s been cooperative,” I whisper, almost to myself.

My dad’s expression shifted. Not to anger, but to something that almost mirrored confusion. “Cooperative? You’re working for him, so I would hope he’d be a cooperative person.” He takes a deep breath. “Do you have to live with him? Is that a stipulation in the contract?”

“It’s in my contract, and we have separate bedrooms,” I huff out a laugh. “Can we just stop talking about him and baseball now? I came to spend time with my parents and have a night away from baseball.”

“I want what’s best for you, Ellie-bug. You’re my youngest daughter, I’m going to constantly worry about you.” Dad says, letting go of my hand. “I hope you’re making smart choices.”

I nod, looking at the TV as it cuts to the reporters and then my phone chimes, a notification from ESPN coming through.

Milwaukee Crafters’ shortstop Wyatt Mitchell leaves the game after a collision with another player.

My stomach sank and I sat up, immediately going to social media to see if anyone had posted the video. “Oh my god…”

Mom looked at me. “Bug, it’s fine. They were able to get him on his feet.”

I look over at Mom. “Why didn’t you cut off our conversation?” I am starting to panic. “I– I need to get home. I need to get back to see him..”

“Ellie,” Mom says as she grabbed my hands. “Breathe. He’s okay,” she rubs her thumbs in circles over the tops of my hands. “See if you can get any updates from the team before you make any rash decisions and drive all the way there for nothing.”

I took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m scared, Momma…” I admit, squeezing her hands.

Scared was an understatement. I needed to know if he was okay. There was no way I was going to be able to reach him unless I got back to Milwaukee.

When my phone buzzes, I pull it out of my pocket fast. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it’s a text message from Wyatt.

Wyatt: the dirt actually wasn’t as hard as thought it would be..

Chapter 25