“Who?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from the window. Even though it’s dark out, I know the vast mountains of the Cascades loom beneath us.
“Your girlfriend?”
I frown at the term girlfriend. For a brief moment I was stupid enough to think that I’d have a girlfriend, but that thought is long gone and a fuck buddy is better suited for me.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I say, shaking my head. I quickly finish my drink and hand my empty cup to the attendant as she passes by.
“What do you call her?”
I shrug. “I don’t know; my ex? Sarah doesn’t have a label.”
“You know most guys label that ‘for a good time, call’ and put her name and number on the bathroom wall.” Kidd is laughing so hard at his joke that he wakes Bainbridge up, who is frowning at us. I grimace, letting him know that I’m sorry, but he looks pissed and will likely yell at us tomorrow in the clubhouse.
“Sarah is completing her residency at the hospital. She doesn’t have time to meet guys, so this is convenient for her.”
“So she uses you for your pecker jammer?” He cocks his eyebrow at me, trying to stifle a laugh, only he can’t and ends up snorting and blowing booze out of his nose. I keel over, laughing, as Kidd scrambles to clean up his mess while putting together a string of curse words that would rival the Urban Dictionary.
We get stares from the other guys, but one look at Kidd and they know he’s done something stupid. It’s typical behavior, especially when we travel. He’s the life of the party. As soon as he’s done and the redness from his face has dissipated, I can finally answer his question.
“No. It’s mutually beneficial. I get what I need without someone demanding a diamond ring, and she gets what she needs without wondering if her hook-up is going to call the next day. She knows I won’t call and I know she has no desire to get married.”
I do fear the day that changes. I’ve often thought about why she hasn’t tried to meet someone new or even someone in her field. She’s always waiting for me to come to town, or flying out to see me when she gets a vacation. Even though she knows I’ve been with other women since her, it doesn’t seem to bother her at all. The first time she a
sked, I thought she would break down and start crying, but she didn’t. Now that I’m thinking about it, I actually kind of find it odd.
The moment we land I’m scrambling to deplane. I’m anxious to see my parents, my sister and my niece, Shea. I don’t know who will be here to pick me up and it honestly doesn’t matter because knowing that I’m home is a big stress reliever.
As soon as my feet hit the steps, I see my dad waving. It looks like he’s chatting with the bus drivers that will take the rest of my teammates and all our gear to the hotel the team is staying at. Every bag that was checked when we boarded will be taken to the hotel. I packed extra in a carry-on so I can stay with my parents.
My dad’s arms wrap around my shoulders tightly as we embrace. “So happy you’re home,” he says, patting my back. He has no idea how much I need this hug. I don’t care how old you are, hugs from your parents are a necessity.
“Me too,” I tell him, returning the sentiment. This is the only time they’ll see me play unless they come to Boston or pick up an away game along the way. If I had been drafted by a West Coast team, they’d see me more. I know they miss watching me play, and college spoiled that for them. Being close meant they were at most of my games.
“Is mom still up?’ I ask, knowing it’s late, and she takes care of Shea during the day so my sister can work and not have to worry about daycare.
“She sure is. You know she’d stay up waiting for her baby boy to come home.” My dad ruffles my hair and smiles. It doesn’t matter how old I am, or what my profession is, I’ll always be my mom’s baby boy.
The guys all come over and say hi to my dad, shaking his hand or giving him a hug. Last year, my parents came to Boston and my dad hung out on the field with me. The guys treated him so well.
My dad moves his hands to my shoulders, shakes his head and pulls me into another hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He takes my bag and I follow him to the car. It’s the same car we had when I was in high school. I tried to buy them a new one when I signed my contract with the Renegades, but they took the money and started a college fund for Shea, something I was planning to do anyway. My parents won’t take anything from me, and it’s sort of nice, but also a pain in the ass because they’ve done so much for me that I want to help them out and make sure they’re comfortable. They refuse to let me help them though.
The drive to my parents’ house takes about a half hour. Seattle and Boston aren’t all that different when you compare the two. Both are harbor cities, although in Boston it’s called “the harbah”. Both have these amazing waterfronts, along with excellent places to eat and shop. Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market remind me of Pike’s Market, minus the fish throwing. And the weather is similar. I think that is why I love Boston so much; it feels like home and has since the day I arrived.
I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until the car shuts off. “Sorry for dozing,” I say to my dad as I come to and reach for the handle. No sooner do I step out of the car and shut the door than I hear my mother squealing. Her arms are flung around me before I have a chance to gather myself and we fall back against the car.
“You’re home,” she says sweetly into my shoulder.
“I am. I wish it were for longer though.” I set my mom down, and she cups my cheeks.
“Promise me you’ll come home this winter.”
“I promise,” I tell her, meaning it. There really isn’t a reason for me to stay in Boston through the winter. The housekeeping service I use can check on my house, or I can sublet it to someone. Coming home will do me some good.
“Let’s go inside. Shea is sleeping on the couch. She’s been waiting for you. Shana is heating up your plate.”