Go Away, Darling - Alexis Anne Page 0,35

somehow felt part of it all, the documentarian, the record keeper—not of statistics or facts, but of emotions and personalities. My job as photographer was to record people as they were. It was something I’d always done, but this new twist was the breath of fresh air my artistry needed.

I could barely sleep I was so excited to get back to my computer each morning to edit the images from the night before. Relief and a sense of completion washed over me each time I edited an image to perfection, knowing the job was complete.

I had orders from every member of the team, the coaching staff, and corporate offices who wanted to use them for a combination of artwork and promotional materials. I finally had to tell everyone to wait until the playoffs were over. We could finalize photographs and artwork after all was said and done.

They swept their competitors and were the much more well rested team in the championships. Chris pitched a brilliant Game One that left everyone in awe. And me? I was so proud of him. I was grateful for my project because it kept me busy and distracted, otherwise I might feel the intensity of the playoffs, of Chris’s distractedness and distance. Instead I was there with him, feeling all the same stress, seeing it on the faces of every teammate. It was my job to capture, not dwell in my own doubts.

They lost game six, bringing the championship series back to Tampa to determine the winner with Chris back on the mound. Since I was working, Summer and Beau brought Linc to the game to “watch his best friend win the World Series!”

I had lunch with Chris. He was a ball of cool, calm, collected nerves. I knew this because he was quieter than normal, much more like that grumpy fisherman I pulled up alongside weeks ago.

“I just wanted to let you know Marine Patrol is nearby.”

He scowled at me, confused. Probably because we were at a nice restaurant in a quiet, dark alcove where we couldn’t be seen.

“You’re grumpy and distracted. It reminded me of the day we met.”

His gorgeous face broke into a breathtaking smile. “Met again,” he clarified. “I can’t wait to go fishing. I fucking miss it.”

“You’ll have all winter.”

He toyed with his silverware. “Speaking of winter, I think we should have a standing fishing date.”

“Like every Tuesday?”

He switched his fork and knife. “Something like that. I don’t want to interfere with your work though.”

“I think a weekly adventure sounds manageable. I already have times set aside to get out of the house and away from my work as part of my pre-Chris life.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Otherwise I don’t leave the house. I work and work and work, and then get so cranky because I haven’t, you know, gone outside, that I become miserable. So I started making weekly lunch dates with my friends or on Fridays I usually visit one of the island art centers or museums. So a weekly fishing adventure with you sounds perfect.”

His eyes narrowed and I wondered if it was because I used the word adventure instead of date. The truth was I felt like I was slipping, sliding down a slope and I was trying very hard to get my feet back under me. There was Chris my friend and Chris the man I wanted to spend all my time with. But our reality was in the middle somewhere and I found it almost impossible to live in that in between space.

So I did little things, like change the word date to adventure.

I had no idea how I was going to last the entire winter like this.

“So tonight you’re going to win the World Series.”

He laughed and sighed. “Yeah. That’s the plan.”

“You will. Every batter is terrified of you.”

“Unless they figure me out. Then I’m screwed.”

“They won’t figure you out.” He was so smart on the mound. Yes he threw hard, but he knew every batter. Their likes and dislikes, what they swung at and what they sat on. And he used that information to play with their minds, convince them one pitch was coming when he was really throwing something completely different. He toyed with them masterfully.

“Have you?” he asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” My stomach turned over with nerves and butterflies. It was a nauseating combination.

“Have you figured me out yet?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever figure you out,” I breathed. Chris was grumpy and youthful and brilliant and sweet, and he switched between