Page 47 of I Saw You First

“Don’t be sorry.” It’s refreshing to spend time with someone who doesn’t know my family’s history. “She started the league for people like her brother. He’s got Down syndrome and he loves baseball so much. Since he aged out of the league, he helps the players however he can. It broke Mom’s heart to leave the nonprofit behind—and leave Howie behind, too.”

“Does your mom still live in the Cities?”

“Ah, no.” I give her the nutshell version of Mom’s new life. “They’re in Angola right now, building a school.”

“Oh, wow. Do you hear from her often?”

“Every couple of months, and she comes home once in a while. But the difference she made, starting this league? It’s the best thing you could imagine, seeing the joy on these kids’ faces. I love it. So, yeah, I guess if I have any spare time, I’m going to spend it with the Hometown League.”

“Wow,” Abbey says with an enormous grin.

“What?”

“You sound different when you talk about the Hometown League.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re excited about it. Like you really care about it. You’re enthusiastic. Passionate. It’s nice to know that you actually have feelings in that cold, cold heart of yours, Wil.”

“Ha ha.” Warmth spreads through me when I think about what I’ve been feeling for her lately. “But truthfully, it’s incredible. Life-changing. You should come to Fall Fest. I’m playing in an exhibition game.” It slips out before I can think better of it. But I want her there. I want her to see it, experience it for herself.

“S-sure,” she stammers.

Shit. Does she think I’m asking her out? Am I asking her out? No, Fall Fest is not a date. This is merely a professional invitation from one member of the Hometown Team to another.

“Only if you want to,” I add. I clear my throat and change the subject. “What about you? If you could do anything in the world—other than work for Hometown, of course—what would it be?”

She bites her bottom lip. “Oh, you know. Travel, see the world,” she says flippantly and dips her last tortilla chip into the queso. “Go to concerts and write about them for major publications. I’d love to work for Rolling Stone or Ms. magazine.”

“That sounds like the perfect job for you, Rhodes.”

She glows for a second and then her smile falters. “In the meantime, though, I’m… happy selling CDs.”

Part of me believes her and part of me doesn’t, especially when I think about that pathetic raise. I want her to stay, but I wonder if that’s holding her back.

Who am I kidding? Of course it’s holding her back. But that doesn’t change my selfish need for her to stay.

“What does the A stand for?” she asks.

“The A?”

“Yes. Your middle name. Jefferson Airplane Wilshire the fourth?”

I laugh. Outside of my family, only Sam knows my middle name. “No, it’s not airplane. It’s an old family name. Alphonse.”

Her eyes grow big. “That’s a mouthful, Jefferson Alphonse Wilshire the fourth. I think I like airplane better.”

“Me, too.” I push back my plate and order another beer. We talk about our favorite bands, first concerts, who we’ve seen, who’s on our concert bucket lists. We have a lot in common musically. She’s seen HollowPoint at least a dozen times. We talk about the Minnesota Twins, too.

“I admit, I’m only a baseball fan during the playoffs,” she says. “That Puckett home run in game six of the World Series in ninety-one? Epic.”

“Howie was at that game. Greatest moment of his life.”

On the TV behind the bar, the Cardinals are pummeling the Braves in the second game of the National League Championship Series. I glance at my watch. “Huh. It’s almost nine.”

“Nine?” she echoes. “We’ve been here four hours? That would explain why my bladder feels like it might burst. I need to use the restroom.”

After she walks away, I ask Lisa for the check—both of them. By the time Abbey returns from the women’s room, I’m standing with my coat on, holding hers out to her like I’m Richard Gere and she’s Julia Roberts or some shit. Like it’s got a mind of its own, my hand grazes the side of her neck as she steps back, and I swear she shudders at the touch.