The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (120 page)

“You didn’t, either.”

“I know and that’s why this is huge. If I love you, they’ll love you, too. I promise.”

“What about Cheyenne?”

“She’s never really said anything to me about replacing Dana, but I see how she is around her friend Courtney’s mom—I know she wants a mother or at least someone to talk with about all the woman shit you women go through. And seriously, I need you. I thought I was having a heart attack when she told me she had kissed a boy.”

“You’re probably right. She’s probably not at that stage where she hates her parents so there shouldn’t be a reason to hate me.”

“Exactly.”

The more I thought about Cheyenne meeting Brooke, the more I thought that everything was going to be okay. I thought that if I had introduced Cheyenne to someone right after Dana died then she would probably be a different kid and hate me. No woman has been right until now—until Brooke.

“Ready?” I asked.

She sighed. “As ready as I will ever be.”

I took her hand as soon as I rounded the car. The closer we approached my parent’s front door, the more nervous I became. I wasn’t expecting to be nervous, but shit, my Peanut is meeting my
girlfriend
. I squeezed her hand a little when I placed my hand on the doorknob and she looked up at me. I saw terror in her eyes, the same look she had when we walked into the hospital for her biopsy.

“Baby, they’re going to love you,” I said once again because it was true. I leaned down and kissed her cheek, then opened the door.

“Jimmy, they’re here,” I heard my mom scream to my dad from the kitchen.

Brooke tensed a little and then relaxed. Maybe it was because of her broken home and she never had parents growing up? I wasn’t sure, but I would bet money on it.
Shit, maybe I should have fucked her before we left the house so she would be relaxed!

“Baby, this is my mom Jane.” I gestured to my mom who was wiping her hands on a dishtowel and coming from the kitchen.

“Brooke, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” my mom said, engulfing her in a hug.

Brooke looked a little taken back, but then I saw her relax and embrace my mom. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Crawford.”

“Please, call me Jane,” my mom waved Brooke’s formalities off. “Jimmy!”

“I’m coming! Jesus Christ, can’t a man take a shit in his own hou...?” My dad stopped in his tracks when he saw us. “Shit, I’m sorry, you must be Brooke?” he asked, sticking his hand out to shake hers.

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you as well—Jimmy.”

“Cheyenne is up in her room. Breakfast is almost ready,” my mom said, turning to the kitchen. “Brooke, I have orange juice or coffee if you want some.”

“What? You cooked breakfast for once?” I teased.

“You know I can cook, I just prefer you doing it,” she said, patting my cheek. “Plus, we need to leave soon for Chey’s game.”

“Let me go check on Peanut,” I said and kissed the top of Brooke’s head. She seemed to have relaxed, watching the interaction of my parents and how easygoing they were.

“Brooke, I’ll show you where the glasses are. Make yourself at home,” my mom said gesturing for Brooke to follow her.

“So, Brooke. East tells me that you live in Boston. Are you a Red Sox’s fan?” my dad asked, walking with Brooke to the kitchen.

I stopped midstride on the stairs, listening for her response, but I couldn’t hear. I knew she watched baseball, but I wasn’t sure if she was a diehard fan. I almost feared for her life with my dad, but then figured he would let it slide for now until he could convince her to switch to our Angels.

I went upstairs to Cheyenne’s bedroom. Since she spent most Friday and Saturday nights at my parents, they gave her her own room. She loved it—it meant that she could have two of everything. Sometimes it backfired when she wanted to wear a certain outfit and it was at my parents or wanted to wear some sort of lucky bracelet and she didn’t have it at home.

“Peanut,” I said, knocking on her door that had a sign that read
No Boys Allowed
. I stared at it, waiting for her to open the door or tell me to come in. She had just told me that she had kissed a boy a few days prior, and I prayed that the sign held true. I needed to talk to my dad—we needed to go to the shooting range and practice.

“I’m almost ready,” she said from inside the door.

“Okay, Brooke is here and we’re having breakfast. Hurry up.”

“I know, Dad!”

I was in for a ride when she became a teenager. I just knew it.

My mom made banana chocolate chip pancakes (Chey’s favorite), bacon and a side of strawberries. Of course, bacon was involved; Crawfords barely go a meal without bacon. We sat around the formal oak dining room table that we’d normally only used for Thanksgiving and Christmas. My parents had a breakfast table in their kitchen, but it only had four seats. Usually, it was just the four of us and if Avery came over, he or I would sit at the breakfast bar.

Mid bite of bacon, Cheyenne came down the stairs and plopped into the empty chair across from me.

“Well, hello to you, too,” I said. “Cheyenne, this is Brooke.” I reached my arm across Brooke’s shoulders and tugged her lightly towards me.

“Hi,” Cheyenne said, barely looking at Brooke as she grabbed a pancake.

“It’s nice to meet you Cheyenne. You’re dad has told me a lot about you.”

“Uh huh,” Cheyenne replied, squirting syrup on her stack.

Why does she have an attitude?

“I like your uniform,” Brooke said.

Cheyenne’s uniform was all white with the word Lightning written in blue script with a yellow lightning bolt behind it. She followed in my footsteps and wore the number thirty-five.

“Thanks.”

“What position do you play?”

Cheyenne finally looked up at Brooke. “I don’t know. Ask my Daddy; he’s the coach.”

“Cheyenne, that is no way to speak to our guest,” my mother scolded her.

“It’s okay. My sister was the same way at ten.”

It wasn’t okay. I thought Cheyenne was excited. She seemed to be when we talked about Brooke, and she knew damn well what positions she was going to play.

“Fine, Grandma,” Cheyenne huffed. “I want to play shortstop and third base, but my Daddy said that I’m starting at third today.”

“I played Rover when I was your age,” Brooke said.

Rover was the tenth position that was created for young players to play. It was mainly in the back of 2
^nd
base on the grass line, but used as a floater and could play in the outfield or infield as needed. Rover was used because most kids Cheyenne’s age couldn’t catch or throw well, so the player was used to shorten distance between the defense.

Since Cheyenne had started at a later age, she would only be on the team for one year that used Rover. The next year, she would be with the thirteen and under group and it was more fast pitched than what it was now. Now, the girls still threw underhand, but they weren’t fast at all.

“What did you play when you got older?” Cheyenne asked.

“I actually played a lot of positions, but my favorite was third.”

“Really?” Cheyenne’s eyes lit up.

I squeezed Brooke’s knee under the table. I knew softball was the key to open Cheyenne up.

“I did. My favorite part of playing third was diving for a line drive and catching the runner trying to steal home.”

“Wow, I’m not that good, yet.”

“You will be,” I said.

“Maybe you can teach me?” Cheyenne asked Brooke.

Brooke tensed a little. I knew what was running through her head—her tumor.

“Sure. Next time, I’ll bring my glove.”

“Awesome!”

“Eat up, Chey. We need to get you to your game,” my dad said.

*~*~*

W
e took my parent’s Escalade to the field. A game was already in progress and Cheyenne’s would start shortly after that one finished. It was good for Cheyenne to watch others play. I saw Phil standing on the third base side and we walked over to him. Cheyenne ran to Courtney as soon as she saw her, hugging her as if she hadn’t seen her in a year.

“Hey man,” I said, shaking his hand. “This should be fun.”

“Yeah, always is. Hey before I forget, we’re going for pizza after the game if you and...Cheyenne want to come,” he said, looking at Brooke standing next to me.

“Yeah, that sounds good. This is my girlfriend Brooke.”

They exchanged handshakes.

“I’m going to go sit with your parents.”

“Okay, I’ll see you after the game,” I said, kissing the top of her head.

She left to sit with my parents in the bleachers. They were sitting at the top; the best seat in my opinion. My parents were pros at watching games since I played baseball and football growing up. My parents had brought padded bleacher chairs, an umbrella to shade the sun and an ice chest with drinks and snacks.

As I turned to go over to Phil, I saw Avery and Nicole enter the gate of the park. I didn’t know they were coming, but I knew Cheyenne would be very happy. I walked over to Cheyenne and Courtney; they were throwing the ball back and forth, warming up.

“Uncle A is here,” I said to Cheyenne.

“Awesome!”

“Don’t forget to stretch.”

“Yes,
Coach
!”

Phil and I planned what position each girl would play. There were twelve girls on the team, ten would play the field at one time and each girl would bat. After we decided which girls would start and then rotate in, we planned the batting order.

I missed playing. I didn’t regret not going to college and playing; possibly playing in the major leagues—I got Cheyenne out of the deal and she was my world. Things have a way of working themselves out. If I were in the major leagues, I would probably be married to a gold digger bimbo that got pregnant on purpose to trap me.

The game that was underway when we arrived at the field finally ended and Phil told the girls who would start. Each girl ran onto the field once it was raked and ready for the next game. Phil hit grounders to the infield, warming them up and I threw balls to the outfield for them to catch. Balls rarely went far into the outfield, but we wanted our girls ready for anything. Phil and I both were trying to form all-stars.

We were home, so the other team batted first. Courtney played first and Cheyenne started at third. Another girl wanted to play third, so she and Cheyenne would switch off. Cheyenne would also switch off with the girl at shortstop, so she could determine what position she wanted to play.

I was fine with whatever, but I knew she would chose third. Dana played third and so did Brooke. Brooke could teach her things once she was well, that I couldn’t. It would be good bonding for my girls.

B
rooke

My weekend with Easton and Cheyenne went better than expected. Cheyenne played extremely well, always getting on base when she would bat and only missed a few balls between her legs. I was proud of her. Easton had told me so many stories that I felt like I already knew her.

After the game, we went for pizza with her friend Courtney and her parents. Nicole and Avery showed up to the game a few minutes before it started and they joined us for pizza as well. I felt more comfortable having Nicole there with Easton’s parents and me. I really liked Jimmy and Jane, but at least they could talk to Avery and not just me.

Avery was like their second son and reminded me of how I was with Nicole’s parents. Over the last few years, life got in the way and I wasn’t around them much except Thanksgiving and Christmas. Nicole’s parents didn’t take me in when I was growing up, not until Nicole and I met our freshman year in high school. Those four years were the best of my life. I finally saw how parents should love their children.

Cheyenne had seemed to warm up to me a little in the short time that I was with her. I understood her hesitancy towards me, but if I just talked her
language
then she was fine with me. And her language was softball. It was cute. Her little world was her dad, her grandparents, softball and Courtney—not sure if it was in that order or not.

When Bailee was ten, she wasn’t into softball, but Barbie’s. That girl loved her dolls. She would dress them up, make them go on dates and of course, I bought her a Barbie Mansion for her eighth birthday. I had to save up for six months working as a hostess at the diner, but she loved it and that was all that mattered. She played with her Barbie family as if they were real. They were her world. Barbie and Ken were married with kids and I knew why she did it, but I never said anything. I tried to tell my mother that Bailee needed her more, but my mom needed sex more than us.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell my mom about my tumor. Does a mother that pretty much only gave birth to her daughter, deserve to know that she may have cancer? And what would happen? My mother was never there when I was growing up, mending a broken heart, making sure Bailee survived, and making sure we had food in the fridge.

Yeah, my mother gave us money...a hundred dollars a week to buy food, but a kid needed love—I needed love.

After pizza, Cheyenne stayed the night at Courtney’s house and Easton, Nicole, Avery, and I hung out at Easton’s for a while until Nicole and Avery needed alone time. Before we had to leave the next morning for home. It was nice spending time alone with Easton. We cuddled on his couch, watched a movie and went to bed and made love until we were both exhausted and fell asleep tangled together—the way I dreamt about when we weren’t together.

*~*~*

I
went to another doctor for a second opinion the Wednesday after New York at the request of Doctor Bloom. He of course said I needed to have the tumor removed. By the time I made it back to work, Doctor Bloom’s office called me to schedule my surgery. Everything was happening too fast.

I wanted the pain gone, but I was scared of having the surgery. I was scared that I might have cancer. Nicole tried to comfort me as did Easton. They both told me that once we knew if I had cancer, then we would know what we needed to do. Not every tumor was cancerous, but it was still freaking me out.

I hadn’t told Bailee about my tumor. I didn’t want her to worry. Finals were only a few weeks away and I needed her to focus. I couldn’t let her worry about me, since I had Nicole and Easton to take care of me and they were doing a good job so far.