Moonshot
Page 52
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“So much happened in those final weeks leading up to the 2015 World Series. With Chase Stern on the team, everything was finally coming together. But with Ty getting involved with him … everything was also falling apart. Of course the fans didn’t know that. The fans, hell, everyone, thought that this would be the year. The year that we won. The year that everything in New York returned to normal. And it kind of was. Just not in the way that everyone imagined. Certainly not in the way that I’d imagined.”
Dan Velacruz, New York Times
96
Chase,
If I leave him now, he will release you, and we will lose the Series. I can’t do that.
Ty
It said something about my marriage that Tobey hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. That he hadn’t noticed that it’d been a month since we’d had sex. Our winning streak had helped, each game, each win, giving another shot of testosterone into his life. With us successful, trudging our way up the hill toward a ring, I didn’t think he’d notice if I shaved my head. His focus was one hundred percent on the team. Maybe it’d always been, being one of the things that made our marriage work. Both of us, standing on the Yankee sideline, in our pinstripes, breathing blood, sweat, and tears into the organization, everything focused on their success.
Richards swung, and Tobey and I rose as one, watching as the ball shot, low and deadly, toward third base, skimming past the baseman and bouncing on the grass, our runner shooting off the base and pounding toward home. Tobey’s hand grabbed mine, and both of us tensed until the moment his foot hit the plate. We screamed, his arms wrapping tightly around me, his kiss pressed into my hair, his voice gruff as he whispered an I love you into my hair.
I loved him too. My best friend. My partner. But whatever embers of love I felt for Tobey was nothing compared to my love for Chase. That was a wildfire, burning hot and mad and out of control, eating everything in sight. It consumed my marriage and left only charred black.
Part of me hated this, hated what I was doing to Tobey, to my marriage. The other part of me just wanted to be free, just wanted to be happy, just wanted to be with the man I loved.
OCTOBER
97
American League Championship
Ty,
I hate that you’re choosing baseball over us. This feels like a business decision.
Chase
Game 5. We won the championship in spectacular fashion, four games to one. Two homers by Chase brought in a total of four runs, the team clicking, our fielding seamless, the Angels not standing a chance. We popped champagne in the skybox, the air brimming with excitement, Dick pulling me in for a rare hug, shouts and cheers loud in the space. I turned to the field, watching the team jump around each other, bodies colliding, a pile of celebration, more boys than grown men.
I watched the team and tried to find his jersey, number 28 finally spotted. He turned, his eyes finding mine in the skybox, and I smiled. He didn’t. His face darkened, and I jumped, caught off guard when Tobey’s arms wrapped around my waist, his mouth nuzzling my neck, a kiss against my cheek.
“I love you so much,” he murmured, turning me to him, my eyes darting away from Chase, reluctantly pulled by Tobey, his mouth firmly settling on my lips. The kiss saved me from answering, and when we parted, I smiled, glancing back at the field, but couldn’t find Chase.
98
Chase
It’s less than two weeks. Deal with it. This team has been my world for twelve years. I’m leaving it and everything I know for you.
Ty
I was going crazy from not going to the field, my nightly runs taking Titan and me through the ivy-covered elegance of our neighborhood. The run was boring, but safe, the field too risky, security increased, the chance of Chase there too great.
The other issue, one I didn’t want to face, was that he might not be at the field. I would spend two hours running, throwing, sweating … all in an empty stadium, my eyes scanning for a strong build I wouldn’t find. It would be a blow that I didn’t want to take, my psyche much more comfortable with the thought of him there, waiting. It was a fucked-up thought process, but one that still had me running down a cobblestone street, past private security gates and expensive lanterns, my fingers itching for a glove and ball.
One week, and I would leave my husband. Tonight, he had reached for me, his touch tender as he’d undone my dress, sliding it over my shoulders and down to the floor. I hadn’t known what to do, how to act, my kiss reluctant when he’d turned me to him. “I’ve got to go for a run,” I’d whispered. “Can we do this when I get back? Take a shower together then?”
He’d studied me, his fingers running down my arm, closing on my hands and bringing one up to his mouth, a kiss brushed over my knuckles. “Don’t take too long,” he’d said.
I was now on my sixth mile, my legs pounding up the hill, the night cold against hot muscles, my breath hard. I was far from home, the buildings unfamiliar, and I had a surge of exhilaration at the thought that I might be lost. Then Titan’s tail brushed against my legs, his ears up, and I remembered my traveling companion, the animal that could find his way home with his eyes covered.
I couldn’t avoid Tobey forever. Maybe stalling was stupid, my quest for a ring just an excuse to put off the inevitable. Maybe I should run home, right then, and tell him I was leaving. I didn’t even have to mention Chase. I could just tell him that I wasn’t in love with him anymore. That I was unhappy.
The problem was that I still loved Tobey. There was still affection there. History there. We had created and lost a life together.
But I wasn’t unhappy. I loved my life, my team. I had spent so much time in pinstripes that it felt like my skin. And leaving Tobey, shaving the Grant off the end of my name … I would be leaving the Yankees too. Forever. Tears pricked the edges of my eyes at just the thought of it.
Stupid to feel such attachment to an organization. But the Yankees weren’t just an organization. They were a life force, etched in tradition and history, fortunes, fates and days made on the backs of some of the greatest bats to ever swing in this country. I wasn’t just divorcing Tobey. I was cutting out half of my heart and giving the remainder to Chase.
99
Are you still fucking him?
Tobey was still awake when I climbed the stairs, my turn of our knob quiet, but my heart jumped at the sight of him, sitting by the fire, his shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the television. I thought it had been long enough, the hour late, his drinks at dinner heavy, but I was wrong. He clicked off the television and stood, the room suddenly darkened, the flicker of the fire painting his face red, his features half in shadow.
Dan Velacruz, New York Times
96
Chase,
If I leave him now, he will release you, and we will lose the Series. I can’t do that.
Ty
It said something about my marriage that Tobey hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. That he hadn’t noticed that it’d been a month since we’d had sex. Our winning streak had helped, each game, each win, giving another shot of testosterone into his life. With us successful, trudging our way up the hill toward a ring, I didn’t think he’d notice if I shaved my head. His focus was one hundred percent on the team. Maybe it’d always been, being one of the things that made our marriage work. Both of us, standing on the Yankee sideline, in our pinstripes, breathing blood, sweat, and tears into the organization, everything focused on their success.
Richards swung, and Tobey and I rose as one, watching as the ball shot, low and deadly, toward third base, skimming past the baseman and bouncing on the grass, our runner shooting off the base and pounding toward home. Tobey’s hand grabbed mine, and both of us tensed until the moment his foot hit the plate. We screamed, his arms wrapping tightly around me, his kiss pressed into my hair, his voice gruff as he whispered an I love you into my hair.
I loved him too. My best friend. My partner. But whatever embers of love I felt for Tobey was nothing compared to my love for Chase. That was a wildfire, burning hot and mad and out of control, eating everything in sight. It consumed my marriage and left only charred black.
Part of me hated this, hated what I was doing to Tobey, to my marriage. The other part of me just wanted to be free, just wanted to be happy, just wanted to be with the man I loved.
OCTOBER
97
American League Championship
Ty,
I hate that you’re choosing baseball over us. This feels like a business decision.
Chase
Game 5. We won the championship in spectacular fashion, four games to one. Two homers by Chase brought in a total of four runs, the team clicking, our fielding seamless, the Angels not standing a chance. We popped champagne in the skybox, the air brimming with excitement, Dick pulling me in for a rare hug, shouts and cheers loud in the space. I turned to the field, watching the team jump around each other, bodies colliding, a pile of celebration, more boys than grown men.
I watched the team and tried to find his jersey, number 28 finally spotted. He turned, his eyes finding mine in the skybox, and I smiled. He didn’t. His face darkened, and I jumped, caught off guard when Tobey’s arms wrapped around my waist, his mouth nuzzling my neck, a kiss against my cheek.
“I love you so much,” he murmured, turning me to him, my eyes darting away from Chase, reluctantly pulled by Tobey, his mouth firmly settling on my lips. The kiss saved me from answering, and when we parted, I smiled, glancing back at the field, but couldn’t find Chase.
98
Chase
It’s less than two weeks. Deal with it. This team has been my world for twelve years. I’m leaving it and everything I know for you.
Ty
I was going crazy from not going to the field, my nightly runs taking Titan and me through the ivy-covered elegance of our neighborhood. The run was boring, but safe, the field too risky, security increased, the chance of Chase there too great.
The other issue, one I didn’t want to face, was that he might not be at the field. I would spend two hours running, throwing, sweating … all in an empty stadium, my eyes scanning for a strong build I wouldn’t find. It would be a blow that I didn’t want to take, my psyche much more comfortable with the thought of him there, waiting. It was a fucked-up thought process, but one that still had me running down a cobblestone street, past private security gates and expensive lanterns, my fingers itching for a glove and ball.
One week, and I would leave my husband. Tonight, he had reached for me, his touch tender as he’d undone my dress, sliding it over my shoulders and down to the floor. I hadn’t known what to do, how to act, my kiss reluctant when he’d turned me to him. “I’ve got to go for a run,” I’d whispered. “Can we do this when I get back? Take a shower together then?”
He’d studied me, his fingers running down my arm, closing on my hands and bringing one up to his mouth, a kiss brushed over my knuckles. “Don’t take too long,” he’d said.
I was now on my sixth mile, my legs pounding up the hill, the night cold against hot muscles, my breath hard. I was far from home, the buildings unfamiliar, and I had a surge of exhilaration at the thought that I might be lost. Then Titan’s tail brushed against my legs, his ears up, and I remembered my traveling companion, the animal that could find his way home with his eyes covered.
I couldn’t avoid Tobey forever. Maybe stalling was stupid, my quest for a ring just an excuse to put off the inevitable. Maybe I should run home, right then, and tell him I was leaving. I didn’t even have to mention Chase. I could just tell him that I wasn’t in love with him anymore. That I was unhappy.
The problem was that I still loved Tobey. There was still affection there. History there. We had created and lost a life together.
But I wasn’t unhappy. I loved my life, my team. I had spent so much time in pinstripes that it felt like my skin. And leaving Tobey, shaving the Grant off the end of my name … I would be leaving the Yankees too. Forever. Tears pricked the edges of my eyes at just the thought of it.
Stupid to feel such attachment to an organization. But the Yankees weren’t just an organization. They were a life force, etched in tradition and history, fortunes, fates and days made on the backs of some of the greatest bats to ever swing in this country. I wasn’t just divorcing Tobey. I was cutting out half of my heart and giving the remainder to Chase.
99
Are you still fucking him?
Tobey was still awake when I climbed the stairs, my turn of our knob quiet, but my heart jumped at the sight of him, sitting by the fire, his shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the television. I thought it had been long enough, the hour late, his drinks at dinner heavy, but I was wrong. He clicked off the television and stood, the room suddenly darkened, the flicker of the fire painting his face red, his features half in shadow.
