It only took three quick trips up the stairs to get Isabella fully moved into our room. I didn’t realize how sad-looking the right side of my empty closet was until I started to organize it with her things.
Which reminds me that I need to take my woman shopping soon. This closet isn’t going to fill itself.
Isabella’s currently in bed with my biggest competition… her Kindle. I knew my girl loved to read, but I clearly underestimated how deep that love runs. “Just one more chapter,” she mumbles without looking up from her screen.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” I say as I lift the comforter and settle into bed alongside her. It’s not odd for me to catch her reading out on the balcony under a couple of thick blankets or in a nook on the couch when I come home from practice.
We seem to have slipped into this new sense of normalcy, one I never knew I was capable of having.
I think of the moments when I walked in after a long day of work to find Anna and Isabella curled up on the couch together, or in the kitchen making an absolute mess. For the first time in a long time, it feels like I’m walking into a real home. One full of love and warmth. Full of things I never deluded myself into believing I could have with my kind of lifestyle in the public eye.
But Isabella made it easy. She made it easy to come home, because now, along with Anna, she is my home.
My phone dings with a notification.
It’s a text from Torres. It’s late, and I’d usually wait until the morning to respond, but I don’t want to interrupt Isabella as she wraps up her chapter. I’m trying to behave, since I won’t be on my best behavior once she puts the Kindle down and I give her fictional book boyfriends a run for their money.
I open the text and see a flyer for a charity baseball game being hosted at our stadium.
Torres:
Yo, man, I know it’s late and this is last minute, but this charity event is to help raise funds for hurricanerelief in Puerto Rico. I know we always donate and do our part, but I think if you and I show up to this and play a couple light innings, it’ll draw a bigger crowd. What do you think?
I look back at the flyer. A bunch of celebrities have signed up to play with some Monarch players. It stings for a moment that I wasn’t asked directly from the Monarch organization to join in on the event, given that I’m their starting pitcher and I am Puerto Rican. But I quickly get over it and understand why.
I never go to anything that isn’t mandatory. I write a hefty check and ask for regular updates on the charities I’m involved in but never actually show up to kiss ass and shake hands. It’s always been the hard line I keep against the relentless media and their attempts to write a personal interest story on me.
Torres:
BTW, I already told Daisy that you’d do it. So don’t look like a douche. Plus, I know Isabella will be invited, so that should get your ass in gear.
Me:
I’ve had just about enough of you referencing my ass.
Me:
And yeah, I’ll do it.
Torres:
SHIT, FOR REAL, BRO????
Torres:
Damn, Isabella is a miracle worker. She finally reached close enough to pull that stick out your ass, then?
Me:
What the fuck did I say about my ass? Go to sleep and leave me alone before I change my mind.
“Why is Anthony texting me about being an ass whisperer?” Isabella asks, scrunching her face as she rereads her text.
“Ignore him.” I grab both of our phones and set them to charge before turning my attention back to the sexy woman in my bed.
“There’s a charity event this weekend. At the stadium, and you’re invited. I’ll be playing to raise money for hurricane relief in Puerto Rico.”
Isabella clicks her Kindle off and sets it on her nightstand, then shimmies under the covers. “That’s amazing! We’ve been lucky to not have any bad ones hit the Caribbean so far this year, but sometimes the infrastructure left reeling in the aftermath can be just as bad, if not worse, than the actual storm. I lived through a couple of bad ones while I was down there, and they were for sure scary, but the worst part was what came next. No electricity or water. People waiting hours in line for gas so they could turn on their generators—if they were lucky enough to even have them. And feeling like the government wasn’t doing shit. Like they were just waiting to see how we would dig ourselves out of the devastation.” She shakes her head at the memories. “Anything we can do to help, we should. And I know a couple of grassroots organizations on the island that could get the aid directly into the hands of the people who really need itinstead of having shipping containers filled with relief sitting on a dock for months on end.”
