Part 37 (2/2)
BEN.
On Sat.u.r.day morning, I show up for practice as usual. I'm not sure if it's psychosomatic or not, but my knee is hurting more today than it has since my surgery. It affects my pitching and the guys take notice.
”What's going on, Falco? You're playing like a girl,” Brian says. They don't know I have cancer.
”I know some girls who play better than you, you f.u.c.king p.r.i.c.k,” Jax says to him in my defense.
Jax doesn't know, but I'm sure he figures something's up.
”You okay?” he asks after Brian shoots expletives back at him and walks away.
”Yeah. Doc says it's normal after surgery.”
He nods, but he knows I'm lying.
I grin and bear the pain through the rest of practice, go home, and take a shower, then show up at Rose's door by one in the afternoon...holding a six-pack of refrigerated chocolate pudding in my hands.
”Hi,” she says with a smile as bright as her green eyes.
”Hi.” I hand her the pudding, which I'd attached a big red bow to before I got out of the car. ”Happy Valentine's Day.”
”Thank you. You're sweet. Happy Valentine's Day back.”
I follow her into the kitchen so she can put the pudding in the fridge. ”What would you like to do today? I know sometimes you're not up for going out, so...you can decide.”
”Whatever you want. I'll go out today. I'm okay with it.”
”Really? Well...I know a cute place we can go for lunch if you want.”
”Okay.”
”C'mon. It's up north. I found it online when I found The Treemont.”
We get in my car and head up Route 23. I put the country station on for her, but I keep it low enough so we can talk.
”Are we going toward my house?”
”Pretty much. Why?”
”Would you mind if after lunch we stop there? I'd like to pick up a couple things. We don't have to, though.”
”No. It's fine. We can go before or after. Doesn't make a difference.”
She runs her hands slowly up and down her thighs. ”You must be starving from practice. Let's go to lunch first.”
”Lunch first,” I repeat. We drive a little while and then I say, ”So I've been listening to your country music. It's not bad.”
She chuckles. ”I'm glad you approve.”
”So where does your country music fit in with this musicology cla.s.s? Or doesn't it?”
She chuckles again. ”I like how you call it my country music. Like I'm the only one it belongs to.”
I glance her way. She's both stunning and adorable when she's mid-laugh.
”As for the musicology thing, I think all music fits in, as you say. I think someone's mood lots of times determines what they'll listen to. Like, when I first came home, I don't think I wanted to listen to any music truthfully. The first time I listened to country music after the accident was that day in the car with you. I put on some cla.s.sical music a couple times, but...that's what was already in my CD player.”
”Cla.s.sical?”
”I was dancing to it.”
”Dancing? Was this...after?”
I don't hear her answer, but I quickly look her way and see she's nodding.
”I thought you haven't...” I don't finish the sentence. Don't know if I should go there.
”I've...been trying.”
”Really. That's awesome.”
”No. It's quite sad actually. I trip all over myself.”
She's laughing, so I chuckle along. ”At least you're trying.”
She shrugs.
”So where does cla.s.sical music fit in with the mind?” I ask just because.
”Everywhere, I'd imagine. It's so complex. It can be angry. It can be joyful. Sad. Cla.s.sical music is amazing. That's why I dance to it. It moves me. When I was happy, I'd sometimes practice to ”The Marriage of Figaro” by Mozart. When I was sad, I might have practiced to Petterson. He's pretty dark. Lately...I've just been practicing to whatever was in the CD from...before.”
”Why?”
”Because I can't find my rhythm yet. And it really doesn't even matter anymore.”
”So have you been practicing regularly?”
”No. Plus no one knows I've been, so please don't mention it to my family.”
I turn to her again. ”So I'm the only one who knows?”
”Yup.” She smiles.
<script>