Home Run Heart (Kitt’s Harbor #2)

23. twenty-three

twenty-three

Nora

November

Third Friday

I’ve lived in Kitt’s Harbor my entire life, and not once have I felt the particular urge to throw myself into the frigid ocean in the dead of winter. So, when Brooks suggested we take a night dip in the harbor as our activity for our third Friday evening spent together, I was underwhelmed.

He brings me my favorite Chinese takeout to the house to butter me up before reiterating that no, this activity is not negotiable. I argue that I’m questioning his sanity in wanting to do this, but he’s determined as ever to push us both further out of our comfort zones.

“I promise I’ll warm you up afterwards,” he says once we finish dinner, looking far too excited about that prospect.

“What if I get frostbite? What if I lose one of my toes?” I speculate.

“I’ll still like you,” he promises. “It can’t be that dangerous if my therapist suggested I try it. She said I’ll probably like the benefits so much that I might start to crave it. Crave the cold.”

Unfathomable.

I change into a swimsuit, layering my favorite hoodie and sweatpants on top. I jam a pair of thick socks into my old, wooly slippers I only ever wear outside in the winter. Between the puffy parka and the knit beanie warming my head, I look like an illustrated character in a folk art painting in my hodgepodge ensemble. We drive down to the harbor after dark, which is only around six in the evening, and I stare at his shadowed form as we bundle out of the car.

“Where’s your coat?” I ask Brooks, looking disapprovingly at the socks he’s got tucked into a pair of slides.

“I think I left it at your house.”

“Turn around! You’re going to need it!” I think my paranoid mom side is showing.

“I’ll be fine,” he says with a confident grin. “We do ice baths every so often in the clubhouse. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal,” I mutter, slinging the towering mass of towels I’d brought along into my arms before following Brooks down the pebbled beach. It’s drizzling. The wind is biting. And now I’m going to have to strip down and jump into the ocean because Brooks wants to check this act of insanity off his new experiences bucket list.

When we reach the water’s edge, Brooks begins peeling off his sweatshirt. Of course there’s not a wetsuit or rash guard in sight. The flash of his bare chest I can make out in the dim evening light is spectacular.

“The faster we get in, the faster we can get out,” he says, huffing out a breath that billows around him in the cold. He glances over at me, still fully clothed and in denial. “Need me to help you out of your clothes?”

“No!” I snap, reluctantly shrugging out of my coat and yanking my sweatshirt off over my head. I watch Brooks slip his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and slide them down his thighs, feeling a shiver course through me that’s got nothing to do with the wind pecking at my exposed bare skin. He’s standing there in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs, jumping in place like he’s about to head out onto the baseball field, all sinewy muscles and smooth skin. Meanwhile, I’m looking like a plucked chicken in a black one-piece swimsuit.

“You ready?” he asks, looking utterly thrilled at the prospect of throwing himself into the freezing ocean. He’s insane.

“Please don’t make me do this,” I beg.

“You have to!” he yells playfully, clasping my hand in his and giving it a lively shake. “Ready?”

“No!” I scream, but I know it’s futile.

“Three. Two…one!” Brooks takes off running, and I have no choice but to crunch down the beach after him. He lets out a whoop as we crash into the dark foaming surf. My scream gives out as the water engulfs my legs. I can’t feel my toes. May they rest in peace at the bottom of the ocean. Every inch of my legs stings as we shuffle further into the sea. Brooks releases my hand and dives fully under the water, as was the agreed upon deal.

I squint my eyes shut, wanting to cry and run back to shore instead of following his lead. But I’m already here. I’m already wet. I’ve done harder things than this before, and I came out on the other side stronger for it. I may as well submerge myself in the deep.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I launch myself into the black, swirling water. The cold hits me and squeezes every bit of air out of my lungs. It’s consuming. Every thought, every feeling is siphoned from my being. The only thing that exists is the complete, devastating cold.

I surface, dragging in a ragged breath as Brooks’ fingers grasp my wrist. He pulls me forward and together we stumble out of the water, gasping for air.

I’m shaking. It feels like the sea shrunk my body, sucking every needless bit of me into its depths. My blood is humming in my veins as I quickly dress and hobble back to Brooks’ car, losing a slipper once along the way and having to clumsily retrieve it.

Brooks ensures I’m safely tucked inside before he hurtles into the driver’s seat. He moves jerkily, first starting the engine, then blasting the heat. He begins rubbing warmth into my limbs and then his in turn. We don’t speak for a solid three minutes as our minds and bodies regain sensation. My skin is prickling, my eyes are stinging, but as I look over at Brooks, dripping icy water from his dark hair and lashes, I’m shocked by how perfectly clear and calm my mind feels.

“That,” he says, racked with a full-body shiver, “was crazy.”

I agree. Somehow, every worry plaguing my mind, every heavy thing weighing on my heart, has disappeared. Lost to the deep.

It feels amazing. I feel amazing.

“You did it,” Brooks says, pressing a cold kiss to my cheek. “You did it.”

A sudden surge of emotion rises behind my eyes, and I’m surprised to feel hot tears threading down my face. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” I bubble.

Brooks gathers me into him, and I sob into his damp shoulder, both of us shivering and shaking and entirely alive.

I cry for a solid few minutes, and Brooks doesn’t say a thing. Just holds me to his chest until the shaking begins to subside and my breathing levels once again. It feels like the final spidery threads that have been clinging to my heart for over two years have just been shaken off. Cut loose. Set free. I’ve been renewed and cleansed in a way I hadn’t anticipated. It’s like everything heartbreaking that happened between us before has been left behind in the water, and we’ve been made new.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Brooks whispers, pressing another kiss to my temple.

“So good.” I sigh, sinking into his shoulder, still clinging to him like my life depends on it. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“I think I would do that again.”

Brooks leans in and kisses me, a long, slow pull.

“That’s my girl.”

It only feels right to let ourselves into Delia’s Diner after our dip in the harbor. I don’t have ingredients to make hot chocolate on hand at home, but the kitchen at the diner sure does.

I let us in the door and flick on a couple lights, leaving most of the dining area in darkness.

“I feel like I’m breaking all the rules right now,” Brooks says, wandering the diner with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. He pauses to look at our wall of fame, where framed portraits of celebrities and well-known local patrons smile down at him.

“We’re missing your photo up there,” I note.

“If you’re going to put me on that wall, I’d better be front and center.”

I snort. “I’ve got the perfect photo to put up there.”

“One of the pictures Sydney took of us?” he asks.

I shake my head, sliding my phone out of my coat pocket. My fingertips are still slightly numb, but I manage to open the photo Kate took of us at the Harvest Market last month. I still love it.

“Remember this?” I say, and he leans closer. “This is my favorite photo of us.”

We share a knowing smile, and he presses a kiss to my temple. “My girl in my hat. Never gets old.”

I send the photo to him before stowing my phone. “Table for one?” I joke.

“I’d like a booth, please,” he replies.

“I would be happy to seat you at your favorite booth, but I need your assistance first. Right this way.” I lead him to the beverage prep area and flick on more lights before opening the fridge. “Okay,” I sigh. “Milk. Chocolate. Whipped cream?” I glance back at Brooks to gauge his preference.

“Is that even a question?”

Once I’ve got the ingredients assembled on the counter, I start by steaming the milk. We invested in a giant espresso machine several years ago after a customer complained about our “average” coffee. I practically became a barista trying to perfect our recipes and wow people with some more-elevated drinks.

“I’m completely out of my element here,” Brooks admits, hovering over my shoulder.

“You don’t cook?”

“Not really. I pay a nutritionist to prep most of my meals for me, and on game nights, I eat dinner at the clubhouse.”

“What do you guys usually eat?”

“A little bit of everything.”

“Let me guess. They keep a stash of Fruit by the Foot on hand just for you?”

“Not after my New Year’s resolution,” he laughs. “Maybe I’ll have to ask the staff to bring them back next year. For good luck.”

Brooks watches me work, picking up random cooking utensils and placing them back.

“We’ll have to cook something together sometime,” I say. “Although, most days I eat at least one meal here at the diner and end up bringing home leftovers because I’m too tired to cook.” I drop a generous portion of thick bittersweet chocolate into the bottom of a large metal cup filled with milk and combine the two.

“Is that it? No secret ingredient?”

“Close your eyes,” I say, but he doesn’t listen, peeking at me through half-shut lids. He watches as I add brown sugar, vanilla, salt, and a hint of cinnamon into the cup.

I split the hot chocolate into two oversized mugs on saucers and top them both with a generous helping of whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon. “Now they’re finished.”

Brooks takes his plate with both hands, walking slowly. I catch him licking the whipped cream out of the corner of my eye, but when I glance his way, he looks back at me innocently.

We wander straight to Booth Six, with me stopping to snag two spoons along the way, without saying a word. But this time, instead of sitting across from each other, Brooks waits for me to slide into the booth before settling in right next to me.

“Honest review,” I say after Brooks takes a careful sip from his mug. “Go.”

His eyes widen and then close in contentment. “This is the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had.”

“You’re only saying that because you just emerged from the harbor like a sea monster.”

“I’m not!” he insists, digging into his whipped cream with his spoon. “It’s really good.”

I take a sip of my own and have to agree. This is exactly what my body and nerves needed after our polar plunge.

“Can I ask you something?” Brooks asks. I hum in assent as I sip my drink. “Would you ever quit the diner?”

I set my mug down and glance around at my second home. “If I had another sure way to provide for Ollie, then yes. I would. I really haven’t had the time to search for another job since he was born.”

“What about Noli?” Brooks asks, looking at me intently. “Would doing something like that make you happy?”

“Maybe. But I wonder if turning it into a business might ruin the magic of it for me. If my income suddenly depended on how many ceramics I could create, would that suck the fun out of creating them? It seems like that might be what happened with you and baseball. You used to love playing the game just for the fun of it.”

“A valid point.”

“You’ll be proud of me, though. I signed up for the holiday market in a few weeks. I’ve been trying to build my inventory back up after the last one.”

“I wish I could offer you my assistance, but I don’t think anyone would buy my sub-par pieces.”

“Yes, they would. People would buy anything with your name on it.”

“Not true.”

“It is true! You even have a delicious brookie named after you at the stadium!”

“That’s not a hard sell,” he laughs. “People would buy those whether or not my name was attached to them.”

“I don’t know…I bought it purely because your face was on the wrapper.”

“I know,” he says with a wicked smile.

“What do you mean you know ?”

“I found the wrapper in your kitchen last weekend. In the drawer to the left of your dishwasher.” He licks his spoon, taunting me.

“You rummaged through my drawers ?” I say, an embarrassed flush crawling across cheeks.

“Of course I did. When I drop you off, I’m personally ensuring you tack that wrapper to your fridge.”

“I can’t believe you!”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, setting down his mug. “Next time you come to one of my games, I’ll make sure they let you have unlimited brookies. All you can eat.”

I toss my head back and laugh, and he laughs with me. But actually…that sounds like satisfactory compensation for his nosiness.

“Maybe that’s what we should do next Friday. Try to recreate your famous brookie. Bet they’d give you the recipe.”

“You’re probably right. I’ll ask for you.”

We both take long sips from our mugs, huddled together and finally feeling warmth spread through the close space of the booth.

“Would you ever quit baseball?” I finally ask, feeling as if I already know the answer. The sport is his lifeblood. I can’t picture Brooks without it.

“Maybe,” he says, turning contemplative. “If you’d asked me that question two months ago, I would have said, ‘ never.’ ” He grins. “But Greta, and you, honestly, have helped me see things in a different light. I’m realizing that if I lost baseball, it would suck, but I’d ultimately be okay.”

“Of course you would,” I reply. “I had to ask myself similar hard questions during my divorce. If I lost my house, my job, my child, and my marriage, would I really be able to pick myself up again and keep going?” I stare down into the dregs of my hot chocolate. “And I realized that yes, I would. I couldn’t give up. And neither should you, no matter how many disgruntled Stormbreakers fans you might encounter.”

Brooks smiles, a soft thing that makes my heart pound.

“You’ve helped me a lot, you know,” he says, his blue eyes fixed intently on me. “Spending time with you and Ollie has helped me remember that there is so much more to life than baseball.”

“Yeah, like changing diapers and folding laundry and the occasional superb hot chocolate.”

“Exactly. And after what you conquered tonight, I’m even more proud of you,” Brooks says. I turn to face him, and he tilts his head admiringly before stretching an arm over my shoulders and easing me close. “You didn’t run away. You dove right into that water like it was nothing.”

“I’ve never felt cold like that,” I murmur, grateful to be safe in the warmth of Brooks’ arms. “Except…” I clear my throat, feeling the surprising desire to share something with him that very few people in my life know about.

“After Ollie was born, I…” I pause, trying to wrangle my thoughts. “I had a hard time. The combination of Nate being unfaithful, bringing our child into the world without him and having to figure out how to take care of a helpless little baby on my own was…overwhelming.”

“I can’t imagine,” Brooks murmurs gently.

“My sister Sydney was living with me at the time, and she and my mom really stepped up and helped me figure things out with Ollie. But even though they were there, I felt more lonely than I ever had before.”

Brooks clasps my hands firmly in his, looking for all the world like he wants to go back to that time and save me from it, even now.

“I struggled with postpartum depression,” I say softly. “It was the scariest thing I’ve ever been through.”

“What was it like?” Brooks asks.

“Like drowning in the cold depths of the sea and not knowing if I’d ever find the surface again. It was surviving. Every day. Just surviving. Even talking about it now is really difficult.”

I find myself recalling the way hot tears had spilled from my eyes after our dip in the ocean and realize that I had unknowingly healed some part of myself that still needed healing from that dark time after Ollie was born. I felt the sting of the cold, the enormity of it, but I knew it wasn’t going to take me. I knew that because I had emerged from the deep before, I could do it again.

I squeeze Brooks’ hands in mine, feeling tears gathering in my eyes again. “Thank you for encouraging me to swim with you tonight. I needed it. More than you know.”

He gathers me into his embrace, and I bury my face in his shoulder again. I remember when my lungs felt like they were carrying an unbearable, thick weight made of shadow. In the depths of my postpartum experience, I could barely draw breath. It was hard to believe that I would ever truly feel soft, dappled sunlight or laugh deeply or love ever again.

But here I am, released from the deep. Released from the heartbreak and shadows of my past, and enveloped in a golden net Brooks and I are slowly weaving from trust, shared happy experiences, and love.

It’s there. I know it’s there. The love I feel for him is scaling through my ribcage now, threatening to spill over. I hug him even tighter.

“Nora, you are so incredibly strong,” Brooks says earnestly into my ear. “Do you believe that? Because if not, I’m going to remind you of it every day.”

“How?” I whisper. “By making me do pushups with you?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Brooks nips at my earlobe. “I promised I’d warm you up after our dip in the ocean, didn’t I?” Brooks says, pulling away slightly to brush my damp hair away from my face. The way his eyes rove over me undoes another knot in my stomach. I’m safe with him. I’m realizing that the only way I’m going to learn to trust Brooks…is by trusting him. I have to choose to believe that he is trustworthy, unless he proves otherwise. It’s what he deserves.

He makes good on his promise by thoroughly kissing me right there in Booth Six and then again at every single red light we hit on the way home.