Left Field Love
: Chapter 33

The atmosphere in the locker room is electric. This is our first scrimmage against another team. Not officially the start of the season, but the start of something.

None of the games we play will count for months, but this game is against Lancaster, one of our main rivals. It’s our chance to set the tone for what sort of team we’ll be this year.

A championship-winning one, if I have any say in it.

Normally, I close myself off before games. I let the world fade to white noise aside from visualizing exactly how fast and how far I’ll throw a sphere of leather-coated cork and yarn.

Today, I let the nerves and excitement roam free. I soak in the atmosphere of my teammates snapping gum and slapping their mitts as I sit on the ledge in front of my locker, bouncing my knee. The scent of leather and mint swirls around with thick anticipation.

Lennon Matthews has never seen me play in an actual baseball game.

Not once, in the seven years I’ve known her.

In person, at least. The local Landry news station has streamed some of my games over the past few years, and I know Earl watched. We’d discuss them when I came to visit.

Lennon probably felt an obligation to sit there as well. But she never came to one of my games in high school. The closest she’s come to seeing me pitch was the pickup game the night we finally got together. Or the summer practice she talked to Cassie for most of. Neither of those really count.

I don’t resent her for it. I know Lennon’s only athletic interest is one you have to be aboard a horse for.

She views baseball as a part of my life to put up with, not a selling point. She’s never made any attempt to memorize stats or act like she understands the sport just to impress me, and it’s one of my favorite things about her.

We don’t put on shows for each other. Never have, and it’s maybe the only silver lining of our romantic relationship being prefaced by years of antagonism.

Doesn’t mean I don’t want to impress her.

Coach Thompson steps to the front of the room for his pre-game talk. Describing it as including the word pep would be a stretch. It’s a dry recitation of the words he’s been shouting at practice for weeks. It does its job, though. The man in front of me is the second reason I chose to attend Clarkson, the first being its proximity to Landry. Coach doesn’t put on airs or tolerate cockiness. He leads by example and asks for nothing but hard work from his players.

My coach in high school was the exact opposite. He was just as intimidated by my last name as my throwing arm, and I took advantage.

I’ve grown up since then.

I think.

Our team pre-game ritual ends with a cry of “Go Thoroughbreds!” and then we file out of the locker room toward the field.

Clarkson snagged the mascot every school in the state wanted—for obvious, horse-obsessed reasons—and we rub it in as frequently as we can. I’m sure the cheer will be echoed across the field many times over the course of the scrimmage.

Lancaster’s team is already in the visitor’s dug-out, eyeing us, as we approach the field. I barely spare them a glance, totally in the zone.

The shouts from the crowd and the sight of the field crew preparing the diamond all fades away.

It’s just me and the leather ball I’m holding. I run my fingers along the red stitching, searching for the perfect spot to grip the ball.

I never look for it. I have to feel it.

During her brief foray into sports journalism—my attempt to make her not hate me, which I have to say was a total success—Lennon asked me what my favorite thing about playing baseball is.

It was a question I’d answered many times before. I know Lennon judged my response, but I was more truthful with her than I’d ever been with anyone else.

Lots of things come to me easily. But baseball has always been different. It’s always been mine and mine alone.

People may care more about the fact I can throw a baseball because I’m a Winters. But my ability to throw a baseball has nothing to do with the fact I am.

It’s wholly my own, and it’s part of the draw for me. People who are jealous of my family’s status never seem to consider I might not want to be known for someone else’s legacy. Ironically, it’s one of the few things Lennon and I have in common. It just so happens my family is defined by my grandfather’s accomplishments, while hers is by her parents’ shortcomings.

I follow my usual warm-up routine, first jogging, then stretching before I head toward the bullpen. Our pitcher, Reynolds, follows without me asking him to. I rotate my shoulder, take a deep breath, and let the first pitch fly. It smacks his glove with a resounding snap. I exhale.

After a few throws, Reynolds backs up to the usual pitching distance. I pitch a few more fastballs, then switch to breaking balls. I end with a few off-speed pitches before returning to the bench. Every one was perfect.

I’m ready. These last few weeks I’ve been throwing pitches that would—will—make pro scouts salivate. I’m still climbing toward the peak of my college career, and I let that confidence, that superiority, bleed across my face as I head for the mound.

Like all sports, baseball has a mental component.

Lancaster doesn’t have a prayer of winning this scrimmage, not while I’m pitching, and I let that show on my face.

Momentum has to be set into motion, and that’s exactly what I’m about to do.

I get some double takes when I enter Archibald Hall.

A few people call out “Good game!”

I smile at those. The stands were packed earlier to watch us annihilate Lancaster. Our opponents didn’t manage a single run while I was on the mound. A lucky bounce allowed them two runs once Anderson stepped in for the final few innings, but we still won with a comfortable lead.

I sprint the stairs, so it only takes me about five seconds to reach Lennon’s floor.

There are more people on the second floor, but I don’t stop long enough to register anyone’s reaction.

I stop outside of Lennon’s door and knock twice.

It opens a couple of seconds later. All the air leaves my body in a harsh exhale.

I’ve always been insanely attracted to Lennon Matthews. It was there the first time I saw her, standing just outside the principal’s office with her chin raised and her shoulders squared. Since that moment, I’ve seen her in fleeces and flannel. Prom dresses and sundresses. Bikinis and naked.

This look is new.

Sexy and daring.

If I had to guess, I’d say she called Cassie about what to wear. Maybe even went shopping.

“Do I look okay?” Lennon asks me, tugging the hem of the lacy tank top she’s wearing. Despite the effort, the shirt doesn’t cover any more skin. I’m both grateful for and tortured by that lack of movement.

I have to clear my throat twice before I can respond, surprise and lust garbling my thoughts. “More than okay. You look beautiful, Len. I—wow.”

She exhales and smiles, relief obvious on her face. “Okay, good. I’m ready to go, then.”

Lennon steps forward, but I don’t move out of her way.

“I’m not.”

Confusion creases her expression as I crowd her until she’s forced to take a step back into her room. I shut the door behind us, then spin and press her against the wall. When her head tilts back to meet my gaze, I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath her jawline.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

Instead of answering, I trail my fingers up her arm. Her breath hitches when I reach her shoulder. Stops when I brush the side of her breast. Quickens as I trail my fingertips down the side of rib cage and settle my hand along her waist.

“Lennon,” I whisper.

“Yeah?” she murmurs back. Her hazel eyes are overflowing with emotion that matches that in my voice.

“Thank you,” I say. “I know I’m not the only reason you transferred. I know it was an impossible decision for you. But having you here—knowing you’re close by, seeing you at the scrimmage today… I can’t really tell you what it meant to me. But thank you.”

Today was the cumulation of three years of wondering what she was doing during every college game I’ve ever played in. For the first time, I knew.

“We’re going to be…” Her eyes flutter closed, her breath catching as I slide a hand under her skirt. “Late,” she finishes, as my fingers tease the top of her thigh.

This is the first time I’ve ever been grateful for harsh fluorescent lighting. I can see every change in Lennon’s face while she reacts to my touch.

“If that’s what you’re thinking about right now, I must not be any good at this.”

Lennon huffs out a laugh that turns into a moan. “You’re very good at this, and you know it.”

She kisses me first.

I close my eyes, getting lost in the moment. Caging her body between me and the wall as we kiss with an urgency that suggests the world is falling down around us.

I’m hyped up on adrenaline from the game and the rush of winning. Relieved everything between us has stabilized after a stretch of uncertainty. And then part of is it just…Lennon.

I still get this giddiness around her that’s hard to explain. It feels like an addiction. No matter how much I’m around her, I always want more time.

That feeling is called love, I guess.

It’s hard to define something so intangible, that emerges in so many forms. That changes and grows. That doesn’t duplicate and is always different.

Lennon melts against me as I fist the front of her underwear and tug, giving her the friction she wants but not actually touching her.

Our kisses become messy. Wild, instead of practiced. Focused on being as close to each other as possible, not careful tongue strokes.

When Lennon suddenly breaks away, I’m not expecting it. Breathing heavily, I study her, resting one palm on the wall just above her head. Her underwear is soaked through and she was just grinding against my hand.

I wasn’t expecting this to be the moment she decided to pull back.

Her lips quirk upward as she registers my confusion. “I’m not a big baseball fan.”

“I know,” I reply. “You’ve mentioned it, a few times.”

Lennon’s smile grows. The sight of it tugs at my chest. Chips away at the fear coming to Clarkson was a choice she might regret. “And I wish it didn’t take up so much of your time,” she continues.

Both of my eyebrows rise. I have no idea where she’s going with this. “Okay…”

She pushes my chest. Not that hard, but I’m not expecting it. I stumble back a step. If I didn’t have decent reflexes, I’d probably be flat on my ass right now.

Lennon follows, closing the distance between us again farther from the wall. Her hands are tugging at the top of my shorts, and I think—hope—that I figured out what she’s doing. My dick jumps as she pulls the material down, basically begging for her attention.

“But you looked damn good pitching.”

Suddenly, she’s on her knees in front of me, and I can’t hear anything over the roar of blood in my ears.

Lennon’s hand circles my erection, rubbing the sensitive skin. I’m honestly worried I’ll come from the pressure alone before her mouth even touches my cock.

I can see straight down her shirt from this angle. The sight becomes even more erotic when her tongue peeks out, tracing the tip in slow licks meant to drive me wild.

My hips jerk forward, a groaned “fuck” spilling out when the wet heat of her mouth sucks me. The pleasure is indescribable. Overwhelming. So acute it’s almost painful.

I know I won’t last long, and I’m right.

Lennon ignores my warning, not slipping away until my dick is soft and my head hazy. Pleasure swims through me in lazy trickles.

I move to kiss her, but Lennon pushes me back again. This time, she doesn’t step toward me after.

“Do you have any idea how long this took me?” she asks, gesturing toward her appearance. “I already have to redo my lipstick.”

I grin, unrepentant, as she grabs a tube off her dresser, fixing my shorts. “Fine. I won’t fuck you until later.”

The party tonight is at my house, a celebration of our impressive start to the season. It means I won’t have to walk or drive anywhere after it ends, and hopefully Lennon will decide to stay over.

“You’re sure I look okay?” she asks, swiping a shimmery gloss across her lips that makes me want to kiss her all over again. “This is what other girls wear?”

“You don’t need to dress like other girls, Len. Just wear what you want to wear.”

“I know.” She fiddles with the lip gloss before tossing it back on top of her dresser. “I just want to…fit in, I guess.”

I walk over and kiss the side of her head. “You look like other girls. Just hotter.”

Lennon is extraordinary. Unique. She has a different perspective on the world than most people our age. While most other college students are focused on grades and who they want to hook up with over the weekend, Lennon has been balancing school and a job. Not to mention the responsibility of running a stable and taking care of her grandfather.

That makes her different. She’ll never fit in, in a good way.

And even if she did have a similar life experience, she’ll be viewed differently tonight. She’s showing up with me. Not only am I well-known on campus for baseball, people have a strange interest in my personal life. I don’t bring girls to parties and I don’t flirt back. Tonight, I’ll be doing both.

Lennon flicks out the light in her room and we head down the dorm hallway, side by side.

“You played really well today, Caleb,” she tells me, purposefully bumping her arm against mine.

I nod, seriously. “I know. Some even considered it blowjob worthy.”

When her fist hits my bicep, I don’t flinch. I was expecting the hit.

I laugh. “Thanks. I might have been showing off some today.”

“Scouts were there?”

“For you, Matthews.”

“Oh.” The short syllable is saturated with surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” I confirm.

We walk out of her dorm, into the balmy evening. It’s the perfect temperature now that the sun has disappeared, still warm but not hot.

“I’m nervous,” Lennon confides, as we walk along the sidewalk toward my truck.

“About what?”

“Tonight. This party. The way everyone pays attention to you, it freaks me out. I want to be off in some corner.”

I already knew Lennon feels that way. But her confiding it is new. In the past, it’s always been her squeezing my hand when we’re at Jake’s house or when people stop me on the sidewalk downtown.

“We don’t have to go.”

“No. I want to go. I just also want you to know if I act weird and awkward tonight, that’s why.” Before I can respond, she asks, “How late do these parties usually go?”

I glance over after we’re inside my truck. “You got a curfew?”

Lennon smirks as she buckles her seatbelt. “A guy in my journalism class invited me to a movie tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, yeah?” I pull out of the parking lot and head back toward my house.

“Yeah.”

“What movie?”

“I forget the title. It’s a documentary.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It will be, actually,” Lennon responds, catching my sarcasm. “A bunch of journalism majors are going, so I’ll get to meet some new people.”

I brake at a stop sign, reaching over and squeezing her knee. “That’s great, Len. And this won’t be that late. The whole team has practice tomorrow morning. None of the guys want to do ladder drills or sprints hungover and exhausted.”

There are twice as many cars on the street as there were when I left to pick up Lennon. And we’re located close to Greek Row, meaning most of the people coming tonight walked over.

Loud music reverberates through the night air as we walk toward the open front door.

I watch Lennon fiddle with the hem of her top as we step inside the house. She moves closer to me, so I rest my palm on the small of her back, guiding her forward, then turning her to the right.

“You cleaned?” she asks me, making a show of looking around the first floor.

I laugh. The house has never looked worse, and it’s messy on its best day.

We head toward the kitchen. I nod my head at the familiar faces calling out to me, but I don’t stop and talk to anyone.

Once we’re in the kitchen, there’s a little less attention.

“You want a drink?” I ask Lennon, pulling open the fridge door. The pizza Drew ordered late last night is sitting on the shelf in an open box. I shake my head and pull down the lid.

“Sure,” she answers, surprising me.

I glance at her. “Alcohol?”

She nods, leaning against the counter in front of the sink. I pull out a bottle of beer for myself and a seltzer for her, mixing the flavored water with a shot of vodka.

Right after I hand the cup to her, I see the glass crack. My right hand flies up reflexively, catching the baseball flying through the air at a speed that makes my hand sting.

Lennon’s eyes are huge, glancing between my hand and the shattered window. The ball missed her by inches. Maybe less.

Jamie rushes into the kitchen first. Drew is right behind him, his gaze unfocused. He’s drunk.

Elliot arrives next, and whistles. “Nice reflexes, Winters.”

“What the fuck?” I spit.

Drew raises both hands in a placating gesture. “We can fix the window. I thought Jamie would catch it. It was a good throw, man.” That last sentence in aimed at Jamie, who shrugs.

“I’m not worried about the window. You almost hit Lennon!”

More people are crowding the kitchen, looking at the shattered glass and the pissed-off expression I’m wearing.

“I’m fine, Caleb,” Lennon whispers. Her hand lands on my arm, squeezing once. “I’m fine.”

“It was stupid, Lennon. I’m sorry. Glad you’re not hurt. Not only because Caleb probably would have never talked to me again.”

I snort. Lennon’s hand slides down my arm, tangling her fingers with mine.

“Come on outside, guys,” Elliot says, in an obvious attempt to dispel the tension. “Lennon, you can play on my cornhole team. Winters is banned.”

When I look at Lennon, her expression is pleading. I have to stop imagining how that throw could have just hurt her.

I nod, and her face relaxes before she looks at Elliot. “Why? Caleb has terrible aim.”

Laughter fills the room before Lennon pulls me toward the door that leads to the back deck. I toss Drew the baseball as I pass him, accompanied with a warning look. Drunk at a party isn’t a good time for pitching. Never mind I’ve done the same thing myself.

Sandy Peterson is coming up the steps from the yard as we cross the deck.

“Hey, neighbors.” He grins at me and Elliot, then his gaze slides to Lennon. Recognition replaces friendliness. “Garbage bin girl!”

“I prefer to go by Lennon,” Lennon replies, smiling back at him.

“Right, of course. I should have asked for your name.” He chuckles. Coming from a guy who’s never bothered me before, it’s grating. “I’m Sandy.”

Sandy holds out his hand to shake Lennon’s. Elliot shoots me an amused look behind Lennon’s back.

“I’ve looked for you every other night I’ve been on trash duty, you know. I’d given up on ever seeing you again.”

Forget recognition, he’s full-on flirting.

“I’ve only been on campus for a week,” she replies. “I ended up transferring here.”

“No way! How come?”

Elliot and I might as well be part of the deck.

Lennon nods to me, and Sandy’s gaze follows.

“Oh!” He finally puts one and one together, which equals Lennon is off-limits. “You’re Winters’s mysterious girlfriend. Most of campus thought you didn’t exist.”

“Well…I do.”

Sandy looks to me. “Nice scrimmage, Winters.”

“Were you there?” Lennon asks.

“Uh, no. I had an ultimate frisbee thing,” Sandy replies.

“Ultimate frisbee? Is that different from normal frisbee?”

Elliot snorts quietly at Lennon’s innocent response. I smile.

Sandy chuckles and shakes his head. “Not really.” His voice is still friendly, but it’s lost its flirtatious undertone. “See you guys later,” he says, then continues up to stairs.

Elliot starts down the stairs. Lennon and I follow.

“How do you know Sandy?” I ask, aiming for a nonchalant tone.

Lennon laughs, making me think I missed. “Jealous, Winters?”

I am. But it’s not coming from a place of insecurity. It’s the fear everyone has: of losing something—someone—that matters to you. And the realization there are guys out there who Lennon wouldn’t have had to give up anything for.

“I don’t know him,” she tells me. “I happened to be there when a lid fell off a garbage can he was carrying, so I put it back on for him. That’s the whole scandalous story.”

I shake my head at her sass. “Okay.”

“Lennon!” Elliot calls. “Your turn.” He’s already waiting by one of the cornhole boards.

I tilt my beer in that direction. “Good luck.”

She pecks my cheek, then heads in that direction.

I walk over to where some of the guys are standing around.

“Hey, Winters,” Joe Anderson, our back-up pitcher, greets.

“Anderson,” I acknowledge.

“That your girl?” He nods to where Lennon is standing, taking two bean bags from Drew.

“Yeah.”

He whistles.

“Watch it, Anderson.”

Joe grins but wisely opts to change the subject. “You catch the Eagles game last night?”

“Yup.”

We chat about their chances of making it to the Super Bowl until I realize Lennon’s not standing by cornhole any longer. She’s under the oak tree, talking with Drew, Jessica, and Sophie.

I tell Joe I’ll see him later and head toward their group. I’m sure it will just be a matter of time before Jamie shows up to fight for Jessica’s attention.

“That was a quick game,” I say when I reach them.

“Yeah.” Drew sighs, which tells me the outcome.

He’s a sore loser.

“Still working on that hand-eye coordination, Len?” I tease.

She scoffs before sipping her drink.

I smile, then glance at the other girls. “Hey, Jessica. Sophie.”

Both girls are already looking at me. And also eyeing Lennon.

“You guys just get here?” I aim the question at Jessica, because I’m never sure how to act around Sophie now.

“I was just introducing them,” Drew says.

“I didn’t see you guys come in,” I say to Jessica. I don’t want to be a dick and ignore Sophie. But I’m also sick of her games.

“We came in through the back gate,” Jessica explains. “Maggie said things are getting crazy inside.”

“Great,” I deadpan, glancing at Drew. I advocated for having the freshmen’s house host tonight. “Hope you remembered to lock your door, man.”

“I did,” he assures me.

“I was wondering when you ladies were going to show up.” Jamie joins our circle, right on cue.

Elliot’s behind him, rolling his eyes.

Lennon steps to the side to let them join our loose grouping, placing her directly in front of me. I sling my arm around her waist and pull her into my body. She tilts her head back to look at me.

“Can I have some of your beer?”

I glance at her empty cup, then hand the bottle to her. “You hate beer.”

“I talked to Cassie earlier. She said I should try new things,” Lennon replies, confirming my assumption Cassie was involved in the outfit she’s wearing tonight. I’m not sure if I should be grateful or not. The skirt and top are similar to what a lot of other girls are wearing.

But it’s different on Lennon.

Partly because I keep picturing her kneeling in front of me while wearing it.

“Cassie isn’t the one who’s going to have to carry your lightweight ass upstairs,” I respond.

Lennon grins at me around the bottle. “Fine by me.”

I roll my eyes.

“So Lennon, how are you liking Clarkson so far?”

Sophie’s question breaks through the group’s chatter. The side conversations cease, everyone waiting to hear Lennon’s answer. I squeeze her waist once, knowing the attention is probably making her feel uncomfortable. We’re not in Landry any longer, amidst people who Lennon has known since kindergarten. These are all strangers, from her perspective.

“It’s great,” Lennon replies. She smiles. “So far, so good!”

I squeeze her waist again. Lennon takes another sip of my beer, then hands it back to me.

“It must be a big adjustment, though? Weren’t you at a small community college before this?”

My eyes narrow in Sophie’s direction. Her tone is pleasant enough, but I never know what her motivations are.

Sophie meets my gaze, smiling serenely.

Lennon is oblivious. “It’s been a big change,” she replies.

“Brave of you, to make it senior year,” Maggie comments.

Lennon glances over her shoulder at me. There’s a tangible connection when our eyes connect, something warm and special arcing between us. “Caleb’s helped,” she says,

“With moving boxes, simple directions, chauffeuring you around…”

“With everything. You help with everything.” She sways into me, the heat of her skin managing to sear through two layers of clothing. Her smile is lazy and slow, suggesting the alcohol might be affecting her.

I kiss the top of her head, wishing we could just head upstairs. I’m over this party. Usually, I’ll grab a beer, park myself in a chair on the back deck, and talk sports with the guys for a few hours before disappearing.

Tonight, I don’t even feel like doing that much. I’m tired after a long day and I can’t sleep in tomorrow morning. All I want is to be in my bed with Lennon.

“Do you miss Landry?” Maggie asks. “I want to move there, after visiting for the Cup.”

“You went to the Cup?”

I know why Lennon sounds surprised. The Landry Cup is an exclusive event that appeals to a certain niche, mostly horse fanatics much older than us.

Maggie nods, enthusiastically. “Sophie invited me to go with her family. We stayed at the Winterses.”

I’m holding Lennon tight enough to feel her tense, but she doesn’t react otherwise. “Fun,” she comments, grabbing my beer again and taking a sip.

I should have mentioned Sophie to her sooner, I guess. But it’s never come up naturally. And purposefully bringing it up never seemed necessary. Like there’s something there I need to justify or explain, when there’s not. But if I’d found out some guy stayed at Matthews Farm with his family, I’d have questions. So I’m kicking myself for not having mentioned it until now.

Drew asks Sophie a question about her game tomorrow, and then the conversation continues on from there. I don’t pay much attention to whatever is being discussed, I just stand holding Lennon.

It starts to get colder and colder outside. Eventually, we all head in. There’s a piece of cardboard taped over what used to be the kitchen window that we pass before walking into the house.

The kitchen is more crowded than it was when we went outside. I toss my empty beer bottle in the recycling, ignoring Jamie as he pretends to be a sports announcer analyzing my pitch.

I’m about to ask Lennon if she’s ready for bed when she grabs my hand and pulls me into the living room instead. It’s packed, pop music streaming from the speakers and vibrating the walls you have to press against to get through the busy space.

Lennon pulls me into the crowd, not through it. A few people glance my way, but most everyone is too occupied to notice.

We dance for three songs before she speaks. “I didn’t realize Landry would have so many fans here.”

If we weren’t so close together, I wouldn’t be able to hear her. But despite the loud music, it feels like we’re enclosed in our own little bubble. “Surprised me too.”

“You’ve never mentioned Sophie before.”

I exhale, even knowing it’s inevitable. If she didn’t bring it up, I would have. “There’s not much to say. Her parents are best friends with mine. They have a unit in the same building in New York, so we spent a lot of time together when we were younger.”

“So, basically…your parents love her.”

Lennon’s voice is matter-of-fact. But I know my parents’ derision bothers her, as it should. It bothers me, how they’ve never made any effort to get to know Lennon or supported us as a couple. Especially since Lennon doesn’t have a large support system or massive extended family.

“I don’t. I’ve never even kissed her. When I was in middle school, maybe I thought we’d end up together, one day.” I slip my hands under the hem of her shirt, splaying both palms across Lennon’s lower back and tugging her even closer. “But then I met a girl. I met the girl. I walked out of Principal Owens’s office and I couldn’t get the girl who wanted to be there even less than I did out of my head.”

Lennon’s lips turn up. “I probably never apologized to you about that. Getting you lost and then blaming you, I mean.” She shakes her head. “You must have hated me.”

“Actually, I wanted to kiss you.”

Her expression goes blank with shock. I know she knows that I love her. But I don’t know if Lennon has ever totally grasped how deep my feelings for her are or how far back they run. I’ve never made a point to emphasize it. It was slightly embarrassing, honestly. How suddenly sure I was. No person until then—or since—captured my attention so immediately and completely.

“Well, what’s stopping you now?”

I smile before lowering my lips to hers.

We keep dancing, enjoying being two people in the same place at the same time. And I push away my worries this is just a temporary lull before the next wave rolls in.

Lennon and I have never enjoyed calm waters.