“Being on that pitcher’s mound, it’s the one thing I’m really good at. The one thing I haven’t fucked up. And when I’m on the field, everything else fades away. You know?” He turned to look at me, his eyes craving understanding. I smiled and he continued. “It’s like my mind is clear when I’m out there. It’s not about my mom or my dad or the stupid shit I’ve done. It’s about me, the ball, and the batter. It’s the one place in the world where I feel like I’m in control. Like I have a say in what happens around me.”I stopped my head from nodding in agreement once I realized that I was doing it. “I feel that way when I’m taking pictures. Anything that I’m not seeing through my lens fades away in the background. And I get to frame my picture any way I choose. I get to dictate how it looks. What’s in it. What isn’t. Behind that lens I have complete control in how things are seen.”He smiled, his dimples indenting his cheeks. “You get it.”

“But it’s so bloody unfair”Walt looked at me, and I realized he was smiling. “That’s my line. I’ve been saying that for years. Sadie, I want to be here. The past two months I’ve felt like I’m actually living for the first time. And getting to know you…” He cleared his throat. He was quite attractive when he got nervous. “I started worrying about smile things. My hair. My clothes. Whether I brushed my teeth. I mean, I’m dying , and I’m worrying about my teeth.”“You have a lovely teeth.”

“I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me, but it’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much; my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold onto it. And then it flows through me like rain, and I can’t feel anything but gratitude—for every single moment of my stupid, little life. You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure; but don’t worry….you will someday.”

“I’m over here in my unit, isolated and alone, eating my terrible tasting food, and I have to look over at that. That looks like the most fun I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and it’s B.S. - excuse my language. I’m just saying that I wash and dry; I’m like a single mother. Look, we all know home-ec is a joke—no offense—it’s just that everyone takes this class to get an A, and it’s bullshit—and I’m sorry. I’m not putting down your profession, but it’s just the way I feel. I don’t want to sit here, all by myself, cooking this shitty food—no offense—and I just think that I don’t need to cook tiramisu. When am I gonna need to cook tiramisu? Am I going to be a chef? No. There’s three weeks left of school, give me a fuckin’ break! I’m sorry for cursing.”

“So when you’re nervous, you count?” “Not just when I’m nervous,” I said. “It’s… all the time. I count the seconds during pauses in conversations. I count the minutes when I’m waiting on something. Sometimes, when I’m kind of panicked or anxious, I count my heartbeats. Something about counting makes me feel like… like I have the power. Like knowing how much time has passed or how many steps I’ve taken from one place to another will somehow keep me in control of the situation.”

“Pigeon?”“Yeah?”A few moments passed, and then he sighed. “Nothing.”Travis hesitated. “I can’t shake this feeling,” he said under his breath.“What do you mean? Like a bad feeling?” I said, suddenly nervous.He turned to me with concern in his eyes, “I have this crazy feeling that once we get home, I’m going to wake up. Like none of this was real.”I slid my arms around his waist, running my hands up the lean muscles of his back. “Is that what you’re worried about?”He looked down to his wrist, and then glanced to the thick silver band on his left finger. “I just can’t shake the feeling that the bubble’s going to burst, and I’m going to be lying in my bed alone, wishing you were there with me.”“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Trav! I’ve dumped someone for you—twice—I’ve picked up and went to Vegas with you—twice—I’ve literally gone through hell and back, married you and branded myself with your name. I’m running out of ideas to prove to you that I’m yours.”A small smile graced his lips. “I love it when you say that.”“That I’m yours?” I asked. I leaned up on the balls of my feet, pressing my lips against his. “I. Am. Yours. Mrs. Travis Maddox, forever and always.”His small smile faded as he looked at the boarding gate and then down to me. “I’m gonna fuck it up, Pigeon. You’re gonna get sick of my shit.”I laughed. “I’m sick of your shit, now. I still married you.”“I thought once we got married, that I’d feel a little more reassured about losing you. But I feel like if I get on that plane….”“Travis? I love you. Let’s go home.”His eyebrows pulled in. “You won’t leave me, right? Even when I’m a pain in the ass?”“I vowed in front of God…and Elvis…that I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”His frown lightened a bit. “This is forever?”One corner of my mouth turned up. “Would it make you feel better if we made a wager?”“What kind of husband would I be if I bet against my own marriage?”I smiled. “The stupid kind. Didn’t you listen to your dad when he told you not to bet against me?”He raised an eyebrow. “So you’re that sure, huh? You’d bet on it?”I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled against his lips. “I’d bet my first born. That’s how sure I am.”And then the peace returned.“You can’t be that sure,” he said, the anxiousness absent from his voice.I raised an eyebrow, and my mouth pulled to one side. “Wanna bet?”