The Old Mitt

I find it in my locker. Just sitting there. That old catcher's mitt Lena left behind. It’s worn, the leather smooth in some places, rough in others. I pick it up. It smells like her. Like dirt and grass and that shampoo she always used.

“Mo?” Alex pokes her head around the corner, sees me holding the mitt. She knows. Everyone knows. “You okay?”

I don’t answer. I just stare at the mitt. It’s been two years. Two years since she left. Since we… since it ended.

Practice is a blur. I go through the motions. Grounders, pop flies, double plays. But my mind’s not here. It’s back there. With her.

I remember the first time I saw her. Rookie season. She walked into the locker room, all confidence and swagger. I was the veteran. The captain. I showed her the ropes. We became… close.

Too close.

I remember the way she’d look at me when I was up to bat. That little nod. Like she knew I could do it. Like she believed in me.

I remember the way her hands felt on my skin. The way she’d whisper my name.

I remember the fight. The last one. The one that ended it all.

“You’re suffocating me, Mo,” she’d said. “I can’t breathe.”

I throw the ball harder than I need to. It smacks into the glove of our second baseman. She yelps. “Hey! Easy!”

“Sorry.” I don’t look at her. I just keep throwing. Keep remembering.

The mitt’s in my locker when I get back. I pick it up again. Run my fingers over the stitching. Over the initials she carved into the side. LR.

Lena Rossi.

I close my eyes. I can see her. Smell her. Feel her.

God, I miss her.

But she’s gone. She left. Chose her career over me. Over us.

I put the mitt back in my locker. Slam the door shut.

I need to focus. We’ve got a big series coming up. I’m the captain. I need to lead.

But all I can think about is her.

All I can feel is the ache in my chest where my heart used to be.

I take a deep breath. Try to push her out of my mind. But it’s no use. She’s always there. In the back of my thoughts. In the bottom of my heart.

I open my locker again. Stare at the mitt. It’s like a piece of her is still here. Still with me.

I pick it up. Hold it close to my chest. Inhale deep. That scent. Her scent.

It’s torture. Sweet, sweet torture.

I know I should let it go. Let her go. Move on with my life. Find someone else. Someone who won’t leave me. Someone who will choose me.

But I can’t. I can’t let go. Not yet. Not now.

Not when she might be coming back.

I hear her voice before I see her. That low, smooth tone. It sends a shiver down my spine.

“Mo?”

I turn. She’s standing there. In the doorway of the locker room. Just like the first time I saw her.

She looks the same. Mostly. Her hair’s a little longer. Her eyes a little wiser. But it’s her. It’s Lena.

“Hi,” I say. My voice sounds rough. Unused.

“Hi.” She steps into the room. Her gaze flicks to the mitt in my hands. “I see you found it.”

“Yeah.” I look down at the worn leather. “It was in my locker.”

“I know.” She takes a step closer. “I put it there.”

I look up. My heart skips a beat. “You did?”

She nods. “I wanted you to have it. A piece of me. Of us.”

I don’t know what to say. I just stare at her. Drink her in.

She looks around the locker room. Smiles. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

I nod. My throat feels tight. “Yeah. It does.”

She walks over to her old locker. Runs her hand along the metal. “I missed this place. Missed the team. Missed… you.”

I close my eyes. Her words are like a balm. And a blade. Soothing and cutting at the same time.

“Why did you come back?” I ask. My voice is barely a whisper.

She turns to face me. Her eyes are bright. Shining. “To cover the tournament. And to see you.”

I swallow hard. “You could have called. Or texted. Or emailed.”

She shrugs. “I wanted to see your face. In person.”

I look down at the mitt again. “Why? After all this time? After what happened?”

She takes a deep breath. “Because I made a mistake. Leaving you. Leaving us. I thought I was doing the right thing. For my career. For myself. But I was wrong.”

I look up at her. My eyes are stinging. “What are you saying?”

She steps closer. Close enough to touch. “I’m saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you. For leaving you. For choosing my career over us.”

I shake my head. “You didn’t choose. You just left.”

She reaches out. Takes my hand. Her skin is warm. Soft. “I know. And I’m sorry. I was scared. Scared of what we had. Of how much I felt for you.”

I look into her eyes. See the truth there. The regret. The love. “I was scared too,” I admit. “Scared of losing you. Of not being enough.”

She squeezes my hand. “You were enough. You are enough. More than enough.”

I feel a tear slip down my cheek. “I miss you. Every day. Every moment.”

She reaches up. Wipes the tear away. “I miss you too. So much it hurts.”

I look down at our joined hands. “What now? What happens now?”

She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. But I know I want to try. Want to see if we can make it work. If you’re willing.”

I look up at her. Into those deep, dark eyes. “I’m willing. More than willing.”

She smiles. That smile. The one that lights up her whole face. “Really?”

I nod. “Really.”

She pulls me close. Wraps her arms around me. I bury my face in her neck. Breathe her in. That scent. Her scent.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I never stopped loving you.”

“I love you too,” I whisper back. “Always have. Always will.”

We stand there. In the middle of the locker room. Holding each other. Breathing each other in.

The mitt is still in my hand. Pressed between us. A reminder of our past. And a promise for our future.

I know it won’t be easy. We’ve both changed. Grown. But I know we can make it work. We have to.

Because she’s it for me. She always has been. Always will be.

I pull back. Look into her eyes. “Welcome home,” I say.

She smiles. “It’s good to be home.”

I lean in. Press my lips to hers. Soft. Sweet. Perfect.

The mitt falls to the floor. Forgotten. Unneeded.

We don’t need it anymore. We have each other. And that’s more than enough.

My tea sits on the bench, long gone cold. I don’t care. I have everything I need right here. Right now. In my arms.