Ahead of the Curve
Chapter 10: Seeds of Hope, Oceans of Despair

Copyright© 2017 by Chase Shivers

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 10: Seeds of Hope, Oceans of Despair - Ahead of the Curve is a redemptive romance between a retired, older man and a fifteen-year old young woman who find themselves drawn together in the middle of a difficult situation. The story features heartbreak and hope, a path which won't always be easily followed, and an introspective journey by two people who are challenged at every step in their relationship.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   Fiction   Tear Jerker   Anal Sex   Cream Pie   First   Oral Sex   Menstrual Play  

January 24, 2017

Please read my Explicit Disclaimer before you read my work.
To read the Author’s Introduction to this series, click here.
Visit the Story Index to read other chapters.
Chapter Cast:

Darren, Male, 53
- Narrator, retired, father of Gwen and Victoria (Vic)
- 5’11, beige skin, 195lbs, cropped greying brown hair
Audrey, Female, 15
- High school student, daughter of Duncan and Theresa
- 5’9, pale skin, 135lbs, light-green eyes, straight auburn hair over her shoulders
Gwen, Female, 15
- High school student, daughter of Darren, sister of Victoria
- 5’5, beige skin, 130lbs, shoulder-length wavy black hair
Victoria (Vic), Female, 14
- Eighth-grade student, daughter of Darren, sister of Gwen
- 5’3, beige skin, 115lbs, wavy neck-length light-brown hair
Theresa, Female, mid-50s
- Mother of Audrey, wife of Duncan
- 5’7, pale skin, 150lbs, shoulder-length auburn hair
Dee, Female, 40s
- Woman from Buffalo
- 5’6, beige skin, 140lbs, shoulder-length blonde hair
Duncan was dead within twenty-four hours. It was anti-climactic and, I think, a relief to get the call from Theresa just moments after I’d left to take my girls to the airport. She sounded resolved, though naturally upset. It had happened so quickly. It seemed a shame, in some ways, that the man hadn’t had more time to spend with his family, but at least he didn’t suffer over a long period of months.

I dropped the girls off and drove back to the house. Inside, I hugged Theresa and Audrey. A few tears were shed. Perhaps my embrace of the teen lasted longer than she might have wanted, but I found it hard to let go. She didn’t resist and looked like she was glad I had held her as long as I did.

It was a very difficult line to walk, perhaps made easier because of the tragedy. It left me seeking to comfort and not pursue, to love but not be tempted to intimacy. It let me be Audrey’s friend.

I didn’t exactly plan how long I would stay. I’d checked out of the hotel and stashed my bag in the guest room. Audrey didn’t go to school on Monday, but somehow she still spent time, despite her grief, on a project which was due in a few days. I kept my distance unless she sought me out, and I tried to do things to keep the household running.

Joyce and Herman flew up on Tuesday and I gave up the guest room and took a spot on the couch. Since they planned to stay with their daughter and granddaughter for a couple of weeks, I figured it was time for me to leave. Even with the funeral still upcoming, I was beginning to feel out of place. Unnecessary. Audrey didn’t seek me out often, only once or twice even saying more than a couple of words to me. Theresa was on the phone making arrangements or meeting with attorneys or other planners. I did what I could, but with Joyce and Herman around, I was needed less and less by the hour.

So, on Tuesday evening, I sat in the living room as the others ate a late meal. I hadn’t been hungry, so I’d excused myself to look up tickets to take me back to Houston the next day.

Audrey joined me on the couch nearby. “Going home?”

“I think it’s time, don’t you?” I asked gently. I’d been feeling like I was in the way since her grandparents had arrived, and despite their age, they were a whirlwind of activity, taking care of things before I had the chance to do so.

Audrey stared at my laptop screen a long time. She said quietly, “I never want you to leave...”

“Audrey...”

“I’m just saying what I feel, Darren,” she said firmly. “It doesn’t change things. It doesn’t. But ... it’s still true.”

“I know...”

“Will it always feel like this?”

“Which ‘this’?”

“Hurting for each other.”

“Not always, not always...”

She let out a long breath and then leaned on me, her head on my shoulder. I put an arm around her, but didn’t draw her in tight. She said, “What’s strange is ... I don’t really want the hurt to go away ... It lets me remember what we had...”

I felt the lump in my throat a second before it stopped me from speaking. I cleared the phlegm and said, “I know ... It is ... hard...”

I felt Audrey’s fingers slip into mine. I didn’t stop her from squeezing my hand.

“Promise me something.”

“What?” I asked gently.

“Be my friend. I don’t want anything else. I just need to know you’ll be my friend.”

“I...” It would have been easy to just agree, but this was no easy thing to deal with. “I wish it was so easy to just shave off my feelings for you, Audrey. To forget them and just be friends. I’ll try. But ... it isn’t easy...”

“I know,” she said, distant, “but promise me you’ll try.”

“I promise.”


I was back home by the next evening. If my girls were disappointed that their stay alone was short, they didn’t say so. Duncan’s funeral had been scheduled for Saturday, but it just didn’t feel right staying. I’d done what I could for Theresa and Audrey, and with Joyce and Herman and lots of other relatives starting to pour into town, I wasn’t really needed. Plus, it was hard to draw a line between my friendship for Audrey, and my love for her. I had been growing more anxious and stressed by the day. I’d needed to leave.

Gwen and Vic were calmer than usual. Perhaps the deep sadness they’d experienced was something new to them. I knew they’d known such times when their mother had suddenly died, but they had been very young then, and this was the first time since they’d become young women that they had needed to face something so final. Something so heartbreaking.

They’d both gone back to school on schedule and they did so throughout the week without complaint. Around the house, they stayed mostly quiet, either keeping to themselves or, at times, sitting with me in the living room while a movie played. I didn’t much care what was put on. It was white noise to keep me from dwelling too deeply on Audrey.


The next week passed as cold syrup from a narrow tap. I suppose I recovered, somewhat. The aching went away slowly, the longing slightly less so. But as I settled back into my habitual routines, I was able to put some of the whirlwind weeks into my rearview and stop thinking as deeply about what I’d lost.

I sent Audrey a single text a day after I’d returned home, telling her that I hoped she was doing okay, that I was thinking of her, and I offered whatever I could to help her through the difficult time. She’d texted back a brief ‘Thanks, I’m okay’ and that was all I heard from her until a Thursday afternoon before the end of May.

I was sitting outside on the porch, sipping a scotch. Despite Duncan’s death from cancer, I hadn’t given up my afternoon cigarettes, though I was strongly considering doing so. I held one, half-smoked, in my hand as I read an old James Joyce novel. A call popped up on my screen from Audrey’s cell and I answered after the third ring. “Audrey?”

“Hey ... Darren,” her voice said evenly. “How ... how are you?”

I pursed my lips and responded, “As well as can be. How are things for you and your mom?”

“As well as can be...” Audrey replied.

There was a long silence, so I asked, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, “I ... I was just thinking. Um ... I called you because ... because my team is in the championship ... on Saturday. You’d, uh ... you’d said ... before ... that you might want to come up to see me play...”

“Audrey,” I said, my heart fluttering before I calmed it and let out a long sigh, “that was before...”

“I know,” she replied, and I could hear the disappointment in her tone, “I know ... I just thought ... nevermind. Sorry I called...”

“No, please,” I said quickly, “don’t be sorry. I’m ... I’m really glad to hear your voice...”

“Yours too...”

“And congrats. Seriously, that’s great.”

“Thanks,” Audrey replied, “I just, uh ... I just thought I should call and tell you...”

I thought deeply a moment. Could I go see her play? Could I dare do that to us? Again? It had been very difficult to see her in Buffalo as her father died. How would this visit go? Could I stay just friends with her? It seemed, perhaps, her invitation suggested there was room for more between us. Just a hint of that. Maybe I was projecting. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe I just wanted to see if I would be heartbroken again.

I paused so long that Audrey said, “Guess I’ll go.”

“No, uh. Wait. Audrey,” I replied, “I’ll come.”

It was her turn to remain silent. I waited, and finally she said, “Darren ... I ... I don’t want you to think the wrong thing ... I’m ... This won’t change anything ... I don’t want you to come see me and think ... and think...”

“I know,” I said, trying not to let the disappointment come through in my tone. “Just as your friend. Okay?”

“Okay,” Audrey replied. “Are you going to bring your daughters?”

“No,” I said, “I don’t think I will this time...”

“Ah,” she answered. I wasn’t sure how to interpret her brief, even response. “Well ... if you want to stay here...”

“No,” I said, cutting her offer short, “thank you, but ... I think it would be best if I got a hotel room, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Audrey responded. I could tell by her tone that her true feelings didn’t quite match the way she’d spelled out how the invitation wasn’t changing her decision about renewing our relationship. I was determined not to take advantage of that.

“I’ll make the arrangements and text you my flight and hotel info. The game’s on Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Audrey replied, “three-fifteen.”

“I’ll do my best to be there.”

“Thanks, Darren,” she said. “Really ... thanks.”

“Of course. Nice to talk to you again, Audrey.”

“You too...”

We hung up and in moments, I had booked a flight for the next morning. I let the girls know my plans, and, unlike usual, neither girl protested when I told them I was going alone. “And my flight is late enough to see you both off to school tomorrow. I plan to be back on Sunday. No parties.”

They both agreed, then Vic asked me, “So are you and Audrey seeing each other again?”

I shook my head. “No ... no, just friends now.”

Vickie pursed her lips but didn’t reply.

Gwen asked quietly, “Is this hard, Dad?”

I stared at my hands a moment, then nodded. “Very.”

There was silence a moment before Gwen said softly, “Sorry...”

I swept my arms out and pulled my daughters to me for a hug. “It’s fine, Gwen. You did nothing wrong. We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. It just takes time...”

I held them a while, not wanting to let them go. Despite having lost my wife years earlier, despite having lost Audrey more recently, I knew I was still a very lucky man to have my daughters close to me when I just needed someone to hug. I soaked in their love and hoped they felt mine, as well. Just like losing their mother, it would take me time to fully get over Audrey. Fully being a relative term, of course. I never fully got over losing my wife, and I doubted I’d ever be able to forget what I’d lost in Audrey. I could only hope that in the days and weeks and months in the future when I saw Audrey, that loss would grow less and less tortuous each time.


I was in Buffalo by early evening. I texted Audrey to let her know I’d arrived and drove to my hotel. Theresa called me a while later and invited me for dinner, but I declined. I decided that the less I had to see and talk to Audrey, the better. I didn’t want that closeness. I wasn’t ready for that again. It still hurt too much, the pain of losing her too recent. I’d come up to watch her play softball, to play for her championship, as her friend, but beyond that, I hoped to do little to cause either of us to suffer from where we’d left things. I knew Audrey had her own doubts about the line she’d drawn, and I understood. Though part of me wanted to leap back into her arms, a bigger part of me didn’t want this all to blow up again and cause me more heartbreak.

So I stayed in my hotel room watching baseball and NBA playoff games and I got to sleep early. The next day, I breakfasted at a small diner nearby, then returned to my room for a short nap. By one-thirty, I was showered, shaved, and dressed for the warm day ahead. Unlike when I’d been in Buffalo weeks earlier, the winter was long gone and the northern summer had arrived a few weeks early. It seemed it would be a perfect day for a ballgame.

Audrey had sent me the address of the field where she’d be playing. It was fortunate that the state championships were in Buffalo that year. I pulled up to the field around two, in time to watch two teams in a lower division battling out a 3-1 game in the sixth inning.

The stands were absolutely packed. I’d seen less seating at many minor league stadiums. I glanced around but didn’t see Audrey anywhere. I supposed that was to be expected. She and her team would be in one of the many locker rooms in the large complex which featured a dozen diamonds and several smaller areas for fielding and cage practice.

I knew Theresa would probably be in the crowd somewhere, but I had no clue where to look. Before taking a seat high up on the first base side, I decided to wander the stands a while as the game played into the seventh inning.

“Darren!” I heard Theresa’s voice from somewhere to my left as I got down close to the dugout. I scanned and then saw the woman rising from her seat in the second row about halfway down. She waved me to come to her, and I slowly made my way past a line of folks who had to shuffle legs and assume half-standing positions in order for me to slide by in front of them.

“Theresa, so good to see you again,” I told her as she hugged me. There was a seat empty next to her and she prompted me to sit there.

“You as well,” Theresa said. The lines on her face seemed to have doubled in size and depth in the spare days since I’d last seen her. Duncan’s death had aged the woman years in a span of weeks. She continued, “Thank you so much for coming. Audrey was overjoyed that you’d decided to come.”

“Overjoyed?” I asked.

“Yes,” Theresa replied, “though ... perhaps that is not something she wishes you to realize...”

“This is tough for us both, Theresa,” I said. “Audrey made up her mind about us, and ... I think she’s right to do so. I don’t want to risk my heart being broken again so soon, either...” It was an honest statement, though I knew that if Audrey expressed interest in renewing our relationship, I would eagerly risk such heartbreak to hold her that way again. “I came up to be her friend ... I don’t want to suggest more, and ... I think Audrey feels the same way...”

“Perhaps...” Theresa said, “though I believe my daughter would like very much to restart your relationship.”

“She got her heart broken. I cannot blame her for not wanting that again. I cannot blame myself for not wanting to hurt her, either.”

The crowd roared as one of the hitting team’s batters sent a ball soaring over the fence in left field, tying the score at three apiece. When the cheering had quieted down again, Theresa spoke close to my ear. “Duncan’s words to you, Darren. Do you remember them?”

“I suppose. He told me to be patient.”

“Patience, yes. That is the key.”

“Easily said, Theresa. Much harder in practice. The further we go away from what Audrey and I had together, the less likely it is that either of us will want that again.”

“Maybe so,” she admitted, “maybe that is true. But ... I love my daughter, Darren. I want her to be happy. I was against the two of you, at first, but you care for her. Even with your heart broken, even with you understanding Audrey’s conflicting emotions about you, you came to see her in a moment like this. I know how much you care about her. Few in this world will ever match that. If not you, then I can only hope that whoever she chooses to spend her life with will hold her so close to their heart.”

Whoever she chooses. I shivered. It was the first time I’d really considered that Audrey would, at some point, find another person to share her heart with. I supposed I should be happy about that. I wanted to move on, mostly, and part of that involved wanting Audrey to find someone else to cherish her the way I had. I wished I felt happy about that thought. Instead, I just felt horribly jealous.

“And you,” Theresa said, continuing our conversation without a thought for my inner turmoil, “you should find yourself someone, too, Darren.”

“Maybe,” I replied, sighing, “I lived without a long time, you know. Audrey was a short break in a long pattern. I’ll not so easily step into a relationship again. And I think you should know that Audrey doesn’t exactly need someone in her life that way. She’s very strong. Strong in ways few are.” I suppose I added that last sentiment out of defensive jealousy, as if I was trying to convince myself that Audrey wouldn’t need to date and make out and love and make love with some other guy. Even though I felt it was true, it came from a place I didn’t exactly like about myself.

“Yes, I know, but,” Theresa said, “Audrey loves deeply. You know this well. She will not be alone.” It was a statement of fact, as if the woman was deliberately taunting the jealous defenses which had formed in my mind. For a few seconds, I hated her for that brutal honesty.

I held back barbed responses and tried to settle my mind anywhere but on the anonymous asshole future boyfriend who would one day know Audrey’s love and intimacy. I hated my reaction. It was unjust. Unfair. And yet, I couldn’t stop it. Just knowing Audrey’s passion, her ability to love in such a mature way, made me long for her arms, and knowing, too, that the teen was not to be mine that way was as much as I could stomach without becoming physically sick. “I, uh ... I need a drink...”

“Would you pick me up a lemonade?” Theresa asked. “I’ll hold our seats.”

I nodded and swept myself as quickly as possible down the row of shuffling fans and out towards the concessions. Instead of getting in line, I strode around to where I saw a handful of people smoking cigarettes nearby. I’d brought mine with me though I rarely smoked while traveling. Near an older woman layered in a sweater and jacket despite the day’s heat and a young man in his twenties, I lit up and inhaled deeply, then sucked in another lungful.

“Can I get one of those?” a female voice said from my right as I leaned against the back of the concessions building.

I turned to see a blonde woman walking up to me and I reached into my pocket to pull out the pack of smokes and my lighter. “Sure.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the pack and pulling out a cigarette, then she fired it up and handed both back. “I don’t smoke often, but it seems like the day for it.” The woman was probably in her mid-to-late forties, her skin beige and her blonde hair pulled back and into a neck-length pony tail. I guessed her for average height, or just under, maybe a few extra pounds but shapely. Her tight, black jeans and green t-shirt showed nice curves, though I was not in a frame of mind to much care.

“Oh?” I replied half-interested. I was still stewing on my own miserable jealousy and not terribly interested in conversation with a stranger.

“My ex-husband is here. Haven’t seen that bastard in months.”

“Ah.”

She eyed me a moment, inhaling a hit of the cigarette, then said, “Sorry. I shouldn’t be venting to a stranger. Hi, I’m Dee.”

“Darren.”

“Got a daughter playing today?” Dee asked.

I toked from my smoke, replying, “No. A friend.”

“Which team?”

“Davis High.”

“Oh, well that just stinks.”

“Stinks?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“My daughter is pitching for George Washington. They’re playing Davis for the title in a few minutes.”

“Ah, I see.”

“And here I thought we might be friends,” Dee said, smiling, “so much for that!”

I had to grin. “Well, it’s not personal.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dee replied, “who’s your friend on Davis?”

“Audrey Andrews.”

“Ah! Figures. She’s starting pitcher for them today.” Dee shook her head, then looked down. “Sorry, I’m in odd sorts today. I think I was trying to flirt with you, but ... I’m way ahead of myself. Apologies.”

I chuckled, “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re not wearing a ring, so I thought ... you know, maybe ... Oh, screw it. I’m too old for this.”

I shook my head. “I doubt that. I’m just not much good at being flirted with, I think. Been an odd day for me, too.”

“Ex-wife here?”

I shook my head again. “No, no. An ... ex ... though.” I certainly was not going to explain about Audrey.

“Takes the wind out of you sometimes, doesn’t it? Makes you wonder how you ever got into a relationship with them in the first place, right?” Dee asked.

“Something like that,” I suppressed a growl of frustration.

The crowd cheering began to rise steadily, and then a sudden spike signaled that the fans of the winning team had begun celebrating. I pulled out another cigarette and offered Dee a second. She took it and crushed her old butt with her tennis shoe.

“You aren’t from up this way, are you?” Dee inquired. “Your accent isn’t northern.”

“No. I’ve been in Houston for many years.”

“All this way to see a friend play ball? She must be a dear friend.” Dee’s words tore into me though she had no idea that what she said to me was painful. Dee continued, “I’ve lived in Buffalo all my life. Been divorced twice. The last one and I just a few years ago. I have our daughter most of the time, but he’s taking her this weekend. I’ll have a few minutes of quiet for a change.”

“How old’s your daughter?” I asked robotically. I didn’t really care, but the part of my brain which knew how to keep a conversation going responded before I thought about it.

“Eighteen. She’s graduating next week. Gonna play at Syracuse in the fall.”

“That’s great.”

“And Audrey?”

I simply hated that Dee wouldn’t stop instinctively poking my sore spots. “Fifteen. Graduating a year early. Going to University of Houston in a couple of years.”

“Fifteen. Must be ... a daughter of a friend, then?”

I said nothing a moment before replying curtly, “Yeah.”

Dee studied me a moment, then looked away towards the porta-potties along one side of the property line. “Well ... It’s been nice chatting with you, Darren, and thanks for the smokes.” She ground her last butt into the grass. “I should hit the john before the big game starts. Listen,” she paused and touched my arm lightly, “After the game ... I’m heading out to a place called Prancer’s for a drink or two with a couple of friends ... if ... if you would like to join me...”

“I appreciate that, uh,” I replied, “probably not.”

“Had to ask. Take care, Darren,” Dee said, turning towards the row of toilets. I barely noticed how nice her ass looked in those tight black jeans.


I was settled beside Theresa moments later after getting us both lemonades. I’m sure I smelled like cigarettes, and it was only after I’d sat down that I remembered what had probably caused Duncan’s cancer. It had to be a very difficult thing for the woman to have to inhale that stench again.

The two teams took the field in a rush. It took me a moment to identify Audrey. She wore a white uniform with thin green pinstripes like the rest of her team, the number 26 on her back. Her hair was tucked up under her hat. If she even glanced in my direction as she played catch with one of her teammates, I never noticed. The look on Audrey’s face was all business.

As the home team, Audrey took the mound to start the top of the first, and I watched with a mix of jealousy and joy as she tore through three batters in quick succession. They barely touched any of her pitches. As she neared the dugout just a dozen feet or so in front of me, I thought I saw her eyes glance up in my direction. Or, at least, she looked for her mother. I don’t know. Audrey showed no sign of recognition either way.

Over the next six innings, Audrey and Dee’s daughter, Claudia, dueled through a shutout. Audrey had given up only two weak singles and one walk. She was excellent. Her concentration was clear on her face, and every movement on the mound was deliberate and executed with care.

All I could think about was how some other guy would get to look upon Audrey one day and watch her play ball and think of how he couldn’t wait to hug her and kiss her and make love to her. I wanted to be that guy. I’d never really been the jealous type, but I couldn’t stop feeling it more strongly as the game went on. Each pitch made me see all that I had lost. It wasn’t just that Audrey was beautiful, passionate, athletic, and smart, but it was so much more. It was her eyes when they were filled with delight, the crease in her brow when she was concentrating, the way the sweat wiped from her forehead glistened on the back of her arm. I loved every detail, every movement, every moment of Her.

And that just made my jealousy blossom into a monstrosity that horrified me. I should have been thrilled that Audrey was in a championship game, giving her all at something she loved, and doing as well as possible, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about the next guy who would see her pitch, the next one she would kiss, the one who would be the second to share her bed.

I was so caught up in my jealous thoughts that I almost missed that Audrey was injured. A line drive had hit the dirt hard in front of the mound and bounced up at an odd angle. Audrey tried to field it, but the ball smacked against her glove-hand forearm. She managed to collect the spinning softball and quickly toss it to first for the out, but she soon clutched her arm and the trainer rushed on to the field, followed more slowly by the team’s manager.

For several minutes, they checked her out. She shook her head several times, as if refusing to come out. Audrey was visibly pleading with the coach. Finally, she seemed to convince him, and took the ball from the umpire, circling the mound and shaking the pain from her arm.

As she stretched and got ready to throw again, I realized my jealousy had gone away for the few moments during Audrey’s injury. I had felt compassion for her, and that, perhaps, gave me the strength to stop the jealousy from ruining the rest of the afternoon. It was still there, to be sure, but it was mixed with an understanding that the second guy to know Audrey intimately might just make her happy. I wanted Audrey to be happy, even if that meant it wasn’t with me. It was a struggle, the way the two threads twisted in my mind, but I wasn’t wholly consumed by the selfish thoughts which had swamped all else for over two hours.

The game dragged into the tenth, then the eleventh inning, still scoreless. Audrey was still pitching, though it was clear she was tiring. She’d allowed three hits in the previous two innings, and one had been a triple. The bottom of the eleventh came around, and Audrey led off.

She swung at a pitch and missed it badly. A second and third pitch came in outside for two balls. The fourth she fouled off.

And then the fifth pitch slammed through the middle of the plate, and Audrey unleashed. The bat speed I’d seen at the cages made it a blur to my eyes, the clang of the metal on the ball ringing in my ears. The crowd erupted and we all jumped to our feet as the ball sailed in a high arch out towards left-center field. We watched the fielder drifting back, gloved hand over head, then the girl turned and started running, running, jumping against the fence.

The ball must have missed the glove by inches, hitting the fence and ricocheting off to bounce into the huge gap in right-center. Audrey was on wheels, spinning around first, then second. By the time the right fielder scooped up the ball in her glove, Audrey was about to hit third. The third base coach spun his arm in a big circle, yelling for Audrey to rush home.

Audrey’s arms pumped as the ball sailed in on target. The catcher was in place, leg blocking the plate, the ball bouncing twice before hitting her glove. Audrey slid, legs outstretch in front of her, off to the side a bit as the catcher’s arm swept just over her head. As her momentum took her past the plate, Audrey spun to her side and pushed her fingers just over the edge of the black trim.

Safe.

The crowd went nuts. The umpire’s call and her wide, flat arms made it clear the game had just ended on Audrey’s inside-the-park home run. It couldn’t have been more exciting.

I hugged Theresa, more excited than I realized. My jealousy was swept behind in those last moments, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to tell Audrey how proud I was of her.

There was a trophy presentation, and Audrey was rewarded with the Most Outstanding Player award for the tournament. I think I might have shed a tear or two. It was rather moving to see Audrey’s hard work pay off.

I followed Theresa as the crowd slowly moved out of the stands. She knew where to go to meet the team and moments later, we waited beside a gate along one side of the field where parents and other supporters of Davis were standing.

The team came up from the diamond and rushed out to hug parents and siblings and friends. Theresa spotted Audrey first, the teen carrying a tall trophy. “Audrey!” Theresa shouted, drawing the girl to where we stood near the fence. The woman wrapped her arms around her daughter. The smile on Audrey’s face was genuine and amazing. She was so beautiful. Even with the black grease smeared under her eyes and the sweat and grit from the dirt and grass coating her face, Audrey was gorgeous.

 
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