Even in a Million Years

Thirty Four

Caleb

I was very drunk.

I could feel it. I wasn't messy, or sloppy to the point of tripping over invisible objects, but I was drunker than I have been in a long time.

We'd all been dancing, tons of people filling the dance floor but after a while we'd all decided to sit back down, needing the break.

And we continued to drink. And eat. And drink some more. It was a party after all, there were few sober adults in the building tonight since the paps and spokespeople for various media channels left.

I'd sat back, watching everyone quietly.  Now focused on the two before me.

"There's no way in hell they're doing it this year," Nick states, arguing with the small blonde seated across from him beside our teammates sister, Annie.

She'd held her own with him. With all of them actually, not that I'd been suprised. Bailey can keep up with anyone. It becomes a question of who can keep up with her.

I couldn't fight the smile earlier when I'd seen her with the three of them, talking as if they'd all been old friends. She looked like she belonged.

Nick and Dobbs hadn't shut up about her all night, Fitzpatrick usually nodding or humming in agreement whenever they made a comment about her. They'd been like that with a lot of my family honestly, but seeing Bails so carefree and confident around them tonight reminded me of how she used to be. It made me want to punch them as much as it made me smile.

"I'm telling you they could. They've been in their rebuilding period for six years, and finally got some big names and rookies that are bound for the hall of fame," Belle is devout in her love for the Chicago Cubs. Always has been, no matter how bad they've been the last few years. And by bad, I mean BAD.

"Sure but they haven't built the team cohesion like the team had the last time they went all the way, sure they have the right players but the dynamic is off," Nick shakes his head, "Sox are taking it this year," and he doesn't mean the White Sox. The Bostonian is a die hard fan of the Red Sox, and a life long hater of The Yankees.

"That'll come along, especially with how they've been winning," She states, "We currently have one of the best pitchers in the league and he's only nineteen compared to your what? Fifteenth rank veteran who needs to retire?"

"Filmore has been getting lucky," Nick shakes his head at the reference of her teams newest star pitcher. I gotta admit, the kid is good. "And don't ever speak ill of Barnes,"

"I can and will. He's got what? A five point eight ERA? I'd bet Filmore's pitched nearly the same amount of innings and still has a lower ERA than that," She sits back in her chair, the damn cocky smirk conveying the fact that she knows she's right.

"Wanna make that bet?" He questions and I shake my head. She knew she was right, she also knows that his ego wouldn't let this go.

"I wouldn't," I grin, telling him but not taking my eyes off Bailey who narrows her own at me. "What?"

"Twenty bucks,"

"You're an idiot," I state. Well, actually, I slur.

"And you sound like one," Ferguson grins at me, "I'm gonna be carrying you out of here arent I?"

"You haven't had to do that in years," I audibly snort, Belle just laughs, "What are you laughing at Blondie?"

"You're drunk Co," She smiles, she was too, maybe not to the extent of myself.

I didn't care though. I was surrounded by people tonight who I knew for damn sure had my back. It was okay for me to let my guard down tonight, and it was refreshing feeling as such.