Chapter Six
Damon was on fire tonight. Elliot had come to his game, and he’d forgiven him.
Damon had been super depressed at practice yesterday because he knew he’d walk up to the plate and look up to the normal spot that Elliot always sat and it’d be empty—or worse, someone else would be sitting there.
But his best friend was exactly where he was supposed to be.
And he had the perfect view to watch Damon hit the ball out of the park, just like Elliot had asked. Damon pointed up to the stands to let Elliot know that one was for him.
Elliot smiled and shook his head.
Damon went into the next inning confident that he could take his team to the finals for the third year in a row, but that feeling didn’t last long because as Damon ran for the fly ball, he knew the second he collided, head first, with his teammate and hit the ground that neither of them had caught it.
His final thought before he blacked out was Shit, Elliot’s going to be so upset.
The world was spinning, and his head throbbed. God, it hurt so fucking bad.
“Damon? Damon!”
He smiled when he heard Elliot’s voice, or he tried to, but moving his face sent shooting pain through his head. “No worries. S’fine.”
“You need to step back.”
“Elliot. Get back. Let the paramedics do their job.”
“Damon!” Elliot yelled. “No, come on. I can help him. I can—”
“S’okay, Elliot. I’m fine. Totally fine.”
“Shh,” a medic said. “Don’t try to talk right now.”
Damon tried to look around, to find Elliot, but his vision was spotty, and someone was holding his head in one place.
He didn’t remember the trip to the hospital or any of the tests they did. He woke up to his mom hovering over his hospital bed.
When he was finally conscious and coherent, he croaked out, “Elliot?”
His mom ignored him and started crying and fussing over him.
“Mom. I’m fine. Where’s Elliot?”
His mom sniffed, patting his arm. “I don’t know.”
“Where’s my phone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom!”
“Damon. Please calm down. Here,” she said. “Text him with mine.”
Damon grabbed it and squinted at the phone. His head started pounding.
The doctor came in. “I don’t recommend looking at screens until your concussion passes.”
Damon’s mom snatched the phone back.
“Concussion?” Damon asked. “How long will I be out?”
“Your concussion should clear up in two weeks, but your broken arm will take longer to heal.”
“My what?” Damon said. He looked at his arms.
The doctor hung an x-ray film on the view box and turned on the backlight. “You have a fracture right here, see? We’ll get you in a cast, but it’ll be about eight weeks until it heals.”
“You got the wrong x-rays, doc,” Damon said. He wiggled both arms around in the air. “My arms are fine.”
The doctor’s eyebrows furrowed. He grabbed Damon’s left arm and poked it, asking if it hurt. He rechecked the x-rays and mumbled something as he left.
Damon turned to his mom. “Can you please text Elliot? Tell him that I’m okay?”
Damon’s mom nodded and texted him, but as the little swoosh of a sent text message filled the room, someone skidded to a stop outside his room.
“Elliot!” Damon said, smiling.
Elliot sighed out a relieved breath. He walked into the room and leaned down, wrapping his arms around Damon. “This hospital is a maze. They moved you twice since I got here,” he mumbled.
Damon hummed and hugged him back. Nothing else mattered. Elliot was here. Everything was okay now.
“I’ll leave you boys alone,” Damon’s mom said, walking out.
Damon nuzzled his nose into Elliot’s neck, breathing in his crisp piney scent. His Elliot scent.
“I was so afraid,” Elliot said. His forehead was pressed to Damon’s shoulder. “It was like—”
Like the car accident, Damon knew he was about to say. He ran his hands up and down his back. “I’m okay. It’s okay.”
Elliot sniffed, and Damon became aware that his shirt was damp with tears.
“Hey,” Damon said, pulling back. “I’m okay, really.”
Elliot tried to smile.
Damon reached up and touched Elliot’s cheeks, wiping under his eyes with his thumbs. “Don’t cry over me, Croft.”
“You passed out on the field, and they wouldn’t let me near you, wouldn’t let me help. I was so scared.”
Elliot tilted his head into Damon’s hand, and something twisted in Damon’s chest.
“They wouldn’t let you help, huh? What was your plan?
Gonna give me CPR or something?” As soon as the words were out, Damon’s eyes went wide.
It would have been a joke he’d have made before he knew Elliot was gay, but now it felt wrong.
Joking about Elliot’s mouth on his. About the air in his lungs being breathed into Damon’s lungs.
About Elliot’s hands on his face. Kinda like how Damon’s were on Elliot’s face right now…
Damon’s stomach pitted. That anxious feeling in his gut—that was guilt, right? He didn’t want to make Elliot uncomfortable.
Elliot didn’t seem to notice Damon’s inner crisis because he sniffed and stood straighter, face becoming somber. “I have to tell you something.”
Damon nodded robotically and pulled his hand away. That feeling in his gut was definitely anxiety.
Elliot walked to the door and shut it before returning.
“Whoa. This is serious, huh?” Damon tried to joke.
Elliot sat on the edge of his bed. “This may come as a surprise to you, but promise me you’ll keep it a secret, even if you don’t believe what I say. You have to—” He swallowed. “You have to promise, no matter how crazy you think I am, that you won’t tell anyone.”
Damon didn’t feel like making a joke anymore. “I promise. You can tell me anything.”
Elliot fingered the sheets on the bed near Damon’s hand. He didn’t know why, but he wished Elliot would touch him, would hold his hand as he said whatever it was he wanted to say.
Elliot took a deep breath and released it. His eyes glided up to Damon’s. “I’m a witch. I healed your broken arm in the first grade, and I healed the other one like forty-five minutes ago.”