Chapter 19
Casey
Fuck. There’s someone at the door again. I’m sure it’s Brett. He’s the only one who dares to show up. Probably because his paycheck is connected to mine.
He even called the police. That was a fucking disaster. I was in my underwear when two officers showed up at my place. They bang on the door like a couple of assholes and wouldn’t go away until I opened it. Even after I told them I was fine, they said they had to see for themselves.
I don’t understand why everyone feels the need to check on me. I’m alive. I’m here. I just want everyone to leave me the fuck alone.
I told my family as soon as I got here that I didn’t want to see anyone. How many times do I need to repeat myself? If they don’t want to listen, then they can waste their time. That’s on them.
“Casey, it’s me. I’ve got a friend here from New York that wants to see you.”
Fuck, I’m right. It is Brett. Doesn’t he understand from the unanswered texts that I don’t want to see him? And who the fuck did he bring this time? Last time he dragged some girl I was dating months ago. Why would I want to see her?
I open the security app on my phone and check the camera outside my door.
I’m not surprised to see Brett, but the woman standing next to him nearly makes me drop my device.
She fucking came. She sent me a text saying she was here, but I called her bluff. I didn’t respond. I figured that would keep her away. Who the fuck flies across the country for someone who doesn’t even respond to a text? Sage Summers apparently.
What does she want?
It doesn’t matter. I don’t want her to see me like this. There’s no fucking way I’m opening that door.
Truthfully, I wasn’t going to open it anyway, but this cements my resolve.
After a few minutes, Brett leaves as usual. He’s easy. At least he gets it. But Sage stays. Why the hell would Brett just leave her there by herself?
I sit up on my bed, pulling down my old T-shirt that stretches across my stomach. I think I changed my shorts yesterday but I’m not really sure.
I watch her on my phone as she leans back against my door.
Her pretty blonde curls frame her face and neck.
She covers her long legs with her dress, and I stare at her bare toes.
She sits back with her eyes closed, and for a moment, I want to go out there and grab her.
I want to pull her inside and kiss those cherry-flavored lips.
But then I look down at my shirt and remember that I’m in no state to see Sage Summers or anyone else for that matter.
I don’t close the app. What if someone approaches her? I tell myself, if that were to happen, I would open the door. But I’m ashamed to admit that a small piece of me wonders if I would and I hate myself even more for that.
She’ll get the hint. She’ll leave. I’ll finally be alone again.
I watch her as she scrolls through her phone. I wait, and I watch. I can’t tear my eyes from the screen.
Finally, after nearly an hour, she gets up and knocks on the door.
I ignore it, of course, but I hear her voice. “Casey, it’s Sage. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
My heart breaks into pieces. On one hand, I’m afraid that she will come back. On the other hand, I’m worried how I’ll feel if she doesn’t.
Fuck. I don’t need this. I don’t need Sage Summers showing up at my door. I won’t open it. There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing to say. The sooner she gets the picture, the better.
*
The next morning, a loud bang at the door wakes me from a restless sleep. I immediately think of Brett and groan, but then I remember Sage’s words.
I check my phone and see her standing in front of my door. I move my leg off the bed but quickly pull it back in and under the covers.
She will tire of waiting there.
I don’t watch her this time. It hurts too much. My resolve to let her stand there weakens and if I see anything on her face that would soften me to her situation, I know I will crumble.
But I can’t let her see me like this.
I stare at the ceiling, and when impatience overtakes my desire to stay put, I get up and walk to the kitchen.
I haven’t felt hungry for weeks. I eat to survive, but my stomach gurgles, so I grab a Greek yogurt from the refrigerator and shovel a few spoonfuls into my mouth. That seems to settle the pain.
There’s a shuffle by the door. I want to check if she’s still there, but I don’t know what I’ll do if my hand is next to the knob. I don’t trust myself not to open it.
So I go back into my bedroom, throw my pillow over my head, and go back to sleep.
*
It’s dark outside my window when I wake up.
I must have slept for at least eight hours for it to be dark outside, and yet my body feels heavy and tired.
My head throbs and I don’t even want to turn on the television because I know the light will strike a migraine.
I walk back into the kitchen and lean against the countertop.
I stare at the front door from here, and curiosity grows in my gut.
It possesses my body, and I walk toward the door and look through the peephole.
My heart hammers in my chest in the milliseconds it takes for me to look.
I don’t know what I’ll do if I see her there.
Not through a screen, but just one foot away from me.
I know the answer, and I look anyway.
But Sage isn’t there.
The hallway is empty, except for a small courier package at the foot of my door.
I don’t care about the box. I turn my back from it and a deep sadness takes hold of me.
It feels as though the room darkens further, my muscles feel even heavier, and the weight of who I’ve become pulls me down into an ocean that is drowning me.
Tears stream down my face, but I make no sound. I wipe them angrily, furious at who I’ve become. This pathetic, empty human being.
Without baseball, I am nothing. I have nothing. What is my identity? I don’t have one. I don’t even know who I am, so I cannot fathom what I can be to anyone else.
All I’ve ever wanted was to play baseball.
All I’ve ever dreamed of is playing in the MLB.
All I’ve ever hoped for was to retire as one of the greatest players to have played the game.
And now, I’m barely a talking point at the beginning of the game, the commentators wondering if I’ll be back this season.
But I know the truth. I’ve spoken to the doctors, and they told me my career is over. They might as well have told me my life was over, too.
My hands tremble by my sides, and I ball them into fists. I drop my head back and roar out in anger. “Fuck!”
The tears fall harder this time, and my breath is ragged. A deep sob pulls from my throat, and I fall to my hands and knees from the pain in my chest. I cry uncontrollably, my body shaking from each sob that retches out of me.
I don’t know how long I lay there, but the outburst drains me. I’m so tired. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and go back to sleep.
*
A loud ringing startles me out of bed. “What the fuck is that?”
After a few seconds of rubbing my eyes, I realize it’s the doorbell. Someone is pressing the button incessantly. The sound echoes in my ears, and I press the palms of my hands to shutter the noise.
It’s bearable now but it doesn’t stop.
I kick the covers off me and stomp across the hallway. If some food delivery person is insistent on a tip, I’m going to give him one he’ll remember. He’ll think twice about ringing someone’s doorbell like it’s a videogame controller.
I throw open the door and open my mouth to tell him to fuck right off, but the words die on my lips.
Sage is standing there with her arms crossed, looking just as pissed off as I’m feeling right now. Maybe angrier.
A thousand emotions roll through me, including indignation, disbelief, and shame.
Shame wins.
“What do you want?”
Her eyes quickly drop to my bare feet and back up again. “I came to see if you’re okay.”
“And you thought ringing my doorbell like a lunatic would be the way to do that?”
She raises her eyebrow. “You opened the door, didn’t you?”
Her playfulness doesn’t move me. I’m too embarrassed right now. “You should go.”
“I’m here to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Then, let’s catch up.”
I narrow my eyes. “Catch up?”
“Yeah, it’s been a while.”
“I don’t know if you’re trying to be insensitive on purpose or not, so I’ll just save you the trouble. I don’t want to talk to you or to anyone else. You got that? Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?”
She steps back and inhales sharply as though my words struck her painfully.
And perhaps they did. It’s not the answer she had expected, I’m sure.
But it’s the truth. She should know that I’m not the man she once knew.
I’m this broken has-been who doesn’t even know who he is anymore.
I rub my hand over my face and take a deep breath. “You should go.”
“I’m not going to leave you.”
Her words feel like a punch in the stomach I wasn’t ready for. She doesn’t mean that. She has no idea who I am now. She thinks she’s here for Casey Tucker, the boy whose poster she had taped on her bedroom wall. But he doesn’t exist anymore.
“You should leave me.” I close the door and walk away. I pretend that I don’t see the look of pain strike across her face.
I go back to bed, pull the covers over my head and close my eyes.
Except, sleep doesn’t come this time. My body trembles beneath the covers, and despite the warm cocoon I’ve built, I feel cold and empty inside.
I feel hollow. As though I know I look like the same Casey Tucker on the outside, but there’s nothing of him left inside of me.
I squeeze my eyes, willing for blissful sleep to take over, but my heart is racing too much, and anger fills my veins.
Only I’m not sure whom I’m angry with.