Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Olivia POV
Saturday
I spent the rest of the day, naturally, doing research on concussions. Types of symptoms. Length of recovery. I couldn't take it. I'd made a fool out of myself. What if Hilda and Antonio had walked in on us . . . doing more than kissing?
God, I was an idiot. We couldn't stand each other, right? Every time I'd let myself believe he was something more than the king-sized jerk who hated reporters . . . He'd proved me wrong.
He protected me and gave me his shirt.
My stomach flipped. He also humiliated you. My gut twisted into a knot. But he comforted me when I was panicked and anxious. I groaned. And then ruined it all. How did everything get so mixed up?
I couldn't deny it, though. Some part of me wanted him. It was that part of me that would make up excuses like: he's still grieving his mother. He's had a rough time and that reporter did kill his dreams.
And maybe all of that was even true. But I had more self-respect than to throw myself at a man who couldn't or wouldn’t treat me well. I'd seen enough “unequal” relationships with my parents' bad choices, post-divorce.
I glanced at the closed door to my room where Hilda and Antonio were dealing with 'the patient'. I sunk into the couch, fatigue weighting my limbs and eyelids . . . I'd spent the night sitting beside him on the floor, the same way Coop had sat beside me in that maintenance closet. I sighed and drew my knees up to my chest. I checked the clock on my phone. The randomized wallpaper froze on the pic of me, Curt, and Dad—here, for Curt's graduation. Mom had been somewhere else with her latest boy toy.
Not to be outdone, Dad had brought his own “trophy” girlfriend. It was a nauseating dynamic. He practically treated them like children.
Mom, after Dad, had dated wildly different kinds of men. She seemed to prefer the alpha type, and I couldn't say I blamed her. There's something about their protective nature that I've always found appealing. But there's a marked difference between protective and domineering. And she kept mistaking one for the other.
I blinked, and the haze lifted. I caught the reflection of my face in the darkened screen. It wasn't a full image, just outlines and highlights—kind of like memories. Darker places were harder to see, acknowledge. But if I looked hard enough the detail was there. Haven't I been just as stubborn and abrasive toward Coop?
I winced. Probably. Still, as much as one part of me wanted to run into the other room, strip him naked and get to know the man who was Breslin Cooper. Another part of me worried that his uncharacteristically interested behavior would dissipate with the swollen lump on his forehead.
And still another part of me wondered if we could ever really start over and get along—even as friends, before we tried to, well, do more physical things. On floors. Between sheets. Maybe a shower.
My rando sexual fantasy about a steam room . . . Oh God, how could that aggravating man be so damned hot? That chest was made for magazine covers, steamy romance stories, running my tongue all over . . .
I hid my face in my knees. Ok, so I may have read a few too many sports romance novels in high school. “They” say it’s not a problem unless said reader starts to have unrealistic expectations of romantic partners. So far, I just wanted us to be nicer to each other. If that's unrealistic . . . There has to be someone else out there for me.
That thought turned my stomach to lead and crushed the air from my lungs. I let the pain echo inside me, aggravating an aching wound. A longing I couldn't name. I just . . . wanted.
I laid down on the couch. I needed a quick power nap, the lack of sleep made everything raw and heavy. I closed my eyes and could swear I felt his breath against my skin.
“You're so sexy.”
My body threatened to melt into goo. I willed the memory away.
I’m sure I can forget his kiss . . . someday.
Loud voices brought me out of sleep. I opened my eyes to Antonio and Hilda standing outside my room. He tried to pull her into his arms, but she pushed him away.
“I don’t understand what you’re thinking. What does baseball have to do with any of this?”
“Concussions are a big deal.” I managed to say words even as I resisted surfacing from sleep.
“Yes? They should be. Which is why he needs professional medical attention.”
“I’m telling you, we can’t .” Antonio’s voice dipped. “He’ll be out for the Exhibition game.”
“Why would you risk . . . this? The symptoms alone—blurred vision, headaches and nausea, his performance will be shit, no?
“She has a point.” I sat up and tried to stay upright. The world spun in groggy circles.
“You get some sleep?” Hilda's tone found a touch of warmth.
“Not enough.” I grabbed for my phone. It'd been two hours, some power nap. “I don’t know what’s worse, Coop missing the game or him playing and sucking.”
“He wants to play. You know that. And we can’t tell Coach he’s got a concussion.” Antonio brought both hands to his head.
“He has a point.” I glanced over my shoulder at my bedroom door. Coop was sleeping in my bed. In my sheets. Oh God, will I ever be able to forget he was there? “Schorr’ll want to know why we didn’t report it. And between the underaged drinking?—”
“And the deputy sheriff overseeing his probation and shit.” Antonio sat on the arm of the couch. “That won’t go well.”
“Yeah.” I blinked as my brain tried to come online. “Wait, what?”
“He doesn’t like to talk about it, but I finally got some of the story out of him last night. His dad couldn’t afford to fight the assault charges. Coop says some businessman showed up and made a deal to get the ridiculous media frenzy to stop. Pushed an arrangement thing through before he turned eighteen, so the charges don’t stay with him.”
“Wow. Must've cost quite a bit. That reporter really did get his payday.”
“Yeah, cause the lawsuit part was settled within a couple of months—which doesn’t happen. But all Coop sees is how he lost out on the draft, even though?—”
“That paparazzi clown was a monster. And IML’s response was pathetic.” I was on my feet and pacing. “There were just as many people who felt the guy deserved far worse as who thought Coop was a hotheaded miscreant.”
“She’s a fan.” Hilda shrugged then shook her head. Like I was a hopeless head case.
“I like baseball. And guys who are great at playing baseball . . . I like to see them succeed. I’d feel the same way if Antonio slugged a guy on camera for insulting his sister.”
“Joke would be on him, my sister’s a beast. I wouldn’t have to touch him. Besides, I don’t think you’d feel the exact same way, chica.”
I hugged my arms against my chest. “So, what you’re saying is that Oklahoma didn’t drop the charges, Coop pled guilty?”
“Uh, he took a deal? So yeah, sounds like the guilty thing.”
“And has been under monitored probation the whole time since.”
“Yeah. Said he’s only got a couple of months to finish his community service sentence. He’s been working every night and weekend?—”
“At the senior center.” Air filled my lungs as pieces connected in my brain. “Ohmigosh.”
“Ok, I gotta admit it. I’m starting to feel a little bad for the guy.” Hilda threw up her hands and took my spot on the couch. “Still, it was estupido thing to do. But he did just lose his maman and sounds like the reporter pendejo took advantage of a grieving kid.”
“And all along . . . he’s paying the consequences of his actions. Not asking for sympathy. Just quietly doing what he agreed to.”
“Blame my mental health specialist.” He retracted his arm. The clean scent of soap and sandalwood hovered . . . so close.
“Gets a little worse.” Antonio spoke to the floor.
I ran a hand over my forehead. What could be worse?
“His dad kicked him out.”
“Uhn, is that really worse?” I looked at Hilda. She shrugged.
“I guess we have something in common. But he did lose his maman, Livia.”
“He’s just been keeping all this bottled up? No one knew?”
Antonio held out his hands. “Seems like it.”
“He needs to go to the hospital. I've done the heavy lifting on his wound, but this is serious and if he?—”
“We can't. Can we?” I shook my head. “I've lost track of which is worse.”
“We could. But we don't have a good explanation. Coach'll kill me.” Antonio dropped his chin to his chest. “And Underaged drinking with his probation? Could actually send him to jail.”
“Then we can't.” I glanced at Hilda.
“He could have permanent injury if not treated. But, I'm just pre-med. Maybe there's a unit on how legal problems magically solve cases of severe trauma.” Hilda threw the package of gauze across the room.
Antonio cringed and met my gaze. “We could let him decide?”
“The one with a brain injury? Good plan.” Hilda snarled.
“Who else do we call?” Antonio held out both hands. “He's an adult, kicked out by his dad.”
“And no mom. So, Coach? And that's the same as telling on him.” I hung my head.
“This is madness! I am not getting in trouble for him.” Hilda gestured and pushed Antonio away.
“Why would you get in trouble over anything? Antonio and I are the ones with our necks on the line. And I'll tell anyone who asks we used bubblegum and floss to stitch him up. We didn't, under any circumstances, consult my roommate, the pre-med student.” And no one will believe me, but they won't be able to prove anything.
“Floss?”
I shrugged. “For the stitches?”
“Then why the bubblegum?” Hilda shook her head.
“Can't it just be a saying? I'll use duct tape then.”
“You kill me. You just . . . kill me.” Hilda turned away waving a hand in dismissal.
Why was I making it my problem anyway? I didn't bring them here. I didn't have anything to do with this whole fiasco. Except . . . make out with the guy while he was concussed and likely out of his senses.
“I am angry with you. Both of you.” Hilda pointed at each of us in turn. She turned and rushed from the room—her bedroom door slamming behind her.
“Dammit.” Antonio let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair. “She's not wrong. But I dunno, I was the one who invited him. Was a dumb thing to do. I just. He looked like he needed a friend.”
“You're one of the good ones. Hilda will come around.”
“Yeah. Hope so. Suppose I have at least the next three years to convince her. Unless she takes out that restraining order she keeps promising.” Antonio shook his head.
“Would put a damper on your budding romance. But she's just . . . driven. I think you scare her. Not like in a threatening way. But in that 'you're not on her medical school plan' way. I don't think any man is. And I get it. But like who wants their life all mapped out at eighteen?” I sat down on the edge of the couch and remembered the last fight I'd had with my father.
“You need discipline, Olivia. And to be here for charitable events and to meet people of the right caliber. It's good to have a degree, but you won't really need it.”
I sighed. “What could be more boring than that?”