Chapter Thirteen #2
She’d known something was off with Razor in practice.
Her normally solid execution and poise behind the plate were replaced with erratic throws and defensive miscues.
More than once, Razor had been less than composed.
Toward the end, she’d screamed in frustration and threw her helmet to the turf.
But when she’d snapped at Courtney in the locker room after Courtney questioned her well-being, that’s when Ashton intervened.
She’d felt there was a conversation needed, and she didn’t hesitate to invite Razor over to her place to talk.
Thirty minutes later, Ashton had the firepit blazing, and they were both warm and toasty in comfortable clothes. And Razor had yet to say a word.
Ashton waited, focusing on the side of Razor’s head while Razor stared intently into the flames and picked away at the label on her now empty cider bottle.
“I’m sorry,” Razor whispered. Finally, communication. “You invited me over to tell you what’s wrong, and I haven’t done that. I just…”
Ashton pulled on the sleeves of her oversized sweater and waited for Razor to complete the thought.
“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” she whispered.
The fire snapped loudly at that precise moment, startling Ashton almost as much as Razor’s words. Determined to make Razor see sense, she scooted her chair closer to Razor’s.
“Razor, you are not a burden. We made a deal, remember?”
Razor scoffed. “Yeah, a deal I haven’t made much of a contribution to. I’ve come to you more times than you’ve come to me. You’re probably getting tired of dealing with my shit.”
She started to stand, but Ashton grabbed her jacket, knowing if she walked away, there was no telling when or if Razor would come back.
“This is not a competition, Razor. You’ve had a lot to deal with, most of it very recently.”
“But it’s not fair to you.”
“Screw fair,” Ashton said, her voice rising. “I’m your friend. I’m here for you. Just like you’re my friend, and when I start hitting bumps in the road, you’ll be there for me. Right?”
Razor gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “I will. I promise.”
“Good. Now that we’ve cleared that up, what happened today to get you all discombobulated?”
Razor’s posture relaxed as she let out a deep sigh.
“I learned today that the FBI is investigating Gary Newman.”
Ashton jerked back. “That’s great news.”
“It is.”
Razor’s monotone was unexpected.
“Then why aren’t you happy?”
Razor set the empty bottle aside. “What if they contact me? What do I tell them?”
Realization seeped into Ashton’s mind. How much would the FBI want to know?
“You tell them the truth,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You witnessed Gary assaulting a player, you reported it, but he wasn’t punished.”
“You make it sound so simple when it’s not,” Razor said. “What if I tell the truth and what happened in San Diego happens again? Only this time on a grander scale.”
Ashton sighed, her own frustration building.
While she was happy Razor came to her to seek advice and guidance, even begrudgingly, it was exasperating to have to constantly reassure her that what she did wasn’t as terrible as she remembered.
Ashton warred between continuously reassuring her and screaming at her that her feelings of guilt weren’t warranted.
But she couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that. Razor’s self-blame had festered for five years and needed to be removed carefully, meticulously, and patiently.
“What the FBI wants are facts,” Ashton said. “You filed charges against Gary on behalf of someone else after you told the coaching staff and no action was taken. You didn’t lie or embellish. You told the truth. End of story.”
Ashton’s urge to comfort Razor took over, and she began drawing slow circles across her back. Razor’s eyes closed, and she hummed her approval.
“Thank you for the reminder,” she whispered and rewarded Ashton with a sincere smile. “Thank you for letting me come over and enjoy this fire, too. I hope one day we get to enjoy it when I’m not a complete basket case.”
Ashton leaned in and touched her forehead to Razor’s. “You’re not a basket case. You’re a woman who’s been through a lot in a short amount of time, but you’ve also been able to carve out some happiness in your life.”
“I have?”
Ashton nodded. “You run a successful business. You have friends who care deeply about you…”
“And you’re one of those friends?”
Ashton pulled back and saw sincerity in Razor’s gaze.
“I am,” she answered honestly. Then she eyed the six-pack, forgotten, next to Razor’s chair. “As your friend, do I get to share in your drink of choice?”
If Razor noticed her abrupt shift to lighten the mood, she didn’t show it. She looked at said six-pack and gave a coy smile. “You do…if you buy dinner.”
Ashton pulled away in mock horror. “Why should I buy dinner?”
“I brought the beverage, so it’s only fair you buy dinner.”
The brief banter did the trick, and Razor visibly relaxed, leaning farther into Ashton’s space with a smile that reached her eyes.
It was such a relief to see the transformation.
Ashton wished Razor could stay this way all the time, but she feared, with all the trauma in her past, it was going to be a short-lived moment of happiness.
Ashton only hoped she could extend those moments to be longer, fuller, and that one day Razor would see the good in herself that Ashton already knew was there.
“How about I make us dinner?” Ashton asked.
“Sounds great.”
“Pasta okay?”
Razor groaned. “Perfect, actually. I could use the carb boost after the work I put in today. Nancy coached me hard.”
“Not surprising, since your head was worried about this other thing.”
“That’s why I didn’t complain or roll my eyes or anything to undermine her,” Razor said. “She had every right to be on my ass. I was horrible.”
“Are you going to be good to go tomorrow?” Ashton asked as they walked into the house.
“Let’s hope so,” Razor answered, frown lines marring her brow, and Ashton knew there wasn’t anything more she could do. It was all up to Razor now.