Chapter 6
SIX
HARLEY
Pulling my car in along the sidewalk, I slide it into park and kill the engine before getting out.
Practice starts in an hour, but before that, I needed to come to the pharmacy to get my monthly medications, insulin, and pod supplies.
I don’t technically need any of this stuff for another week, but in case of an apocalypse or something, I want to be prepared.
Luckily, my insurance usually covers all but fifty or so dollars a month of everything I need to monitor and treat my diabetes because if not, I’d be so screwed.
When I pull the door open, it makes a chiming sound from the bell tied on top before I rush to the front. Sometimes, this place has the longest line, so I sigh in relief when there’s no one besides me here.
“Hey, Harley,” Cliff, the pharmacist in his late fifties with white hair, says from behind the counter. “Quite a game you had last weekend! Going to be a great season, I’d say.”
“Thank you, thank you.” I grin. “We’ve got a great team for sure.”
“Time for the monthly haul?” he asks, knowing I come in here at least once a month during the school year.
“Yep.” I nod, handing him my insurance card like I’ve done countless times.
I stand here for a few minutes, like I always do. Now a small line has formed behind me, and I always hate feeling like I’m holding people up.
A line forms on Cliff’s forehead as he looks down at the card after typing in the information on the computer in front of him.
“Is everything okay?” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder before turning back to him.
“Well, it’s just … this keeps getting denied.” He says the words softly, not wanting anyone else to hear. “I can run it again, but I’ve tried it four times now.”
“That’s weird,” I say, my cheeks heating up. “You know what? I’ll call my mom on my way to practice. I have another week of supplies left anyway.”
I snatch the card from his hand, just wanting to get the heck out of here and figure out what’s going on. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning,” I assure him with a smile.
Turning away, I quickly dart past the line and outside. And as I go to call my mom, I remember the look on her face when she asked about my pod while we were FaceTiming the other day.
I think I need to call our insurance instead.
My mom already has enough on her plate.
For the first time in likely forever, I’m relieved when practice is over.
My sugar level is a little too high for my liking, and not only is it hard to focus, but I can’t stop thinking about the insurance situation.
When I called and talked to someone over the phone before practice, she told me that the premium wasn’t paid, so now I need to call my mom, and I really hate to do that when she’s back home, already taking care of my extremely sick dad.
“You good, Harls?” Haven asks as I’m unbuckling my gear and tossing it into my bag. “You seem a little off. Is your level all right?”
“A little high, but I’m fine,” I answer. “I’m good. Really.”
She eyes me over before, finally, she nods and takes her cleats off and sets them on the knobs of her bats before sliding her Birkenstocks on.
“As long as you’re sure,” she says with one hand on her wheeling bat bag, still eyeing me over.
“I’m sure,” I promise her, looking down at my phone and holding it up. “See, my level is coming down.”
Hesitating for a few seconds, she turns away and heads to the parking lot, and once I’m all alone in the dugout, I take my phone out and dial my mom. It takes her more rings than usual to answer, but eventually, she picks up.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hi, Mom. Whatcha doing?” I lean forward slightly, pulling my sandals on and setting my cleats in my bag.
I’m dreading everything about this conversation, but I know I need to get to the bottom of whatever is going on. At the end of the day, I need my medication and my supplies to monitor my sugar level. I just don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t depend on our insurance to cover them.
“Well, I actually just got back from taking your dad for a ride.” She sounds so tired yet still hopeful. “He’s back in bed now, but he sure liked to ride around town to get out of the house for a bit.”
“I bet he did,” I say softly with a smile. I chew on my lip nervously. “Hey … Mom?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“I went to the pharmacy today to get my prescriptions filled, and the insurance card wouldn’t work.” My voice is awkward and shaky. I hate that I can’t just go buy it with my own money so that I don’t have to bother her during a time like this. “I wasn’t sure if you knew what I should do.”
“Shit,” her voice squeaks. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I can hear her pacing.
“I’m so sorry, Harley. Money has been tight with all of your dad’s medical bills piling up.
The insurance hasn’t been covering a lot of things, and I was late paying the premium, but I promise, I’m going to pay it.
” She’s crying now, making me feel worse than I already do.
“I’m so sorry, baby. The last thing you should have to worry about right now is paying for your meds. ”
“Mom, shh,” I say calmly. “Hey, it’s okay. I have another week of meds. Actually, more like nine days.”
I’m met with a sob.
“I just don’t know what to do. We’re buried in bills and … what if I can’t pay our insurance? What if you can’t get the meds?”
In my mind, a thousand of my own what-ifs are passing through. But she’s scared. I can hear it in her voice, and I don’t need to make her more afraid.
“It’ll all be okay,” I assure her. “I’ll talk to the pharmacist, and maybe I can come up with some sort of a payment plan.” I drag my hand down my face. “But what are you going to do, Mom?” My voice grows hoarse. “You guys need money to live.”
“Don’t you worry about us, okay?” she whispers. “We will be fine. All of us.” I hear a knock in the background. “I have to go. The house nurse is here to check on your dad. Please don’t worry. We will figure something out; I know it. I love you so much, and I am so sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry, Mom. You have nothing to be sorry for,” I say, trying to assure her. “I love you. Bye.”
Ending the call, I slam my phone down on the bench beside me, and even though I consider myself a badass bitch who doesn’t like to cry …
I cry like a baby because type 1 diabetes isn’t something I can wing.
I need a solid plan. And right now, it just feels like every single thing in my life is falling apart.
CANE
I stand beside the dugout, not knowing what the hell to do.
One of my community service jobs is to clean all the dugouts, as well as different sports facilities on campus, and I just accidentally overheard NEU’s catcher, Harley Meadows, talking to someone on the phone about her insurance and her medication.
And from the sounds of it, she can’t afford to buy it.
So, now I’m stuck, wanting to help but also knowing that from what I’ve seen of her, she’s an independent, fierce woman who probably doesn’t want me to swoop in there and try to save her.
So, instead of doing that, I decide to quietly walk to the other dugout and give her time to gather herself up. There’s something foreign inside of me that wants to go in and hug her because I can hear her sniffling, but I don’t know this woman.
Even though I kind of want to.
When I walk to the other dugout, I go around the back of it before entering where she can likely see me.
From the corner of my eye, I watch her through the mesh, eyeing me over.
I begin sweeping, pretending like I don’t notice her at all as she begins gathering her things up.
I time it right though, so that when she makes it to the door, I lift my head and make it look like I just realized she was there.
Her sunglasses are on now, no doubt a mechanism to hide that she’s been crying from me.
“Wow, Catch,” I say, jerking my chin up at her. “We keep meeting at the ball field.”
“More like you keep being creepy and lurking around the ball field,” she sasses back. “Seriously, I was here all last year and never even ran into you. Now you’re popping up like a jack-in-the-box.”
She moves with confidence, and it does something to me because elite softball players just have a type of swagger about them that is pretty fucking hot.
“Just admiring from afar, I guess.” I shrug. “Nah, I’m kidding. I get to drive around and clean up dugouts before I go to the field house and wash benches.”
She watches me, leaning against the dugout door. “I mean, I guess that’s fair, right? You didn’t get kicked off the team from what I’ve heard. You basically got a slap on the wrist for doing something pretty freaking awful. So, in my opinion, cleaning dugouts isn’t too bad.”
“I’ll add that I also have to wash the team’s uniforms for the next month.” I nod. “So … there’s that.”
“Cups and all?” She scrunches her nose up.
“Cups and all,” I say, my lip forming a flat line. “I even get the honor of cleaning the toilets in the men’s locker rooms too.”
“Ew, that’s really gross.” She feigns a gag. “But … you deserve it. You know you do.”
I nod, raking my hand over the top of my head. “Yeah, I know.”
I want to ask her if she needs some help buying her medications. An athlete like that shouldn’t have to worry about how the hell she’s going to afford to care for her diabetes. But then she’d know I was eavesdropping. And something tells me she wouldn’t like that.
She eventually looks away before stepping out of the dugout.
“Well, have fun, Baseball Boy.” She smirks. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
I give her a wave, and with her huge catching bag in tow, she walks the path down to the parking lot.
I watch her longer than I care to admit.
I admire her luscious ass and the way the fabric of her softball pants hugs her curves.
But when she finally reaches her car—an old Jetta with a dent in the door—she looks back at me and laughs.
Because she knows she just busted me checking her out.
I don’t care though. I’d do it all over again for a look at that perfect ass.