Chapter Twenty
Jake patted his stomach. “Thanks. I needed that. This food is…well, it’s not Vera’s burgers. At least yesterday I was too groggy to eat much.”
Sitting in the too-hard guest chair beside Jake’s bed, Nico toyed with a fry in a splotch of ketchup on the burger wrapper spread on his lap. “Yeah, you were pretty out of it.”
Jake had slept for hours and hours after surgery, but Nico had still resented going to the ballpark for another game. He’d skipped team stretch and BP, barely making it for the anthems. But Skip had only squeezed Nico’s shoulder and asked for a status update on Jake.
Despite all the rest, Jake’s face was too pale, dark circles under his eyes, his scruff growing. The pain from his knee tightened his jaw every time he moved. Nico hated that there was nothing he could do to fix it.
“Poor nurses had to deal with my mom calling every five minutes for updates, I’m sure,” Jake said. “I told her not to cut her vacation in Halifax short, but of course she’s ignoring me.”
“That’s how a mom should be. Nonna totally ignores us if she thinks she knows best.” The fondness and love for her now swirled with apprehension. He tried to laugh it off. “Now I guess she might ignore me altogether.”
“Give it time. She’ll come around.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Nico pushed the thoughts away, only able to deal with so much crap at once. “Sorry I couldn’t be here much yesterday.”
“You had to work. Another day, another game, no matter who got their knee busted the night before. That’s baseball.
Besides, I was out of it, like you said.
” He shifted, going rigid and gritting his teeth.
“I hate hospitals—not that anyone loves them. ACL surgery doesn’t usually even require an overnight. ”
“But you didn’t just tear your ACL. It was all pretty messed up.”
Jake sighed. “Yeah, it was a lot more complicated than a straight tear. At least I’m getting out tomorrow.” He plucked at the blue hospital gown, grimacing.
And where will you go? Nico kept his gaze on anything but Jake’s leg wrapped in bandages and a hard brace that extended all the way to the top of his thigh and down to midshin.
It was a day off for the team, and guys had been streaming in and out to visit. It’d gotten too crowded, and Nico had felt too weird being there without being able to really be there. He wanted to sit by Jake’s side the way a boyfriend or partner or whatever they wanted to call it would.
And what were they after that dumb fight? At least they were alone again for the moment. Nico spread more ketchup, tapping his foot restlessly. “I was a moron,” he blurted. “About your friend on Skype.”
Jake actually smiled. “Forget about it. I have.” He waved a hand at his knee. “Perspective.”
“You were right—I was totally jealous. Just for the record.” The memory of the tantrum he’d thrown had him squirming on the hard chair. “I hated the thought of you with anyone else.”
The smile became a grin on Jake’s face. “I know. There’s absolutely nothing to be jealous of. And I despise the thought of anyone else touching you. For the record.”
The little rush of pleasure didn’t last long. Nico smiled back, but worry gnawed. Jake was taking it all so well. Too well. Why wasn’t he freaking out? His career was over, barring some kind of miracle. It was done, and there was nothing that could change it.
The thought of never being able to play again sent shivers down Nico’s spine, and he popped his last fry in his mouth, trying to banish the clammy panic. He shoved their garbage into the paper bag and sat back, trying to smile. “Whew.”
“That filled a corner, as my mom would say?”
“Definitely.”
Jake hesitated before asking, “And when you’re full like this, you don’t feel the need to throw up?”
Nico sighed. “No. I told you, I’m not bulimic or whatever. It’s just nerves.”
“And a ritual?”
“What? No.” Fighting the urge to get up and pace, Nico glanced to make sure no one was hovering around the open doorway. “That would be stupid.”
“Mmm. So what would happen if you couldn’t puke before a game? Say the bathroom was out of service, there was no time, and you had to get on the field.”
Anxiety flapped through him, but Nico tried to remain nonchalant.
“I don’t know. Probably toss my cookies all over the mound.
Grounds crew would love that. I’d end up on YouTube in HD this time, not just some blurry handheld video from high school.
Dad would love it. There’d be a bunch of internet memes.
It would suck. And it would be beyond embarrassing, going back out there once they’d cleaned up. I’d lose the game for sure.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean? I just told you.”
“You could puke on the field and still win the game. You puke in the bathroom before games and win. Why would you lose for sure?”
Crossing his arms, Nico swallowed back a huff. “I just would.”
“Because you didn’t do the ritual the right way?”
“I don’t know! Maybe.” He lowered his voice, tapping his foot vigorously on the linoleum, the rubber sole of his sneaker bouncing. “It’s just the way it is. I feel sick, and I puke, and then it’s okay.”
“But you don’t always win. Even when you follow the ritual.”
“Would you stop calling it that?” Nico snapped.
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be an asshole.”
“Still doing a pretty good job,” Nico grumbled.
He sighed. “Sorry. I know you’re not. I’m just…
” Completely defensive? On edge? Not cool with being called on his bullshit?
“I really do feel sick before starts. Even when we scuffed balls and I tried to relax. As soon as it’s fifty, forty-five minutes before the first pitch, my stomach rebels. ”
“Your stomach or your mind? Maybe it’s because you’re following the same pattern. You could go to the bullpen earlier. Mix things up. See what happens? Don’t let the ritual control you.”
“But—” He clenched his jaw at the use of that word again. “You don’t get it, okay?”
“Okay. Hey, I’m sorry.”
Jake reached out and smoothed his hand over Nico’s leg, fingers curving over his inner thigh.
Their sign. One Nico would never see on the field again.
The thought brought a pang of grief like a bell, and he swallowed thickly.
There was no sense in being upset about it. Jake wasn’t, so why should he be?
The warm weight of Jake’s hand through Nico’s jeans should have soothed, but frustration churned his guts. Maybe he’d puke now after all. He blurted, “I know you don’t get it and you think I’m crazy. But I genuinely feel sick before starts. I’m not forcing it. And I don’t get you!”
His hand still pressing on Nico’s thigh, Jake frowned. “Okay. In what way?”
“This!” Nico waved his hand through the air. Pushing back the chair, he jumped to his feet, pacing the length of the bed.
Jake crossed his arms. “I don’t think I’m following.”
The urge to lean over and shake him had Nico’s hands clenching into fists. “You’re so damn calm. It’s like you’re not upset at all. Like you don’t even care! Your career is over! You’re never playing baseball again. Doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t that make you feel something?”
His voice controlled, Jake answered, “Of course it does.”
“Does it?” Nico held out his hands. “Could’ve fooled me.
So how do you feel? Angry? Scared? Devastated?
Because I do. I hate that you’re never going to play again.
That you’ll never be behind the plate giving me signs.
I don’t want to go out there without you.
And I know I’d have to eventually, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It was supposed to be on your terms. But one dick slide from that asshole and your choice was taken away. I hate it. It’s not fair!”
“I impeded the runner. It happens.”
Nico sputtered. “What are you talking about? That sack of shit knew you were going to beat him with the tag, so he took you out.”
It had happened too fast. Jake tried to remember, but the only thing he could recall was the exploding agony of the impact. “What did the umps rule?”
“He was out. Jake, he’s getting suspended. I thought you knew.”
“No. No one’s really told me anything. I was conked out from the surgery.”
“It wasn’t your fault, if that’s where this is coming from.”
“Where what’s coming from?”
Growling in frustration, Nico waved his hand through the air at Jake. “This! Your whole zen whatever-the-fuck this is.”
“Uh… I’ll just…” A nurse hovered in the doorway. She backed out, closing the door behind her.
Nico scrubbed a hand over his face. “I feel like I’m a freaking basket case because I can’t keep this shit inside. I tried, and I can’t. Maybe I kept too much in there for too many years, and now I just…can’t.”
Jake reached out to soothe him. “I know I might seem calm…”
“Yes! You do. Still!” Nico paced. “You never lose your shit.”
“That’s not true.” He raised his eyebrows. “You might recall a spanking I gave you in the clubhouse gym.”
“Okay, once. I just…” Nico sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. “Don’t you care? Even a little?”
Turning his head to the window, Jake swallowed hard. “Yes. But it’s not… What’s the point? It won’t change anything.”
He tried to find the right words. “Lots of times people get sad about stuff they can’t change. Mad too.”
“True. But I don’t get to be upset. I don’t deserve it.”
Nico still itched to shake him, but managed to speak calmly. “Why not?”
Jake mumbled, “Because I checked out. I wanted to retire early. So I guess I got what I wanted. Careful what you wish for and all that.”
The anger and frustration receded like a wave abandoning the beach, and Nico perched on the edge of the chair, reaching for Jake’s hand, easing Jake’s arms open from where he’d crossed them, little half-moon fingernail marks left on his biceps. “This isn’t what you wanted.”