Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
KENNETH
After Sandy left my office, Royce took control of the situation. They led me out to their car, then drove us to Bellport General. I experienced it all like a bystander to my own life. I felt the movements and heard everyone talking around me. I simply couldn’t react to save my life.
Part of my struggle is because I hate to find out one of my players got hurt.
These guys work hard for their careers. For most, this is the dream.
Hell, probably for all. They work out, eat right, and give it their all for a chance to play on the field at this level.
An injury like this—one that ends your plans before they truly get to play out—is devastating.
The other part of my internal shutdown is due to the outfit Royce showed up in today. I can’t say that I’ve never seen them in a skirt or dress, but fuck me sideways, I clearly forgot how hot they looked in one. The outfits from the week before are now just a tease compared to this.
Pale yellow fabric.
I never thought my downfall would be from pale yellow fabric.
The dress makes me want to lay at their feet, begging for a chance to do whatever they want from me. A chance to worship all the exposed skin I can see. Or maybe to let them do anything they want to me. I don’t really care at this point. I simply want more.
When they touched my arm to stop me from losing my cool in the office, it felt like they were stroking my dick. The touch was that damn powerful.
I shake away the desire racing through my veins as we reach the door marked A4568. This is where Sandy said we needed to go.
“You need to put your game face on. If you go in there looking like you’re going to cry, he’s going to lose it. We have to show him we’re in support of whatever comes next,” Royce tells me with a tug on my wrist.
Sadness? They think I’m sad?
This isn’t sadness. If anything, it’s madness.
Madness that I can’t take them away to have my wicked way with them. Madness that we’re stuck together in this business exchange that feels less and less important every day. Madness that I think they’d look my way for even a second after the mess I made of our past.
That last thought breaks me out of my funk. I nod to Royce, then step forward to push the door open. Inside, it’s just like any other hospital room, only more. It’s obvious they’re treating Tollide to a VIP experience.
Speaking of Tollide, I spot him on the bed and freeze. He’s covered in bandages from head to toe. Both legs are in casts, along with one arm. Only one eye is exposed, which isn’t much help since it’s so swollen. It’s a wonder he survived.
A man rises from the couch, approaching the bed protectively. “What are you doing here?”
I lift my hands to show I mean no harm. “We’re here to see Tollide. My name is Kenneth Meyer. This is Royce Bellport. We own the Bellport Blue Jays. Tollide is one of our players. Who are you?”
“I’m his older brother, North.”
At his words, I see the resemblance. He’s older, with a full beard and some gray around his edges, but there’s no denying the family genes are strong.
“Can you tell us what they’ve said about him? What’s his recovery time like?” Royce asks as they step to the end of the bed. I move beside them, protective for some reason despite knowing North isn’t here to hurt any of us.
North frowns at the question as he looks at his brother. “There is no recovery. Not enough to play again, at least. He’s going to have months of rehab ahead of him. The doctor mentioned learning to walk again and the use of basic motor skills.”
“That’s to be expected. Has he woken up at all?”
“For a bit. He was… upset. Before I could even tell him the news, he knew. It was like the light left his eyes. Baseball has been his life for as long as I can remember. He won’t know what to do without it.”
Grief hits me then. I can’t understand where he’s coming from, however, I can be part of the solution for when he’s better.
“Do you think he’d still want to be around the sport even if he couldn’t play? Maybe coaching or communications? There are a million support roles, and the Jays would love to have him as part of the organization,” I rush out.
Royce turns to me. “That’s basically what I was about to suggest. I think Tollide here would do well being surrounded by familiar faces as he goes through his rehab.
We’ve got a full team of doctors too that can help him.
Just because he doesn’t play on the field doesn’t mean he’s not part of it all. ”
North slumps into the chair beside the bed. His eyes water as he nods. “I think he’d like that. He’s going to be a bit lost. There’s only so much I can do for him. I don’t even live here. I came out because I’m his emergency contact.”
“No other family?” Royce asks softly.
I know the answer before North replies.
“None. Our parents died a few years back. Younger sister in a car crash before that. It’s just us two.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to have to move back here. He’ll need me, won’t he?”
“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I do think it would be ideal. If not forever, than at least until he gets back on his feet. Is your job able to let you move? If not, there can be a spot for you with the team.”
Royce chuckles. “You’ve really got to stop reading my mind. What do you do for a living, North?”
“Data entry. I’m a computer guy. So really, I could work anywhere even if my job doesn’t allow the remote option.”
I pull a business card from my wallet. “Here’s my information. Call me as soon as you know anything. It may not be the data entry you’re used to, but as soon as you want a spot, it’s yours. The Jays take care of their people.”
North wipes his tears away, then pockets the card. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to us.”
We leave after that, neither of us all that eager to wait in the room after the offer. North needs time to think. And if Tollide wakes up to us there, he might panic more thinking we were trying to cut him from the team. No need to stress out the already broken man.
Royce stays quiet the entire way back. When we reach the office, they go back to watching me work. It’s unnerving after the morning we had. Too bad for me, there’s nothing I can do or say to make this less awkward.
If only “Hey, I’d really love to get to know you on a more intimate level and hopefully you’ll forgive me for being an ass in the past” could work as a seduction technique. Yeah, right!
Before
“What the hell is Baby Bellport wearing today?” Clark grumbles from beside me.
We're supposed to be stretching to prepare for today’s practice. Since we’re both going to be starting on the varsity lineup—which never happened for sophomores—we have to bring our A-game.
I scoff. “It can’t be any different than any other day. You’d think you’d be used…”
My voice trails off when I finally look up and over to where Royce is standing. It takes everything in me to keep steady. I can’t give any type of outward reaction that might alert Clark to what I’m really thinking.
According to my teammate and occasional friend (when he’s not being a jerk to me), Royce Bellport is below us. Never mind their family has more money than the rest of the school combined or that girls flock to be around them all the time.
No, Clark doesn’t care about any of that. In his opinion, Royce doesn’t “fit” into what he expects.
Ever since they announced their change of pronouns to the class, Clark’s become even more of an asshole towards them. I usually ignore it because it’s not my place to interfere. But even I can tell his reactions are ridiculous.
Why does it matter what someone wants to be called or what they wear?
Ok, well for the clothing bit it matters a little more today. Because the outfit Royce is wearing is fucking with my head. They’ve paired an old band tee with a short plaid skirt and a pair of Chucks. It shouldn’t work, yet somehow it does.
“Yeah, I know, right?” Clark’s snotty voice interrupts my assessment of the person across the field from us.
Shaking my head, I lean forward again. “It doesn’t matter. They’re here to take pictures. Didn’t you spot the camera? Let’s not make a big deal or you won’t end up with a feature in the paper.”
While Clark and I went after our dreams of becoming MLB superstars, Royce has pursued journalism as their passion. All three of us have advanced to the highest levels we can go for now, which is why I think the guy beside me should really let this grudge go.
Shouldn’t we be respecting Royce for gaining a coveted editor position for the school paper just like we’ve nabbed our varsity playing spots? Are these not similar enough things?
I guess not since Clark does not let it go. Instead, he grumbles through warmups and most of practice. I’m glad we play far enough apart I don’t hear his bitching every second. Still, the times he does manage to sneak up beside me to complain are far too many.
As we near the end, I find Royce kneeling beside me on the ground. I startle at their sudden appearance.
“Shit. I didn’t see you.”
They laugh. “That’s the whole point of being quiet. Now go back to focusing on the game. I’ve got a great angle with the sun right now, and I need this shot. You’re going to be front cover material.”
I shiver at their words. It’s involuntary, and I pray to all there is they don’t mention it. How am I supposed to explain the mixed-up emotions that come when they’re around? I can’t even figure them out myself, despite spending hours analyzing them when I’m alone.
“Got it,” they whisper a few seconds later.
There’s a stillness that comes after they speak. I turn away from watching the team to see what they’re doing. It’s then I find Royce watching me with a look so full of… something.
Before I can ask, the moment is interrupted by a bucket of water pouring over Royce’s head. I jump back as a reflex, not wanting to get soaked as well.
Clark’s laughter, along with some of the others on the team, rings out around us. “Whoops,” he says, voice completely void of anything resembling an authentic apology. “I figured you would need to cool down after spending all of practice with us.”
Royce slowly climbs to their feet. I watch with trepidation, not sure how this will go. Will they finally confront Clark for being an ass? Or will this play out like every other time—with them leaving as others laugh at their expense?
“Thanks for thinking of me so much. I’ll be sure to explain to Ms. Wu that the camera was damaged because you were trying to be a kind spirit. She’ll reach out to your parents, no doubt, to get the cost of repairs covered.”
My jaw drops at their sassy rebound. It’s the first time I’ve heard them talk back so boldly.
Unfortunately, I think their words only anger Clark further. Not because his family can’t pay for the damages. More like his parents will probably make him work off the expenses, which will surely cut into his obsessive baseball training schedule.
Sucks to be him.
It’s a fight not to reach out to Royce. I’m not sure what I’d say or do if I got any closer. I can’t very well walk them back to the school and offer to help them clean up. It’s too creepy. Besides, leaving with them would only add fuel to the fire that is Clark Greer’s asshole-ery.
Royce looks back at me one last time before turning away.
I watch them trudge across the field with regret.
What I wouldn’t give to not be this version of Kenneth Meyer.
Maybe in another life I’ll get the chance to talk to Royce without all the expectations from those around us.
Maybe then I could tell them how much I think of them and how I wish I could take them out on a date.
It’s a silly dream. One I shouldn’t entertain.
As Coach calls for us to hit the showers, I allow myself one more second to envision this make-believe world. If I ever get the chance for a do-over, then I’m going to give it my all. Royce deserves to be worshipped. I think I’d be damn good at it.