Chapter 39 #2
I finally glance over at the table of my teammates again.
In our world—in professional sports—it’s really hard to survive if you can’t hide.
If players come out at all, it’s usually after they’ve retired.
Things are barely changing for the better, but there are a few minor league players who have come out publicly—no major leaguers. Yet.
Shane throws back what looks like a fresh pint of beer. He’s laughing with Thompson and O’Neil. The tension dissolves from my shoulders. Thank God. Maybe tonight will help him.
The tray of shots appears, and Olander snatches it up. “Let’s go!”
“I feel like this is a horrible idea,” I mutter.
“We don’t have a game tomorrow,” Olander sings.
“I’m pretty sure I’m too old for this,” Paulie says. “Is that bad? I’m twenty-five, and I think I’m too old to do shots.”
Olander places the shots on the table, and our teammates don’t hesitate to grab them.
“Clearly, you’re not cool,” Frankie says to his brother. He reaches forward and snatches one straight from Olander, who blinks slowly up at Frankie. He throws it back. “Ohhhh,” he says with a shiver and a grimace. “Terrible. You ball fondlers have no taste.”
Shane stiffens and throws back a shot.
“Ball players,” Paulie says in exasperation.
“Oh, puh-leaze. I’ve seen how pitchers massage their balls. And didn’t you tell me the team literally has someone who massages all new balls to get them ready for use? You are professional ball fondlers. I won’t believe otherwise.”
That’s…actually true. Fresh out the box, they’re too slick, can mess with a pitcher’s control. You need to rub the balls up real good before use. Okay, I hear it. Frankie’s right.
Glass clinking snags my attention just in time to see Olander and Shane down a shot. Shane reaches for another one.
Woof.
“Looks like we’re playing clean-up crew,” Maddox says, settling in a chair. “It’s about to get messy. Time to just sit back and watch the shit-show.”
“Now, that’s something I can drink to.” I tip my beer with his and take the seat next to him. And if Shane throwing back three shots in a row is any indication, clean-up will be needed. I’ll be ready.
Or I won’t be. At least not me, personally.
The pretty brunette with the large doe-eyes looks like she’s vying for the job.
We’ve been here going on three hours now, and Shane has gotten progressively more and more plastered.
I didn’t realize there were levels of plastered until tonight, but each time I thought he’d reached the top, he found a new level of drunkenness.
Shane’s leaning against the wall—a wall I’m positive is keeping him standing upright—whispering with the woman who barnacled herself to him as soon as he stumbled away from our table with Olander.
They’ve slowly meandered closer and closer to the hall that leads to the bathrooms and the back exit of the bar. She lifts on tiptoe and says something in Shane’s ear. I fist my glass of water. He shoots her a dopey smile.
“Down, boy,” Maddox mutters for my ears only.
We’re hanging back at the table, just the two of us.
The rest of the team has dispersed—chatting up fans, trying their chance at picking up, a couple have settled at the bar.
East and Paulie are playing darts, and Frankie…
I have no idea where Frankie went. Probably managed to find a straight guy who isn’t so straight and snuck him down the hall.
He has this uncanny knack for finding closeted guys, I swear.
I blow out a sigh and take a break from torturing myself. I turn to Maddox. “This fucking sucks.”
He sends me a commiserating look. Fuck. He does get it, too.
He had to watch Easton with Shelby for nearly a year.
How the hell did he do that without completely falling apart?
Though considering I heard he pretty much ghosted Easton, I suppose he did fall apart. There’s nothing that hurts like love.
“So are you two officially done then?”
My shoulders sink. “We haven’t discussed it. But, I mean, what would you call this?”
Maddox tosses his head from side to side. “I’d call this a Ross and Rachel on a break fiasco in the making.”
I snort. “Fiasco in the making? We are already deep in the eye of the fiasco, Madz.”
“You going to be okay if he hooks up tonight?” Maddox asks quietly.
No. I shrug because my throat’s not cooperating right now.
“I know he’s struggling right now. Honestly, he’s had me really nervous. And I get what he’s doing flirting with that woman. But it’ll still be real fucking shitty if he does that when you two haven’t talked.”
“Everything about this is real fucking shitty,” I mutter. “We haven’t spoken in days except when necessary on the field. He can’t even look at me. What am I supposed to think other than we’re done? I suppose if that happened, it’d just be confirmation.” My gaze slides back over to Shane.
Except he’s not there.
And neither is the pretty brunette.
My heart bottoms.
I barely notice my surroundings, the blur of bodies.
Voices and laughter blend into a haze as I stare numbly at the shadowed hallway.
I faintly register Dev’s broad form disappearing down it.
The hallway Shane took that woman down. My throat tightens, and I rub it, but there’s no removing the garrote wrapped around it. I guess that’s that.
“Maybe he’s just going to the bathroom?” Maddox’s tone shows just how much he believes that.
“Yes, and I’m sure he asked her to go with him to hold his dick.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, man.”
I shake my head—
A belligerent outburst echoes from down the hall, quickly followed by a shout.
I’m out of my chair immediately, weaving through patrons toward the hall, Maddox right behind me. Paulie’s already disappeared down it, East hot on his heels. More yelling and cursing drift back to us. I run down the hall toward the voices, slide around the corner, and stumble to a stop.
“Calm the fuck down, Dev. Stop.” Olander’s out of breath, straining to hold Devereux back.
Easton’s got a hand on Dev’s chest, teeth bared. And behind him…behind him, Paulie’s hovering over Frankie’s still form. Too still.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask.
“Devereux assaulted Frankie,” Easton spits out.
“Because he assaulted Olander,” Dev shouts. “That sick bastard is always perving on all of us. And the first chance he gets, he takes advantage of your intoxicated teammates.”
“Let’s just go, Dev. Before you get yourself into more trouble.” Olander finally manages to pull Dev away, with East following them until they’ve left down the hall.
Maddox is kneeling with Paulie now. “Is he out cold?”
“Shit, shit, shit.” Paulie’s voice shakes, his hands hovering over his brother.
A deep groan comes from Frankie, and he shifts.
“No, don’t get up, Chessie,” Paulie says hoarsely. “Stay still for me.”
“Chessie?”
“It’s what he used to call Frankie when he was little,” East murmurs. “Couldn’t say Francesco.”
“We need to get this checked out,” Maddox says. “It’s already swelling. Visually, it looks okay, but Devereux could have easily fractured the cheekbone.”
I step forward, already pulling my keys from my pocket. “Take my car, Pauls. And Easton, too, to help. Maddox and I will stay back…”
For Shane.
I catch Maddox’s eye in the shadows, and he nods. “We’ll make sure the rest of the crew gets home. You guys take Frankie to the hospital.”
“Um. Excuse me?” A small voice sounds from behind us.
I turn and come face to face with the pretty brunette.
Her gaze falls on Frankie, and her eyes go wide. “S-sorry to interrupt. But your teammate is in a bad way.”
I step forward. “What’s wrong?”
“He said he was feeling sick and abruptly left. He was having trouble walking, so I helped him out the back entrance. He’s just stopped throwing up. I was afraid to leave him in case he’d choke.”
“Shit. Thank you.” I hurry past her toward the back exit. “We’ve got him from here,” I call over my shoulder.
I push through the door, look left and—Sunshine. My body hollows out. He’s in the fetal position on the disgusting back-alley ground, trembling violently. A second later, Maddox is at my side. He curses.
I drop to a knee in front of Shane, avoiding the mess of his sick.
I push back a sweaty lock of hair. “Shane. Can you hear me?” His eyes are squeezed shut tight, mirroring how tightly his arms clench around his tucked-up knees.
He nods, barely, but he does. “Do you think you’re going to be sick again? ”
“Don’t know,” he says weakly.
“Do you think he needs the hospital too?” Maddox asks.
That’s a great question. I dust my knuckles over his cheek, and his eyes flutter open. His hazy gaze finds mine. “Do you know who I am? Can you tell me my name?”
“JJ,” he rasps.
It’s barely even audible, but it slices through me. Because I heard the plea in it. Save me.
Not from right now. From the spiral he’s fallen into.
I carefully gather him in my arms, doing my best not to jostle him.
He groans and buries his head in my chest, his body going taut.
His stomach heaves against me, and there’s a very good chance I’m going to end up covered in vomit.
But I don’t even care. I just want to get him home. Get him into bed. Get him past this.
He lets out a breath and relaxes, his fingers curling weakly into my shirt. There’s one crisis averted.
“I’ve got you, Sunshine,” I whisper.
I carry him over to Maddox. “I think he’s all right. He’s responsive, breathing fine, and knows who I am. He’s just drunk out of his mind. With fluids, eventually some plain food, and sleep, he’ll be okay. But he’s going to hate himself tomorrow.”
“All right. Let’s go. We’ll have Paulie and East drop us off at the townhouse before they take Frankie to the hospital. Frankie’s sitting up now, lucid. Just in a fuck ton of pain.”
“Frank?” Shane slurs. “Hops-sti-cal?”
“Don’t worry about it, Sunshine. I’ll fill you in later. He’s okay.”
Right now, my first priority is getting the man in my arms home and cared for.
We get dropped off at their place, and Maddox helps me get Shane cleaned up, changed, and in bed.
I’ve got a waste bin by his bedside, two bottles of Gatorade, a bag of oyster crackers, and ibuprofen if I can get enough food in his system.
So far, I’ve only managed a handful of crackers.
I’ve pulled a kitchen chair in here and am sitting by his bed, ready if he needs me.
He’s only thrown up once more since I got him home.
“JJ?” His sleepy slur is faint. His hand searches around the mattress. “JJ?”
I drop to kneel by his bedside, grabbing his hand between mine. “Yeah, I’m here. What do you need?”
His eyes crack open, and shattered blue glass stares back at me. “I’m—I’m—” he rasps.
My heart clenches. His voice sounds like sandpaper scraping over his throat.
I quickly grab the Gatorade I had already opened and popped a straw in. “Take a small sip of this.” Once he takes a couple pulls, I take it away. “Not too much at once. Let’s see how your stomach does with that, ‘kay?”
He nods while he watches me through bleary eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He turns his hand over, palm up, his fingers open in invitation.
I lace mine with his. I’m not sure if he’s apologizing for getting incredibly drunk, for tonight and flirting with that woman, or for the past few days. But none of that needs to be discussed right now. I just want him feeling better, both body and mind.
“That’s a conversation for another time.”
His lids droop, and his blinks slow. “I’m really struggling.” His words are threadbare, broken, like the man they drifted from.
My throat tightens. “I know. But you’ll get through this. We’re all here for whatever you need.” I’m here. Please know I’m here.
“Stay with me, Storm Cloud,” he slurs faintly. His eyes flutter shut, and his breaths even out, slow and steady.
The organ in my chest trips over itself.
I brush back a golden wave. “Like I have a choice, Sunshine.” I’m yours.
I don’t know what to do to help him.
His phone lights up. A text notification from My Favorite Momma glowing on the screen.
Something that drives you.
My momma. Everything I do, I do for her.
Maybe I can’t help him. But there might be someone who can. I snatch up the phone and slip into the kitchen.
I tap call. It rings once. “Shane Andrew Michaels. You are in so much trouble. Ignoring my calls and text messages! I raised you better than that, baby.”
I clear my throat awkwardly. “Ah, Ms. Michaels?”
There’s a pause.
“Who’s this?”
“Jed Stone Junior, ma’am.”
“Ah. The man who stole shortstop from my baby.”
I choke. Great. His mother already hates me.
“Uh. Yes, that one.”
“What’s going on, Jed? Why are you calling me from my son’s phone?”
I glance at the slightly ajar bedroom door, Shane’s soft snores drifting out to me. “I think…do you think you could make a trip up here?”
“What’s wrong?” I can practically see her sitting up straighter just by her tone of voice.
I don’t know how much to relay. Shane’s obviously been avoiding her too. God, do I know that too well. It was for different reasons, but I was in Shane’s place not so long ago. The intentional isolation. It’s instinct, the same thing wounded animals do. Withdraw to lick their wounds. Or worse.
“His father showed up.”
“What did that bastard do?”
I take a step back and hold out the phone like it’s going to bite me. Mama. Fucking. Bear.
“What did that soulless coward do to my son?” Her hiss fills the kitchen. Yikes.
I take a breath and put the phone back to my ear. “I think there are some things that are better for Shane to tell you in person, ma’am. But it wasn’t pretty, and Shane hasn’t been all right since. None of us know what to do.”
“I’ll be on the next flight out. Where is he now?”
“Bed. Sleeping off way too much alcohol.”
A sad croon filters through the phone. “My poor baby. Tell him Momma’s coming.”
“Will do.”
“And, Jed?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Thank you for letting me know.”