Chapter 7
Rhys woke with a pounding head. Again.
He should have gone to his apartment when they’d gotten back to Deltry. He knew better than to go out drinking when he felt like this. Baseball might not have let him down, but he certainly felt like he’d disappointed the sport that saved him.
Hell, he knew he’d let down his team. Even if none of them said it.
The skipper had put Rodriguez in for two of the games for a reason.
Oscar replaced Rhys for the second half of the last game of the series, leaving Rhys to ride the bench for nearly half the series.
He’d never sat out that many games, not since the time he’d taken a cleat to the helmet and gotten a concussion out of the deal.
He shouldn’t have looked at those articles. He shouldn’t have gone down the hole of reading the comments on them. Like those people knew what had actually happened in that room. Even if they talked like they did.
If he’d known… He probably still would have done it. He always made bad decisions like that.
And now Turner wanted to meet with him before practice. What else could that be about? He needed to get his shit together or he was going to lose his place on the team. He couldn’t think of anything worse. What would he be if he didn’t have baseball?
Nothing. Just like everyone always said you’d come to. You’re well on your way to proving them all right.
“Shut up.”
Rhys flipped off the bedside lamp. Then, he shoved out of his bed and staggered into the bathroom.
He wasn’t nothing. He wasn’t fucking worthless.
No matter how many people spent most of his childhood telling him that.
Just because he couldn’t sit still, could barely focus long enough to read a page.
Couldn’t hold onto two steps of instructions at a time.
None of it meant he was stupid. He’d never felt it when he had a glove on his hand.
If only baseball could last forever.
He did have it right now, so he had to stop screwing things up.
So what if Alfie didn’t really want him?
That was fine. He was allowed. Rhys could not let it get in his head and make him drop the other balls in his life.
He just needed to get his head clear. At practice today, he could show the skipper he was in the right headspace, and he’d be able to play at least most of the games during this home stand.
Then the following week… no need to get ahead of himself. Ohio would still be there.
Unfortunately.
He wasn’t falling apart just because one person didn’t want him. Hell, that was the whole damn story of his life.
He needed a damn cup of coffee, and maybe that would get his brain to stop ricocheting in five directions at once. Just one, or he might end up falling asleep as he crouched behind home plate. That certainly wouldn’t convince anyone he could do his damn job.
When he got out to the kitchen and opened the canister of coffee, only a dusting of grounds remained.
Certainly not enough to make even one cup of coffee.
Why hadn’t he gotten groceries before they’d left for Massachusetts?
He was supposedly an adult, and that was something adults did without a problem.
Why couldn’t he get his own life in order?
Fuck it.
He’d stop for some coffee on the way to the clubhouse.
There’d be a pot brewing in the lounge, but he wasn’t sure it would do any good in the time he needed it to.
He would need something to get him through that meeting.
Definitely better to drink it on the way there.
Not to mention he didn’t care for drinking it straight, and there were minimal additions for it at the clubhouse.
There was a coffee shop on the way. He usually didn’t bother stopping in there, though he had once before.
He could make coffee at home—when he remembered to restock his supply—and add whatever he wanted to it, without getting hassled by the other guys.
Even if they only meant it in fun. Or anyone in the coffee shop who thought it made him less of a man, or something.
He should be over worrying about whatever anyone else thought about him. So fuck it. He’d get whatever flavored coffee he wanted, and ignore anyone else’s opinion.
What was one more person who already formed an opinion about him? He slipped on his sneakers and left the apartment before that voice in his head got him more worked up.
Rhys pulled into the parking lot behind the coffee shop and sat there for a moment. His head still pounded, and the sunlight certainly wasn’t helping. Even with his sunglasses on, it sliced right into his eyeballs.
He pressed his thumbs into his temples, trying to rub some of the ache away. His head only throbbed more.
“Coffee.” Surely coffee would be the cure to what ailed him.
He snorted at that thought. He doubted anything could manage that. Coffee would at least help.
Which he wasn’t going to get sitting here. The longer he put off going in there, the more likely it was he’d be late for his meeting with Turner. If that happened, he’d be benched even more this week.
So, why couldn’t he make himself just get out of the car?
He shook that off and opened the door. Heat blasted at him, which made him want to close the door and turn the AC back on. Instead he stepped out into it.
It’s not like he wasn’t used to this weather. He often had the sun beating down on him while wearing his catcher’s gear. This should be nothing compared to that.
As soon as he stepped into the coffee shop and felt the delicious cold air, he let out a breath.
He didn’t remove his sunglasses. The lights inside were a little friendlier than the sun had been, but he wasn’t ready to subject his eyes to their brightness.
He cataloged the tables off to the side, most of them filled with patrons, a display case next to the counter, a few empty spaces in it already. Only one barista behind the counter.
He could still read the menu, even if he had to squint to bring it into focus. This headache definitely needed to go if it was messing with his vision as well.
Colombian coffee. Arabica blend. Venezuelan coffee.
He paused at that one. Had that been on the board the last time he’d been in here?
He couldn’t remember. That had been back in May, and then there’d been that whole mess around Mother’s Day.
Even if no one else seemed to think it had been a big deal.
He’d rather forget all about that, in fact.
He glanced down to the barista, who seemed to be studying him. He wasn’t sure he’d seen them in here before, though that wouldn’t have been difficult, since he’d only been in here a couple times.
“You all right, Mel?” the customer in front of him asked.
They looked away from Rhys and smiled at the customer. Though it looked forced to him. Though for all he knew, that was how they always smiled. “Fine. A little distracted today. Might need some of that coffee myself.”
They hadn’t been looking at him. Of course not.
They were nearly as tall as him, their dark red hair, shaved on one side, the rest just brushed over their left ear with purple streaks running through it. Their light brown eyes were sharp, and their lips stretched wide into a smile.
A fire kindled in Rhys’s belly.
The customer moved toward the other end of the counter, and this time Mel’s attention did settle on him. “I don’t know you,” they said.
He arched an eyebrow at them. “Is that a prerequisite for ordering a coffee here now?” No one questioned him about his loyalty status the last time he’d been in here.
They snorted. “No, it’s not. But, I can’t just ask if you want your regular.”
Rhys pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his head.
He thought he saw surprise flit through their eyes, though he wasn’t sure why.
Did they recognize him? Unlikely. He knew the sports blogs wrote about his exploits, as they often referred to them, sometimes even more than what he did on the field.
Unless you followed those sites, he wasn’t exactly famous. Most minor leaguers weren’t.
“What do you think my regular would be?” he asked them.
Their gaze skated down his body and back up to his face. He could only wish he knew exactly what they thought about what they saw.
Or maybe not.
“Let me guess,” they said, “straight black, no sugar, touch of cream.”
“God, no,” he blurted instantly. “If I wanted that, I would have just made it myself.” If he’d actually had coffee in his apartment.
Their lips twitched, but they must have gotten them back under control. “What can I get you then?” they asked.
Rhys glanced back at the menu board. At least the words weren’t blurring together anymore. That still didn’t help him make a decision, and there were people waiting behind him.
He was going to be late for that damn meeting if he didn’t get out of here.
“Why don’t you surprise me?” He should just go to the clubhouse and grab some coffee there. He didn’t need to waste their time and his own.
“Any allergies or aversions?” they asked, as if this wasn’t a big deal.
“No.”
They looked at the board for a moment then turned to the machine behind them. Rhys caught the small smile on their face first, though. He had a feeling it spelled trouble for him. He couldn’t see quite what they were doing back there, and he shifted from foot to foot while he waited.
“What is it?” he asked when they handed a large to-go cup to him.
“Fruity Blast.” This time their lips definitely twitched.
Rhys let out a brief laugh. They were so baiting him. Let this barista think whatever they wanted. It didn’t change anything for him.
His gaze snagged on the clock hanging on the wall behind them. “Shit.” That could change things for him. “Skip’s gonna kill me if I’m late.”
He paid for the coffee then got the hell out of there. He really hoped the coffee had been worth it.