Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
HAVEN
I stand in my ready position at shortstop, and a shiver runs down my spine as Coach hits me a hard grounder.
Despite feeling like crap, I track the ball and field it, firing it to first base before I cough a few times.
This quickly turns into me having an entire coughing spell—and I remember I just ate my last cough drop.
When I woke up this morning, I felt like absolute trash.
But I had a huge assignment due in one class and a test in another, so I couldn’t miss it.
Practice was supposed to be this morning, but Coach wanted to keep it outside and it was raining, so she moved it to this afternoon.
I knew it would suck. It’s nearing the end of September and it’s cold today, but Coach is determined for us to play outside as long as possible before we move to the indoor facility for the winter.
Normally, I’d prefer being outside. But today, I’m so cold that I’d take anything over this.
Coach continues to stare at me, and even though she’s wearing sunglasses, I’d bet money her eyes are narrowed.
“King,” she finally yells, her voice clearly unimpressed. “Tell me you aren’t sick, coughing and shit all over your hand and then throwing the ball with said hand.”
I bite my lip, cringing. “Um … well.” I pause. “I could use my other hand but … it’s got a glove on it.”
My voice is raspy now, and my throat feels raw.
I don’t want to get my teammates sick, but Coach doesn’t like it when her players miss practice—at all.
So I assumed my best bet was to stuff my pocket full of cough drops, and I found one last bottle of DayQuil at The Nest from when Isla was sick a few weeks ago, though I feel like that’s wearing off with every waking second.
She sighs, looking down at the dirt and shaking her head.
“Go home, King,” she finally grumbles. “It’s the off season, and we don’t have another scrimmage for weeks. Just … get out of here and stop spreading your nasty germs.”
“Are you—”
“Go!” She cuts me off, waving her hand toward the dugout. “What I don’t need right now is for my entire team to be sick. And with you here, being a super spreader, that’s what’s going to happen.”
I’m bummed. I never miss practice, and even when I’ve had a cold in the past, I’ve powered through and never even let on that I wasn’t feeling good. But today I feel like shit.
Quickly gathering my gear, I head to my car, already eager to be climbing into my bed.
I park in the driveway, and for a few minutes, I just sit here with my eyes shut. My head is beginning to ache, and my body hurts too. A bath sounds nice, but I don’t think I have the energy right now for all that.
Resting my head on the window, I rub my temples. “Good God,” I utter to my empty car. “It’s been a while since I’ve felt this shitty.”
After sitting here for another few minutes, I finally decide it’s time to get my ass out of the car and go inside.
But it takes every ounce of strength for me to push open my car door and actually get out, and once I do, I use my ass to shut the door as I break into another coughing spell—which then triggers a bunch of sneezes, sucking every bit of life out of me.
And all I can do is just lean against my Jeep, waiting for enough energy to hit for me to make my way inside.
Gathering myself up, I head toward the steps.
I move pathetically slow for someone who usually tries to do things lightning fast, but right now, it’s all I’ve got.
I know it’s a good thing Coach cut me from practice early because there’s no way in hell I could have hit the ball today to save my life.
I would have no doubt embarrassed myself, and I’d prefer not to do that.
When I’m almost to the porch steps, I hear something behind me, but before I can even turn and look, Dallas is standing by my side.
“I’m a few minutes early,” he says in his typical, slightly monotoned voice. “I thought you had morning practice.”
Instantly, it hits me that I’m supposed to be tutoring him.
I had scheduled us to work together this afternoon, thinking I had morning practice.
And when it got changed, I forgot to tell him.
Now, he’s here, ready to work. But even though we’re both here and I want to help him, I know there’s no way I can do it feeling the way I do.
Stopping with one foot on the bottom step, I look at him and sigh.
“I’m so sorry, D. Practice got moved to this afternoon, but then Coach sent me home because I’m sick.” I shiver, my teeth chattering. “Raincheck for tomorrow? I’m sure once I sleep it off, I’ll be fine.”
He looks me over, silently examining me before he frowns. Quickly, he lifts a hand and puts it to my forehead. The movement—like him with my stupid eyelash—catches me off guard. But fatigue keeps my body from reacting or embarrassing myself by sucking in a breath or something crazy.
He keeps his palm to my head for a moment. It feels cool against my flesh, and I wonder if I have a fever coming on.
“Fuck, you’re on fire, Short,” he utters, answering my own question before he walks up the stairs in front of me. “Come on, let’s get you settled in. You need to take some medicine.”
“I did take some,” I say with my now chain-smoker voice.
He pushes the door open, holding it for me to walk inside.
“When?” he asks, cocking his head to the side suspiciously.
“Like … seven o’clock?” I say, unsure before I remember that I took it just prior to getting in my car. “Yeah. Seven.”
He closes the door behind us. “Well, it’s after four now, genius. Time to take it again.” He heads toward the kitchen, but I just stand here, stuck like my socks are cemented to the floor.
“We don’t have any more,” I admit. “I took the last dose.”
Not believing me, he heads into the kitchen and starts rifling through the cupboards to check for himself.
I’m so tired yet so cold that I can’t imagine sleeping. I slowly shuffle over to the couch and flop down. A tickle in my throat sends me into a coughing spell, and I cringe as my abdomen screams at me. I guess I’ll at the very least get a core workout in today …
I close my eyes once my coughing has subsided, and suddenly, Dallas is at my side.
“Let’s get you into bed,” he soothes, sliding his hands underneath me. When my eyes fly open and I look at him, surprised that he even cares, he scoffs like he hears my thoughts. “You know, so your germs aren’t getting the entire house sick. Keep it in your room, would you?”
We’ve never had the ability to just be nice to each other. If we’re nice, we follow it up with a jab. That’s just how we operate, and it works for us.
Before he can lift me up, I pull away from him.
“I can walk myself,” I grumble before I sneeze. “Wouldn’t want to spread my germs, asshole.”
I practically roll myself off the couch. It’s pathetic and probably comical, but I get it done. When I stand up, I feel dizzy, but I do my best to walk toward the hallway—not wanting to lead on that walking is actually a challenge right now. Especially since he’s right on my ass.
When I pass through my door, walking inside, he rushes around me, pulling my comforter down.
“You know, one thing I’ve never understood about you is that, even when your room isn’t exactly neat, you always make your bed …” he says, fluffing my freaking pillow.
“Yeah … and?” I sniffle, climbing into bed.
“I mean, why bother with making your bed if your room is messy?” He shrugs, pulling the comforter over me. “It’s weird.”
I curl onto my side, coughing into my covers like a disgusting animal.
“If you must know, my mom always says that if you make your bed in the morning, it’ll be ready for you when you hit the pillow after a long day. And she’s right.” I rub my eyes. “And my room isn’t even messy right now.”
“It’s not neat and tidy either, Short.” He chuckles.
“That’s because you’re comparing your standards to mine, QB,” I toss back slowly, using all my energy to defend myself.
“It’s unfair to compare our rooms because you are manic when it comes to keeping things perfect.
I’m not. I don’t give a fuck where stuff is as long as I have a clean pair of panties and my softball uniform is ready to rock. ”
“Guess you have a point there,” he mutters before walking over to the window, pulling the curtains shut.
I shouldn’t have said anything back, but I was only teasing him.
Ever since he moved in with Lane and Memphis, he’s been particular.
Always keeping things exactly how they came and needing things a certain way.
My guess is it’s about control. Though I don’t know much, I do know that in the past, he had control over nothing.
And now that he does, I’m sure he wants to keep it that way.
I’m the most type A-type B person anyone will ever meet. I’m a mess, but I thrive in it. And I’m always on time, if not early. My car might look like a disaster, but I know where everything is.
Like I said … I thrive in the chaos.
When he comes beside the bed, he crouches down. My head aches, and it only seems to be getting worse with each passing second, making me rub my forehead.
“Headache?” he asks, and faintly, I nod.
When I close my eyes, hoping it’ll dull the pain, the sensation of his hand touching my ponytail alerts me, and even though I’m too tired to react like I usually would, my heart beats faster.
It’s hard, but I keep my eyes closed as he gently peels the elastic from my hair.
My head still throbs, but relief from not having it pulled tightly back washes over me.
“Thank you,” I murmur, coughing into the pillow.
He doesn’t respond, and when my eyes crack open, he’s pushing himself to stand. Dallas walks toward the door, and I expect him to say something about our next tutoring session before he leaves. Instead, he keeps his back to me, with his head slightly turned to the side.
“I’m going to run to the store and get some medicine.” He pauses, almost unsure of himself. “Do you … need anything else?”