Chapter 11
It should be illegal to play day games. Especially in Arizona in June.
I’m sweating my ass off in the outfield, and we’re getting slaughtered.
I should probably feel more than apathy for how horribly we’ve played in the last few series, but, as Harlan would say, I can’t be arsed to care.
Maybe I’m experiencing heat stroke. Why else would I be thinking about my ex-boyfriend in the middle of the worst inning we’ve ever played?
I’ve been in touch with Penny to check on Harlan a few times in the last few weeks to make sure he’s ok.
I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t stop hearing his voice on a relentless loop, sounding so brokenhearted.
Apparently, he’s been running every day and is finally putting in effort at work.
He stopped drinking and started seeing a therapist. These are all great things; the things I wanted him to do all along.
It doesn’t alleviate the sting of loss and longing I have carried with me since I hung up with him, but at least he’s finally starting to heal.
I’ve been considering reaching out to him to check in, but that feels selfish.
If he’s doing well without me, I don’t want to jeopardize that.
I also don’t know how Jasper would feel about it, and I really don’t want to hurt him.
Even though the conversation with Harlan has fucked with my head, I’ve been trying hard to focus on my own relationship.
Jas has been staying with me more frequently, and we’ve developed a comfortable routine.
“Molina, what the fuck?” Sam, our left fielder, is jogging toward me, and it dawns on me that the inning is over.
It’s about fucking time. Sweat is pouring down my back, as in, I can feel the steady trickle slide along my spine.
Black jerseys are fun until they aren’t.
I’m desperate for a cold shower and a dark room. I cannot wait for this game to be over.
“Sorry, bro,” I mutter as I jog with him toward the dugout. “I’m good.” I’m not actually sure that I am good, but at least it’s almost over.
“You’d be good if you were paying attention, asshole. Can you keep your head in the game long enough to bat?” I roll my eyes, and the sting of sweat frustrates me even more.
“I’m fucking fine.” I toss my glove on the bench and uncap my water, chugging some before pouring the freezing liquid over my head.
I reach for my batting gloves and helmet, ready to get this game over with.
I’m not hopeful we’re going to pull out a win in the top of the ninth, especially when we’re down by three runs, but stranger things have happened.
Taking a few practice swings before approaching the batter’s box, I inhale deeply, getting focused.
I get into position, watching the pitcher closely, blocking out the oppressive heat.
As the first ball sails over the plate, the umpire calls strike one.
Fucking fastballs. That’s fine, I’m ready for the second one.
Before I realize what’s happening, I feel white-hot pain as the bat falls out of my hands.
My ears are ringing, and suddenly I’m on the ground, staring up at the sky.
Chaos ensues as the umpire hovers over me, and a few coaches and trainers pour out of our dugout.
Words like ‘hit by the pitch’ and ‘ninety-eight miles per hour’ float around me, but I can’t fully focus.
The pain radiating from my right hand is unbearable.
I can’t bend my fingers, and I attempt to tell the trainer this, but he’s speaking.
“Darío, can you sit up for me?” With assistance, I sit up near the plate and meet Coach’s concerned gaze.
A flurry of activity around me has me standing and being led off the field to the locker room, where Doc will, no doubt, be waiting for me.
After getting assessed by the team doctor, I’m transported by ambulance to the nearest hospital for X-rays.
The pain in my hand is excruciating, radiating from the tips of my fingers all the way to my shoulder, though the injury is to my hand specifically.
Emmett, one of the trainers, is riding with me, and he asks if I want him to call anyone.
I almost ask him to call Harlan before I catch myself.
I should probably be checked for a concussion at this point.
I know I didn’t hit my head, but it’s the only reasonable explanation for almost asking for my ex.
“No need to call anyone,” I settle on. I need to get my shit together.
I close my eyes for the remainder of the ride and try to ignore the pain.
At the hospital, I’m diagnosed with a metacarpal fracture, putting me on the Injured List until the end of the summer, if not longer.
I wish I could say that I cared more, but right now the pain is too much, and my head is muddled with the effects of the pain pills they started me on.
I trust that Emmett is paying attention to the doctor’s instructions as I stare at a spot on the ceiling.
The ER’s fluorescent lighting bathes everything in a putrid shade of yellow.
The antiseptic smell is the same as every other hospital I’ve ever stepped foot in.
By the time we get back to the hotel, I’m dead on my feet.
Emmett helps me to my room and promises to check in with Coach so I can get some sleep.
As ready as I am to sleep, I need to shower the combined stench of the game and the hospital off me.
Stripping one-handed isn’t easy, but I’m nothing if not determined.
The lights in the bathroom are too bright, causing me to squint, so I flip the ceiling lights off, leaving only the softer lights over the vanity.
I let the soothing heat of the water work to loosen my muscles as I lean my forehead against the cool shower tiles.
The cover on my casted hand is inconvenient, but at least it’s allowing me to shower.
I briefly consider staying under the spray for the rest of the night, but that’s probably a bad idea.
I make quick—as quickly as one can without two hands—work of scrubbing the misery of the day away.
Exhaustion is hitting me hard, and before I’m even out of the shower, I’ve decided I’m not going to bother dressing before I get in bed.
When I’m finished brushing my teeth, I take the pain pills that Emmett instructed me to take.
I belatedly remember my phone when I’m about to fall face-first into the plush mattress; the pillows look like heaven.
Deciding it’s best to have it within reach, I make the mile-long journey to the dresser where I dropped it when I got back to the room.
The movement of picking it up wakes my screen, and I’m met with a picture of Jasper and me smiling at the camera.
Guilt hits me as I realize that it hadn’t even crossed my mind to have Emmett call him when I was in the ambulance.
I have six unread texts—three of them from Jasper—along with two missed calls from him. “You suck, Darío,” I chastise myself.
I dial Jasper without reading his messages. If I allowed myself time to think about it, I’m afraid I would have found a reason not to call. He picks up on the third ring. “Hey, Darío.” His tone is clipped. “How was the game?” It’s clear he already knows how the game went.
“Jas, I’m sorry,” I start, but he doesn’t give me a chance to explain.
“Oh, in case you didn’t know, since you were at the fucking hospital, your team lost. But I’m sure you checked in about that. You know what’s awesome? Finding out your boyfriend broke his fucking hand from your parents,” he seethes. Ouch.
I take a deep breath, giving myself a beat before I respond.
“I’m sorry, babe. The heat was fucking with my head today, and I was out of it in the ambulance.
” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I may have been out of it, but it was Harlan who came to mind, and that makes me a huge piece of shit.
“I just got back to the hotel a few minutes ago.”
“It would have been nice to hear from you. Instead, I had to explain to my mother that I had no idea what was happening. I don’t want to fight with you, but it just feels like something I should have heard from you.
” His voice is softer now. It feels like I’m forever disappointing him.
Of course he should have heard it from me. I’m his fucking boyfriend.
“Har—Jasper…” I realize what I’ve just said, but it’s too late. The pain meds are kicking in, and I’m starting to feel loopy. Fucking Harlan needs to get out of my head.
He barks out a humorless laugh. “Harlan, huh? I guess that explains why you didn’t call me. If you remember, you can call me when you get home. Good night, Dare.” With that, the line goes dead.
I fall asleep quickly after that, still holding my phone, and my dreams are a convoluted mess of Harlan and Jasper.
Nothing makes sense as one dream fades into another.
When I wake, I decide that I can’t take those pain pills before bed.
It takes several minutes for the effects of the dreams to fade.
I check my phone for messages from Jasper, but while I have texts from a bunch of the guys and my sister, there’s nothing from him.
I send him a text apologizing, but by the time we’re on the bus heading to the airport, I haven’t heard anything.
I’ve been home for more than a week, and Jasper has ignored every message and my incessant calls. I even showed up at his apartment, but he wasn’t home. I had flowers sent to his office, and he still ignored me. With little hope that it will make a difference, I decide to send another text.
Me
I know you’re mad and I get it. I’m really sorry, baby. I just wish you’d talk to me.
Jasper
I’m not sure what you want me to say, Darío. Between Harlan’s phone call and then you calling me his name, it feels like you’re still not over him. I can’t compete with that.
Me
It’s not a competition, Jas. YOU are my boyfriend, not Harlan. I was high on pain pills. Can we please talk? Come over tonight?
Jasper
Fine. I’ll be there at 7.
Me
I’ll make dinner.
I did not make dinner. It turns out that cooking with one hand is not easy.
After almost burning my hand on the stove making rice, I decide to order takeout from Jasper’s favorite Chinese restaurant.
I guess delivery is going to be a lot more common while I’m healing.
At least the pain is manageable now, but I’m already dying to get the cast off.
At just after seven, Jasper walks through the door.
I’m on my feet the moment I hear the handle, rushing to meet him in the foyer.
His hazel eyes are guarded as he takes me in.
As much as I want to pull him into my arms, I need to respect whatever boundaries he has in place, so I pause a few paces from him. “Hey, Jas,” I greet him, contrite.
He closes the space between us, wrapping his arms around my waist. I exhale with relief at the contact.
“Hey,” he mumbles into my chest. We stand there for several long moments before he finally pulls back and looks at me.
“I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you. I’ve just been trying to figure some things out, and I think we both needed the space.
” He runs his hands through his hair nervously.
“Please don’t apologize. Listen, I tried to cook dinner, but the cast makes everything difficult, so I hope you’re in the mood for Chinese,” I say sheepishly. His eyes light up just like I’d hoped they would. “Come, let’s eat. We can talk over dinner.”
He laces his fingers with mine, leading us to the dining room where the food sits. “You ordered so much,” he observes as he takes in the excessive number of containers spread out on the table. He’s not wrong. I definitely went a bit overboard with my choices.
“Yes, well, I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for.
Plus, leftovers will be helpful since I apparently can’t cook for the foreseeable future,” I joke.
He treats me to a small smile, which feels like a big win after almost a week of ignoring me.
I grab the plates I set out, and we fill them with a variety of the options laid out for us.
I’m beginning to realize that this is probably too much, even with a plan to eat leftovers.
We eat in silence for a bit before he speaks. “Darío, I want so much for this to work. I know we talked about your history with Harlan, and I’m doing my best to respect that. I just need you to be honest with me about where we stand.”
“I’m here with you, Jas. I really was fucked up with the pain pills.
” When he starts to cut me off, I hold my hand up to stop him from speaking.
“Before you say anything, I know it doesn’t change the impact that it had on you.
You have every right to be upset by that.
I would be, too.” I need him to understand that I get it.
“I’m not sure what else I can say,” I tell him quietly.
He considers me for a while as we continue to eat. After taking a slow sip of water, he reaches for my hand across the table. “I believe you; I’m just scared I’m going to end up hurt when you finally untangle your feelings about the breakup.” He runs his fingers gently over mine on my casted hand.
I’m not sure I’ll ever untangle my feelings about what happened.
Jasper doesn’t need to know that, though.
It’s not his burden to carry, and I don’t want that hanging over his head while we work through this.
“There’s always a risk for someone getting hurt, Jasper.
I know we’re going at my pace here, but I’m focused on us.
I wish I could tell you that what happened with Harlan didn’t fuck me up. ”
He nods, understanding shining in his eyes. “I get it. I think maybe we need to slow down a bit more. I’d still like to see you, but I don’t think you’re ready for an actual relationship right now, and that’s ok. Maybe we need something a bit more casual while you deal with your feelings.”
After we eat, he thanks me for dinner before telling me he’s going to go home.
I can sense the disappointment and hurt radiating from him as I walk him to the door.
He promises that I’ll see him again before he kisses my cheek and steps outside.
His decision stings, but he’s not wrong.
He needs to protect his heart. I wish I could protect my own.