Chapter 17 Darío
The rush of cold air when I open the door to the doctor’s office is a welcome reprieve from the oppressive August heat.
With any luck, I’ll lose the cast and be able to resume light activity.
The last time I saw the doctor, I was told not to expect to hit the field any sooner than early September, but I’m less and less hopeful.
I still have a lot of pain, and while I’ve tried to downplay it, the X-ray today will tell the whole story.
It’s been a long eight weeks, but I’ve been keeping up with my cardio and spending time in the gym a few days a week, working my legs and core. None of that is going to matter if this fucking hand isn’t healing, though.
The waiting room is empty, and the only sound is the news playing on the television mounted to the wall near the reception desk.
As the news anchor drones on, I take my phone out to scroll social media.
Not for the first time, Harlan comes up as a suggested friend.
I’ve refrained from looking at his profile since I unblocked him, but curiosity wins today.
I’ve not heard from Penelope since before Harlan was in San Francisco.
The first thing I notice is his new profile picture.
It’s clearly from a professional shoot with Lust it was the goal from the moment he got the extension denial.
His most recent post, from only three days ago, is a picture of drinks lined up on a table with a caption that says: Two more weeks in this rainy city before I’m back where my heart is.
He has hundreds of comments, but I scroll through a few of them anyway.
@oliver.knight – so proud of you, sweetheart. Can’t wait to help you get settled.
@wes_knows_best – Excited to have your ass in my lap again. Bets on how long before Shawn tells us we can’t shoot together anymore? Seriously, though. Let me know when you’re back stateside. Miss your face!
@lucky_penny – @wes_knows_best I already talked to @shawn.lustnlace and you two will never work together again. Sorry, boys.
I scroll through more of his posts and smile at pictures of him and Penelope exploring London together.
Farther down, there’s a post with pictures of Harlan and the guy from San Francisco.
The caption sends pangs through my chest. “So grateful for this wonderful man. Our time together is never long enough. Thank you for visiting, babe!” He tagged @oliver.knight.
I can’t deny that he looks smitten with Harlan, though.
Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I open the comments.
@oliver.knight - Saying goodbye to you sucks, baby. I’ll be back soon enough. Xo
@lucky_penny - Maybe next time you two can stay in a hotel ;)
@seascorpions4ever - You’re not with Darío Molina anymore?
@carlyreadsbooks - We’ll ship you with Darío forever!
I have to stop reading these comments. I never check comments on my own profile.
I learned that early in my career, because people are brutal if you lose, and it used to get to me.
I know Harlan used to spend a lot of time in his comments, but as the brand grew and his popularity soared, he started to stay away, for the most part.
I wonder what he would think if he saw those.
We were recognized frequently, so we were lucky the details of our breakup stayed out of the media.
“Darío Molina?” A nurse standing in the doorway takes my attention from Harlan’s social media. I nod, following her to the hall with exam rooms on one side, and a long nurse’s station on the other. “I’m Jenn, Dr. Herring’s nurse. We’ll be in Exam Room 7.”
“Motherfucker!” I slam the steering wheel with my good hand when I get in my car. I dial Travis on my Bluetooth because I need to calm down before I can drive anywhere. I knew I was going to get news I didn’t want to hear, but it doesn’t make it suck any less.
“Dare, what’s going on, bro?” It sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel, and I immediately regret bothering him with my complaining.
“Hey, if you’re busy you can call me later,” I say as I glare at my stupid, broken fucking hand.
“Nah, it’s all good. Just driving home from practice. What’s up?”
“I just got the new X-rays on my hand. It’s still not fucking healed, which pretty much guarantees that I won’t be playing again this season.
They’re sending it over to another doctor to look at the scans, but I may end up needing surgery.
” I did everything I was fucking told to do, so this setback is hitting me hard.
Talking to Travis calms me down enough to start driving while we continue to catch up.
We switch topics to the upcoming week, when his team will be in Brooklyn for a series.
“I was thinking about staying a few extra days while I’m out there.
Figured since you guys have a homestretch, we could spend a couple days hanging out,” he says.
“For sure, bro. You’re welcome to stay with me.
The spare room is all yours,” I tell him.
If Travis stays with me, it’ll force me to finally step foot in the bigger of the extra rooms. I wonder if the sheets still smell like Harlan, or if there’s something in there that he’s forgotten.
I’d give anything to smell his strawberry shampoo again.
“I’ll take you up on that. Maybe we can go out and get you laid,” he suggests. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen anyone since you cut things off with Jasper?” Everyone saw the end as inevitable. I don’t know why I didn’t.
I slow to a stop sign a few blocks from my house and wave a woman with her dog through the crosswalk.
“I don’t know about getting laid. Not really interested.
I was thinking about getting a corgi, though.
Have you seen those fuckers? Their legs are fucking cute.
” It’s so fucking lonely in this big house. A dog is exactly the company I need.
“Darío, what the fuck would you do with a dog?” Travis barks a laugh, and I roll my eyes. It’s not like I’ve got much else going on. I can’t play baseball, and even if I could, it’s not like we’ll be making the playoffs this year.
I tell Travis it’s just a thought, and we agree to check in before he gets to New York to lock in plans.
Parking is a bitch at this time of day, so I end up a few blocks past my house.
When I’ve finally secured a parking spot, I unlock my phone and scroll to Harlan’s contact.
I never deleted his messages, but I haven’t read them since he left, which is truly a feat worth celebrating.
There were nights I sat in the hall leaning against the door of the spare room, scrolling through thousands of pictures and video clips, wishing he were home with me.
Before I can overthink it, I send him a text.
Me
Hey, I heard you’re coming back to Brooklyn. Congratulations, Harlan. I’m so happy for you. I bet you’re so relieved.
Typing bubbles pop up and stop for several minutes. He’s either typing a novel, or he’s considering telling me to leave him alone.
Harlan
News travels fast haha. Thank you! Yeah, the work visa was approved. .
Me
That’s really good, Lan. When do you get back?
Harlan
First week of September.
Me
If you need help with the move, let me know. I’m sure the guys would be happy to help, too. We’ll be home that whole week.
Harlan
Thanks, Darío. I’m staying with Pen and L&L is handling the move again, thank god. I’m selling all the big shit here since I won’t need furniture until I find my own place.
Me
Well, the offer stands. Good luck with the move.
Harlan
xx
I don’t know what I was expecting from that conversation, and admittedly, the tone is hard to read in text, but it felt very formal.
I consider asking to see him when he gets here, but that’s probably unfair to him.
I’m the one who demanded no contact, and if he’s happy with Oliver, I don’t want to get in the way of that.
Also, who names their kid Oliver? It’s a fucking dog’s name.
Speaking of dogs, I pull up a browser and search for corgi rescues near me.
There are a lot of results, but one near Albany catches my attention.
I scroll through their adoptable dogs and stop on a puppy named Craig.
Craig is six months old and was surrendered by a breeder when an infection caused him to lose an eye.
I immediately pull up their application and fill in my details.
I’m already envisioning dressing Craig as a pirate for Halloween, which makes me smile.
With that accomplished, I head inside to an empty house, and it hits harder than it has in a while.
There are still so many pieces of Harlan here.
I can hear the excitement in his voice as we perused every home goods store within a fifty-mile radius while he looked for the perfect wall decor, throw pillows, and coffee table books—whatever the fuck those are.
Idly, I wonder how much puppy proofing I’ll have to do in order to bring Craig home.
When I open the door to the spare room, I’m hit with the smell of stale air and a layer of dust on the furniture.
My stomach sinks at the sight of the unmade bed, knowing the last time anyone was there, I was holding Harlan in my arms for what ended up being the last time.
The fact that it wasn’t in our bed has me thinking about the last time we were in our bed.
I can’t even recall the details at this point.
The weeks leading up to my trip to LA were filled with tears, sex, and avoidance. I’ll add regret to that list.
Stripping the rumpled sheets from the bed, my eyes catch on the pillow Harlan had used.
Bringing it to my nose, I inhale deeply, trying to find the smell of ripe strawberries, but it smells like nothing at all.
I don’t allow myself time to dwell on this, instead tossing the pillowcases into the pile with the sheets by the door.
Once the bed is clear, I open the windows to allow some fresh air, despite the stifling August heat.
Clearing out this room feels like closing another chapter with Harlan, but holding on hasn’t gotten me anywhere. Perhaps it’s time for me to let him go.