Chapter 15
“You like them.”
That sounded like an accusation coming from Alfie. He hadn’t said anything the whole time they’d driven to the clubhouse. It was not an unusual circumstance, Alfie had a tendency to keep his own counsel, but Rhys thought there’d been a heaviness to it.
Maybe it was just the way Rhys had been left feeling after the interaction with Mel. The barista did not like him. He’d thought they were just prickly the first time he’d been in. He could deal with a prickly personality. It could be fun, especially finding the way you could soften them.
“I’m not so sure you should be.” It was hard to misunderstand those words. Mel knew exactly who he was, had probably seen the blog posts written about him, which showed him out with a different woman. Not even every night, but that was the way a lot of articles made it seem.
It wasn’t always with a woman. But, those times, the writers either misgendered his partner—whether through ignorance or malice, it didn’t matter—or if he was seen out with a man, well, they didn’t bother reporting on those times.
They didn’t fit the narrative of him being a horndog, leaving a club with a friend.
Apparently it didn’t matter what that friend was going to do to him when they got to a room.
Then there was fucking Massachusetts. He should know better by now, but he really hadn’t expected them to turn on him like that. Just because he didn’t have a humiliation kink and certainly had not signed up for that.
None of that was in the article. How that person called him a slut, even when Rhys asked them to stop. He did not find that sexy. Or the fact they’d slapped him. He apparently deserved any kind of treatment because he liked casual sex.
Mel probably thought the same, judging by the way they’d looked at him.
Alfie was still staring at him, and Rhys realized he’d been lost in his own thoughts for too long. He did what he always did when that happened. He widened his smile and cracked a joke.
“Don’t worry, Alfie, I’ll never like anyone more than you.”
Alfie did not laugh. It made something squirm in Rhys’s stomach the way Alfie looked at him. He could not know what that look did to Rhys or he would not be giving it to him in public right now.
Especially when Rhys had to go put his catcher gear on. That was fucking cruel.
Alfie gave a shake of his head and walked toward the clubhouse. Rhys pushed his hair back from his face. If he wasn’t careful Alfie would realize what everyone else had always known.
He wasn’t worth a second of the time wasted on him. He didn’t think he could stand to lose Alfie as well. Hopefully he could at least keep fooling him.
He stretched his legs out as he moved across the parking lot, hoping to at least catch up to him. He didn’t feel settled in his skin again until he’d bumped his elbow against the arm Alfie wasn’t carrying his coffee in.
Alfie looked over at him, and even though he didn’t say anything, there was a slight curl to his lips which made Rhys think things really would be fine. Hell, maybe things were actually turning a corner.
Maybe he would even get to start today’s game.
When he got one glance at Turner, arms crossed over his chest and frown fixed firmly in place, he was sure he was wrong about all of that.
Rhys pressed his hands hard on the wall of the shower stall. Practice had been miserable. Turner had spoken to him about his reticence in talking to Brady. His words exactly. Apparently the bullshitting had not worked.
He was benched until they were sure he had his head on straight. They didn’t care that without baseball, he wouldn’t even have his head on crooked. The one thing that mattered, that made him feel like he could actually accomplish something, and they were taking that away from him as well.
He didn’t care how many times Turner said they were concerned for him. It certainly felt like a punishment. Like the foster parents who said they knew what was best for him, even as they labeled him a troublemaker and a lost cause.
Now because he didn’t want to spill his guts out, he wasn’t going to be able to play.
He smacked the heel of his hand against the wall twice then tipped his head back right into the spray.
Having a tantrum wasn’t going to help anything, but he didn’t know how to handle it when everything was falling apart.
He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, throwing water away from him, only for it to splash him in the face again.
With a sigh, he snapped off the water and reached for the towel he’d brought in with him.
It would be a long damn day without the prospect of a game to give him something to look forward to.
He’d end up spending all of it in the bullpen, helping relievers loosen up before they went into the game.
Which would not be nearly enough to get his brain to just stop.
He would have to figure out a way to do that if he ever wanted to crouch behind home plate again. Prove to the skipper and Doc he had his shit together and he could do this.
When he got to his stall, he didn’t see Alfie. That was for the best. He’d been sending Rhys concerned looks throughout their pre-game practice, and Rhys couldn’t help but wonder how much of the conversation with Turner he’d overheard even though they’d gone into Turner’s office and shut the door.
At least he’d have a few minutes before he had to worry about telling Alfie…well, anything. Or coming up for a good excuse for why he wasn’t playing in another game. No need to let him know everyone thought Rhys was a ticking time bomb.
He pulled on some track pants and a loose t-shirt and got ready to wait. There were still a few hours before it was time for the game to start.
He would change into his uniform closer to when the game would actually start. For now there wasn’t too much to do.
That was killing him.
He needed something to distract him. He wasn’t sure he would find it in the lounge.
No point in watching video when he wouldn’t be the one calling pitches.
He wanted to strike out at something, but that certainly wouldn’t make Turner think he had his shit together.
It had been bad enough when he’d melted down back in May.
A lot harder to assert it had been a one-time thing if he went and did it again.
Mother’s Day was always difficult for him, but he should have held it together better. He should be fine now, a couple months later.
There had to be some way to hold himself together.
A video game played on the tv in the lounge, but both Tavell and Elijah were already holding controllers, so he doubted there was room for him.
Ryder had his phone set up in front of him, signing to whoever was on the screen.
Probably his cousin. Rhys knew some rudimentary signs, but certainly not enough to carry on a conversation.
He still didn’t see Alfie. Which was probably for the best. The last thing Rhys needed was his judgment.
Rhys dropped into one of the chairs, resisting the urge to press the heels of his hands against his eyes.
Nothing good ever came from showing people you were distressed.
Either they made light of it, to tell you that you were making a big deal out of nothing, or they sent you to a shrink who made you feel like there was too much wrong with you to ever make anything of yourself.
Brady wasn’t like that. Hell, Brock still met with him even though he was seeing some fancy psychiatrist now. It seemed to be doing him some good. All Rhys could think when he had to sit in that office was all the times his confessions to a therapist came back on him.
He took out his phone, figuring he could at least kill some time playing a mindless game.
He was not going to go on social media. He didn’t want to see what people were theorizing for the reason he wasn’t playing.
The blogs might still be rehashing that disaster in Massachusetts. How could he have been so stupid?
Is it really any surprise?
He tried to shove that voice out of his head. It seemed to be coming more frequently the closer they came to this next road trip. It’s not like it was the first time they’d gone to Ohio. Not even this season. The last time hadn’t been this bad.
Even if he almost lost it on Caleb over something that hadn’t been his fault. At least he’d caught himself before he’d let on how much he was falling apart then. He’d gotten through it.
If this trip was to Brentley, it might not be as bad. He’d spent time in homes in both places. Simon hadn’t been there when he’d been moved to Brentley.
He’d already been dead.
Rhys did not want to think about the one person who had ever believed in him. Not right now. That game was really calling his name. Anything so he wouldn’t have to think.
He couldn’t ignore that red bubble over his email icon. Some notifications he could ignore, and forget about. Like messages he’d seen on the lock screen and knew he didn’t need to respond to. Even those he would eventually have to go in and delete, before he did end up missing something important.
Right now, that number was pretty low. He could let it go. His email kept climbing, though. Spam most likely. There weren’t a lot of people he knew who took the time to email. They’d text him. Or call. Or text him to make sure he was available then call.
Hell, most of the people who would do that were in this building. There wouldn’t be any reason for it. They could drop into the chair beside him and start talking. He didn’t have anyone in his life who would send him long, thoughtful emails.
He wouldn’t be able to focus on one for the time it would take to get through it anyway.
He’d at least get rid of the spam, see if anything important needed his attention right away. Then, he could get to that game. Anything to shut his brain down.
He seemed to be right, as he scrolled through the new emails. It was almost completely spam. A few seemed to be legit, but he froze when he saw the name on one of the emails. Craig Lowry.
Rhys was sure there was no way he would actually be emailing him. His stomach twisted at the memories, his chest growing tighter until he wasn’t sure he could breathe.
“Hey, you okay?”
Rhys looked up at Caleb and forced a smile as his teammate dropped into the chair next to him, slipping his phone away, those last emails ignored. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Caleb studied him for a long time. “You don’t have to be, you know.”
“Now you sound like a shrink.”
“How about a friend? Can I sound like one of those?”
For how long? Until even Caleb realized how messed up Rhys was? He kept that smile on his face. “You don’t think your boyfriend will get jealous?”
Caleb shoved at Rhys’s shoulder, but he laughed. Rhys could still do something right, at least.