by Syms, Carly
"Doan and I shot some pool and grabbed a couple pitchers of beer," he says with a shrug, and it's obvious to me that he has no idea how much his words sting me. It's like a thousand wasps all decided right now is a great time to attack, and they're all going after my heart.
I drop down onto the bench and try hard not to seem rattled, but I'm pretty sure my breathing's funny and my head feels like it's about to blast off into outer space.
I mean, what?
Beers? And pool?
That's what kept Doan from coming to Gemma's last night?
There's no emergency. No one's dead or in the hospital. No car accident. He hasn't broken an arm and probably didn't even lose his phone.
All of those things, of course, had passed through my mind on a loop as possible explanations for why he didn't come.
But no.
Beers. And pool.
With my brother.
Is he kidding?
Suddenly, I'm not so much sad as I am downright livid. How dare he do this to me? How dare he play me like this? How could he possibly --
"Hey, guys."
I freeze, right in the middle of my mental assassination of Doan Riley.
Because none other than the victim himself has just strolled into the dugout like he doesn't have a care in the world, tossed his bag aside and greeting the rest of us all casual and cool.
Like his insides aren't being slowly ripped out the same way mine are.
And I'm just sitting here wondering if this is really my life.
I immediately start rooting around in my bag, refusing to look at him, anger definitely still coursing strong through me.
Beer and pool.
I shake my head, trying to keep a bitter laugh from creeping out.
And then something happens.
I'm not sure why, exactly, I feel compelled to look up at Doan Riley at this exact moment, but I do, and my eyes meet his, and there's a stunning sadness behind them that disappears right away, but I saw it, and it's not what I expect.
So for the millionth time in what feels like five minutes, I'm confused all over again.
I wait just a second for him to approach me, but he doesn't, and he breaks our eye contact a few beats later.
I start to feel myself getting closer and closer to snapping when Dad stands up and calls the team to a huddle around him. I make sure to stand as far away from Doan as possible; I can't even see him from where I am, and that's a good thing.
Dad gives us a pep talk that I don't hear, then sends us off into the field to start the game.
As I reach for my glove to take my place at third base, Dad reaches out and stops me.
"Hey," he says. "Wait. Holly. Are you okay? You seem distracted."
I shake my head. "No, I'm good."
"Are you sure?" he asks. "You can DH today if you need to."
"No way," I tell him, knowing that means I'll just sit on the bench and wallow in my own miserable, angry thoughts. "I'm fine. I just want to play baseball."
I'm pretty sure my cheeks try to smile for the first time in the last 24 hours when I realize how true it is.
This baseball diamond, even if it means Doan's right under my nose, is the only place I want to be to get through this.
I need the game.
So I do what I know best and jog out onto the field and over to third base.
Doan pitched in our last game in California so he isn't on the mound, and for some reason, he isn't in the bullpen, either. He's hanging out in the dugout with a couple other guys.
But I'm determined now to only focus on the game.
It's why I'm here.
And I refuse to let my eyes wander over to him, to see if he's looking at me first.
He won't be.
Right?
He is.
I break my own promise when I look at him, but quickly glance away when our eyes meet again.
What is with him?
He's making me nuts. I can't take much more of this. I'm not going to be able to play baseball if this is how it's going to be.
We're going to have to talk about this, one way or another, because not knowing is going to make me crazy.
And just like that, the top half of the first inning is over, and I realize I haven't seen a single pitch.
That, you might be able to guess, isn't a great thing when you're on the field.
Oops.
I wander back into the dugout. I don't bat until sixth, so there's a reasonable chance that I won't be up at all in the bottom of the first.
I'm not sure what comes over me, but the next thing I know, I'm throwing my glove to the bench and marching right over to Doan Riley.
"Let's talk," I say, interrupting his conversation with another pitcher.
Ben looks at me with raised eyebrows before shrugging and getting up off the bench.
Doan doesn't meet my eye.
"Well?" I say at last.
He finally looks at me. "Holls, I don't think I can."
"Don't," I say through gritted teeth, "call me Holls."
"I -- I don't know what to say," he says.
"Come with me. We're not talking here."
I ignore the fact that he's just said he doesn't want to talk to me, turn and walk out of the dugout and head over to the fence near the parking lot.
I'm pretty sure I'm mad enough to make a scene if he doesn't follow me.
And he might realize that, too, because when I turn around, he's right behind me.
"Well?" I demand for the second time.
He lets out a sigh. "I don't know what you want me to say, Holly."
I lift my eyebrows. "You've gotta be kidding me."
"Okay," he says. "Fair. I know what you want me to say. Look, for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry I wasn't there last night. But I couldn't be."
"Why?"
He lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "It's so damn complicated."
"Beers and pool with my brother is complicated?"
"I'm sorry," he says. "Look, if you want to talk about this, it isn't going to be here. Come with me after the game."
"We're talking about this now, Doan, or not at all and this is the end. Your choice."
"We're in the middle of a game, Holly."
"I don't give a damn about the game."
Doan looks back over at the field, then down at me. He sighs, then motions me to follow him. We walk over to his truck and I get into the passenger seat.
He pulls his phone out of the console, shoots off a text to my brother to tell him not to expect us back for the rest of the game, then squeals out of the parking lot without a word to me.
"Well?" I demand.
The irony of leaving in the middle of a game isn't lost on me when the only reason I'm here in the first place is so I don't let my teammates down.
He shakes his head. "Wait, okay? Just wait. We'll talk when we get there."
"Where are we going?"
"Holly, please!" he says, and I'm not sure he's ever taken this pleading but also scarily harsh tone with me.
I do as he says and flop back against my seat in silence, arms crossed over my chest.
Doan accelerates down the road, and I watch as the speedometer creeps higher and higher. I weigh my irritation with him for asking me to be quiet with the growing beads of sweat popping up on my hands.
"Hey," I finally say. "Maybe slow down?"
He doesn't look at me. "I know how to drive."
I suck in a breath. "You sure about that? You do remember how we met, right?"
He throws up his hands in the air and slams them back down on the wheel. "Have you ever let me forget? Just once? Have you ever let me forget?"
"Maybe I don't think you deserve to forget!" I yell back. "Maybe you're exactly who I thought you were this whole damn time, Doan."
"Or maybe you have no idea what you're talking about."
My eyes flash as I turn in my seat to face him. "That," I hiss in a low growl, "is because you never tell me a
nything about you."
The engine's roaring louder than I've ever heard a car engine before. It's almost like it's screaming beneath all the stress Doan's putting it under.
"Doan," I say, my voice calmer than before. "I really think you should -- "
I'm still looking at him when I see his eyes grow wide and his mouth drop open but no sounds comes out.
And I'm still looking at him when the sickening crunch of metal colliding with metal streams into my ears, the overpowering smell of burning rubber fills my nose, and the darkness closes my eyes even though I'm positive they're still open.
I'm still looking at him when everything goes black, the world fades away and the only sound I hear is nothing.
***
I wake up what feels like minutes later and find myself staring at a white ceiling in a room with white walls and a faint, steady beeping humming away from somewhere behind me.
I blink a few times and try to sit up and then Dad's face is inches from mine and I almost scream.
"Jeez!" I exclaim, then I start coughing and can't stop.
Dad backs away, but he doesn't go very far. "Holly!" he cries, and there's a strange sense of relief in his voice, and I don't understand it. "Take it easy. Don't overexert yourself. Justin, get the nurse."
My brother scurries past the foot of the bed I just now realizing I'm lying in.
"Huh?" I say between sputtering coughs.
"You're okay," Dad breathes, and he finally backs away enough for me to feel like I can let out some air. "Thank goodness, thank goodness."
"Of course I'm okay," I choke out, but I have to admit, I'm a little worried about why talking suddenly seems so hard. "What the heck, Dad?"
He just shakes his head and presses his thumb and index finger into his eyes. A few seconds later, he looks at me.
"You were in an accident, Holly," he says. "In Doan's pick-up truck during the game. Do you remember?"
I raise an eyebrow and think back but the last thing I remember is demanding Doan follow me out of the dugout at the game.
"Nope," I say. "But I'm pretty sure there's no amnesia going on here. I remember everything leading up to whatever accident you're talking about."
Dad looks at me and laughs, but there isn't a lot of humor in the sound. "Okay," he says. "Well, I guess that's good. Your brother went to get the nurse. She should be here any minute."
"Doan's car?" I ask.
Dad nods, and I feel a pit form in my stomach. I still don't remember what happened but if it was bad enough to land me in the hospital and put that look in Dad's eyes...well, I'm not sure I want to know the details.
But I have to know if he's okay.
"He's -- ?"
"Fine. He's fine."
I look up and over and here he is, standing in the door leaning up against the frame like he used to do in my bedroom.
I can see a small scratch above his left eye but that's it. No bruises. No broken bones. No hospital bed. I look down at my own wrist in a cast and narrow my eyes.
"Glad to see it," I say, the panic about him being okay fleeing and being replaced by a flooding sense of irritability.
How the heck am I supposed to throw a baseball and play the guitar with my hand all wrapped up in this thing?
"Yeah, I don't care about me," Doan says, taking a step into the room. "How are you?"
"She's going to be okay," Dad answers for me. "Just a broken wrist. She's lucky."
I don't miss the anger in his voice, and I can't say I'm surprised.
But I don't really feel much of anything.
The nurse walks in and ushers Dad, Justin and Doan out. She takes my vitals and talks to me about my wrist and says I can go home in the morning because they just want to make sure I'm not concussed or anything like that overnight.
I'm not really listening. I want her to go away.
And I want Doan to come back.
But when the nurse leaves, it's just Dad and Justin who enter the room.
"Visiting hours are almost over," Dad tells me, and my eyes widen.
"Can you send Doan in? He didn't leave, did he?"
Dad looks agitated, but he just nods and Justin walks out into the hall and then Doan is in my room.
Dad and my brother make no move to go.
"Can we have a minute?" I ask them pointedly.
They look startled, but hurry out of the room, closing the door behind them.
And then it's just me and him.
"So," I say, sitting up in bed. "Hi."
"Holly, I'm so sorry."
"For what?" I ask.
He furrows his brow. "For the accident. For landing you in here. I never meant to hurt you. I was driving too fast but I was so confused, I didn't know what I was doing. You know how I am but it's not -- "
I hold up the broken wrist that I can't barely feel right now. "You think this is what hurt me?"
He stops, mid-sentence. "What?"
"You think I care about a stupid broken wrist? I mean, yeah, I'm gonna be pissed when I try to throw a baseball around, but God, Doan, if you think the accident is what you need to be apologizing for, then I really have no idea what I'm going to do with you."
He sits down carefully on the end of my hospital bed.
"Gemma's?" he finally asks.
"Ya think?" I shoot back.
"I'm sorry about that, too, Holly. I don't know why I did it but I just felt like -- I don't know. You were getting too close. I was getting too close. But it isn't your fault. I just freaked out."
"About what? I don't get it."
He throws his head back and rubs his face with his hands. "Dammit, Holly, you're not making this easy." He takes a deep breath. "I don't want this to go away. You and me, I mean."
I stare at him. "Then you should have been there for me when you promised you would be."
"Don't you think I know that?"
"Then why weren't you?" It's all I can do to keep from raising my voice but I don't want to attract the attention of the nurses.
"Because I don't let people get close to me. I can't do it."
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard that before," I say, waving my hand. "It's an excuse and it's a lame one. Everyone wants to be happy, Doan, but too many people are scared to give up what makes them comfortable to make that happen. You're never going to be happy if you don't risk what you have now to to get where you want to be."
"It's not that simple for me."
I try not to roll my eyes. "Everyone always thinks they're the exception to this," I say. "But guess what? Everyone's been hurt before and everyone's going to have to get over it and try again if being happy is what they really want. No one is an exception here."
"Holly, my brother died in a war zone," Doan says. "Don't you think that makes it a little harder for me to get close to people?"
All of me freezes except for my stomach, which plummets straight to my toes.
My mouth runs dry, I can't move, have I heard him right?
"Wh-what?" I stammer out.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asks, confusion clouding his eyes. "You know this."
"You never told me," I say. "I'd remember something like that."
"I just thought you heard," he says. "Everyone in town knows. I figured if Justin didn't tell you then Natalie definitely did."
"No one wanted me to tell me the things they all thought I should hear from you," I say, starting to piece together how all of this blew up.
He rubs his forehead. "But the things you said," he tells me, his voice growing softer. "You asked me if I miss him a lot. And all those things I told you about not having enough time with family. I just thought you knew what I was talking about."
"Doan, I had no idea. None. I thought he was overseas. Deployed. Coming home soon."
He shakes his head. "He'd still have his dog tags," he says quietly, and I watch as his fingers absently go to the chain hanging around his neck.
"I didn't know. When did it happen?"
; "Almost six months ago," he says. "Actually, it was six months ago yesterday. I think I went a little crazy knowing that. He was coming home in two weeks. And they had a mission. It was going to be the last one his unit had to go out on during their deployment. He just had to get through one more."
He stops talking and sucks in a deep breath, his arms wrapped around his knees when he continues.
"But he didn't. Their Humvee hit an IED and that was it. Only two of the guys came home at all."
"What was his name?"
"James."
"I'm so sorry, Doan."
"It's just not right," he says looking up at me, and my heart's breaking again but for completely different reasons now. "It's not fair. James was such a good dude. Better than I'll ever be. Should've been me, you know? But I was too scared to enlist. Didn't want to give up the girls, the drinking, the parties. The freedom. Isn't that funny? I didn't want to give up the one thing my brother was willing to die for. James's dead all so I can go pick up chicks on a Friday at the bar."
"Doan, I -- "
He shakes his head. "Don't, Holly. There's nothing you can say, and nothing you want to say, anyway. Don't feel like you have to."
"I don't feel that way," I tell him. "Not at all. But you know that not everyone is cut out to do the same thing. I know there are a million things Justin is willing to do that I'm not. When we were kids, he saved my life. I almost drowned in our pool and neither of us knew how to swim and he jumped in after me anyway and almost died. I know it isn't the same, but I don't know if I could have done what he did. And I wondered about that everyday for a really long time. I was the one who was drowning. I was the one who was supposed to die, not him. But he almost lost his life, anyway. Protecting me. Kind of like James, I guess."
Doan's staring at me with the strangest of looks on his face.
"What'd you do after that?" he asks.
I shrug. "I was only ten so I don't really remember. But my parents say that I got really quiet for weeks and could barely look at Justin. And when I did talk, I was angry. Always yelling. Always looking for a reason to be mad."
He stays quiet for a second. "I didn't start smoking until James died, you know. I mean, sure, we had some beers and cigarettes before he left, but it didn't really become a thing for me until then. Now I can't stop. I want to, but I can't."
"And the car racing," I say, as I think about how I reacted to Justin saving me. "You do that because of the risk. Because it makes you feel like if something happens to you, you'll get what you think you deserve and that'll somehow make it all better."
