by Alexis Anne
Had I put it there? It was as if I’d reached out for him. And I was really glad he was there.
“Nope. Fever just got nasty.” I groaned and curled tighter into myself.
Snickers hopped up and started kneading my leg.
“What can I do? How can I help?” He kept asking questions all while hovering inches away.
“You could stop hovering and asking questions.” Seriously. Why did it have to hurt so bad? Wasn’t being sick and tired enough? Did the body really need to throw in aches and pains too?
“I just . . . I want to help.”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy dying. At least it felt like dying. I must have been groaning some more because the light flicked on and suddenly Wes took his hovering to the next level.
“Do you need water? Ginger ale? I saw you had some in the fridge? Soup? Tylenol?”
I blindly reached out and grabbed his arm. “Stop.”
“Sorry. I never know what to do.” And then he lifted my head and scooted underneath. “I’ll rub your head. You like that.”
And I did. I really liked it. It took my mind off the bone crushing for a few minutes. But it also reminded me of all the things I was avoiding. This sweetness would only last so long.
“Why are you here?”
His hand paused in my hair. “Because you’re sick.”
“Exactly. You could be at home, sleeping in your own bed, not getting my germs.”
He chuckled soft and low, resuming his magical stroking. “Babe. I know things have been weird between us lately. I’m really not sure why. But I do know if I can make you feel better I’m going to do it.”
I started shivering again. “But why?”
He pulled the blanket up higher over my shoulders. “Because I care about you. A lot. I . . . I want to be here for you when you don’t feel well.”
Why did he have to be so sweet? I was so confused.
I blamed the fever.
I managed to fall asleep again and didn’t wake for a few hours. It was dark out and Wes was asleep wrapped around me. He had music playing softly from his phone between us. I didn’t feel better but I didn’t feel nearly as bad.
I was on the upswing.
Thank goodness.
Snickers noticed I was awake and began head-butting me. “Hey dude. Watch it. I’m still on the mend.”
As if he could understand me he switched to kneading my stomach. His tiny little claws just barely reaching through the blanket with each press of his paw.
“You’re a pretty adorable little guy. Thanks for coming. Your cuddles helped.” I was gonna miss him. I never wanted a cat before, but if I had one like Snickers I’d rethink the situation.
But I was not going to rethink Wes. The adorable lug was too much for me. Sweet one minute, clueless the next. I realized it wasn’t that I didn’t want to put in the effort to see where our relationship might go, it was that my heart couldn’t take it.
I was bad enough at dealing with people and I had a hard time handling my raw emotions. Someone like Wes would ruin me. Absolutely ruin me. I knew my limits. As wonderful as the guy could be, his lack of judgment was a hard limit.
I took a minute to appreciate his raw beauty. Wes was gorgeous. His body a thing of beauty. His dimple, smile, and bright eyes absolutely deadly. My whole chest ached every time I looked at him.
And the way he dropped everything to be here? I needed that. He was a good guy. He just wasn’t my guy. I knew that now.
Snickers settled in again, curling up on my hip, looking up at me with his brown eyes. I swear he was begging me to rethink things.
Maybe we could work on the absentminded impulses. Maybe I could be less harsh. Maybe if I told him what was worrying me we could decide whether to work on things together or call it a day. Amicably. Like adults.
We certainly went into this together with clear heads. Maybe that would be the best way to leave.
I reached out to touch his cheek. Soft. And his hair. That ache in my chest grew deeper. More insistent.
We should talk. Before I made a colossally stupid decision, we should talk.
And then his phone vibrated. I looked without thinking at the text message that lit up the lock screen.
Thanks for the drinks last night. I’ve missed you, baby.
The name at the top? Allie.
Who the fuck was Allie?
Then his phone vibrated again.
And just so I wasn’t confused as to who this Allie was or what her intentions might be, she sent a picture. Of her and Wes kissing in front of a Christmas tree.
A fucking ex.
That he saw last night.
For drinks.
He was such a player.
And I was such an idiot for thinking otherwise.
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND where this is coming from,” Wes said with a frown.
“This was supposed to be for fun. Easy. Simple. I don’t do relationships, remember?” Breaking up was hard. It wasn’t something I’d really ever had to do before. The one time I dated a guy we both decided to end it together. It was nice, but nothing special. We went our separate ways. Easy.
This was not easy.
“What did I do?”
“Nothing. It’s just time for it to be over.”
He reached for me and I backed away. “Thank you for coming over. I really appreciate what you did for me. I decided after the last time we were together that this isn’t the kind of relationship I want to be in. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you sooner.”
His hand fell away. “I thought—”
“I’m sorry, Wes. Really I am.”
“—that we had a good thing. Something special.”
“I want you to leave now.”
He blinked several times, his face going white. “Carrie. You can’t mean this.”
I walked to the door and held it open. “I mean it. I hope you can understand and that we’ll still be able to keep things civil with our mutual friends.”
“Civil?” He said the word as if he were saying it for the first time. Then he ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck. And here I thought I was falling for you. I guess I had this all wrong.”
Falling for me? Oh god. “Again. I’m sorry for the miscommunication on my part.”
He picked up the carry bag that held Snickers and his overnight bag. I stepped back from the door hoping a little distance would help.
It didn’t.
He paused right in the doorway and looked me in the eyes. “You’re lying. I can see it, Carrie. I don’t know why but I’m pretty sure I did something wrong. I wish you’d just talk to me.”
“You need to go, Wes.”
“You and me? We were different. Right from the very beginning. I never thought we’d end like this.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “Like normal people. And just for the record, I do not accept any of this. I hear you and I’m going to give you space, but we’re not over. You need me, you call. I’ll be here as fast as I can.”
And then he turned and left.
I slammed the door. That was not a breakup. A breakup was when both parties agreed to the end, even if it was begrudging. He didn’t agree. In fact, he outright refused to agree.
This was why I didn’t do relationships. People were complicated. They made life confusing and messy. And Wes was most likely the most confusing and messiest mistake of my life.
21
Wes, present day
I was so fucking done. My brain was beyond fried and my emotions, if one were to believe I was in fact capable of experiencing them, were sitting high on a hair trigger. Basically, I was one wrong word away from coming apart. Of course if I’d realized just how close I was to losing my shit, I may have, I don’t know, talked to someone. Maybe taken a step back from the game before I went boom, but that was what hindsight was for. And I didn’t have that kind of awareness as I crouched low behind home plate in the fifth inning.
I didn’t like
Ryan Alvarez. Never had. He wasn’t a dirty player, per se. Mostly he was just a dick and I had an instant hate for anyone who didn’t love this game. Guys like that sat on my shit list forever. I never understood why they played if they didn’t love it. So few of us actually made it out of college, let alone the minors. Playing at our level was a dream come true. It was to be respected. Only the best of the best made it this far.
And Alvarez? He didn’t get that. He made that clearer than ever in his first at-bat when his spit landed a centimeter from my cleat after his second strike.
“Tell your pitcher to give me another curveball so I can swing and take a seat already.”
I blinked. He wasn’t seriously telling me he wanted an easy out, was he? “You’re a dick, Alvarez.”
“Whatever.” He sat back on his heels and waited for the pitch—clearly about to tap-out before the game really started.
I stuck up my hand. “Gimme a second, Ump.” Yeah, everyone stared at me like I had two heads. Whatever. I jogged out to the mound, pushing up my mask.
“What the fuck, Allen?” Jared Prescott hated being told how to throw. I mean, no pitcher liked it, but Prescott hated it more than most.
“Alvarez is up to something.”
Prescott looked past me. “That’s because he’s a lazy dick. Fucker needs to be released already but he hits homeruns all day long off of pitchers with the fastest fastballs. They can’t let him go.”
And Prescott wasn’t that kind of pitcher. That explained it. Every one of them had a different flavor. Some threw the heat all day long, others used mind games by throwing different pitches every time, Prescott loved to make batters chase his pitches all over the box. He threw the occasional fast ball, but not at Alvarez. “So he’s just going to sit his ass down the whole game instead of swinging?” I had half a mind to punch him in the face.
“Dude. Why the fuck do you care? Let him hang himself. Go catch.”
“It’s not right,” I muttered more to myself than anyone else.
“What has crawled up your ass and died lately?”
My soul? My life? Nothing made sense anymore and it was all because I couldn’t keep it in my pants. I knew one day my cock would ruin everything, I just didn’t think it would take baseball with it. Carrie was a special kind of woman to ruin fun, sex, and the game for me.
“Just a woman, Prescott. Stay away from them. They’re evil.”
Two innings later Alvarez was back up at bat, spitting and asking for lame pitches. I tried to let it slide. Really I did.
“You could go fuck yourself in the locker room if playing baseball is too hard for you.” The words came out. I don’t know why. I don’t what I thought they’d accomplish. They just . . . slipped out.
“Say that again, asshole.”
Suddenly the tip of his bat pressed against my facemask.
“Whoa!” The ump pushed us apart. “Calm down.”
“Say it again, asshole!” Alvarez yelled while I sat there on my heels wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I talked smack with the best of them, but usually in a fun, jesting, smart aleck kind of way. I didn’t say shit like this normally.
Or ever, now that I thought about it.
There was that playoff game three years ago where shit got weird fast and, yeah, a few unsportsmanlike things may have come out, but even then it was about the game. This was . . . well, it was becoming personal. And I really didn’t know why.
Not until much, much later.
“You’re a lazy motherfucker.” Why did I keep talking?
Alvarez lunged for me, pushing the ump to the ground. I dodged, but not quickly enough. He managed to grab my gear and yank me back toward him. But lucky for me, his hands were occupied, so I managed to land a couple of decent punches before the benches cleared and we went from a two-man brawl to a full team slug fest on the infield.
Fists flew everywhere. There were shouts and insults from both sides as our teams tried to defend us. And of course Alvarez and I just kept swinging and yelling. I was angry. So incredibly pissed off. There was fire in my muscles as I landed punch after punch, but it never seemed to ease.
Not until two of my teammates grabbed me by the shoulders and hauled me away. “Let me go! You’re a joke, Alvarez! A pathetic joke.” Not my best insult but then again, the adrenaline had spiked and was on the way out.
“Go to hell!” He yelled back, breaking free of his teammates. I didn’t have time to warn the guys holding me. It made me a sitting duck. No way to defend myself as Alvarez’s fist landed a clean, hard punch on my cheek.
The last thought I had before the lights went out was that I really should have left my mask on.
Rookie mistake.
BANG, bang, bang.
Fuck. What did I drink? I hadn’t had a hangover like this in . . . ever. I’d never had a hangover like this.
Bang, bang, bang.
Why did my skull feel like someone was hammering it?
“Wes . . . ”
I forced one eye open and saw Roman bouncing a tennis ball.
So that’s the banging. “You’re an asshole.”
“I love you too.”
Whatever. “Why did you let me drink so much? I need the cocktail. I need it now.”
Roman laughed at me. “You’re not hungover. You got into a fight.”
Oh . . . right . . . “With Alvarez?”
‘That would be the one.”
“Well then why did you let me get into a fight? C’mon. We’ve been over this. You’re supposed to keep me from doing stupid shit.”
“Nope. It’s not my job anymore. Remember when you reformed and started taking care of yourself because you fell in love and wanted to be a better man?”
I groaned. “Yep. Totally remember that. I sucked and now I’m rehiring you as my handler. I clearly should not be left in charge of my own brain.”
“Not happening.”
Roman was not my best friend anymore. I was taking that back and giving it to someone else. Maybe Zoe.
“You were doing pretty well for a while,” he said. “I think you just need a little more practice.”
“What’s the point? I have a concussion and the only woman I’ve ever loved doesn’t want anything to do with me.” I heard some rustling but since moving my head hurt like hell I decided I was probably hearing things. “How bad is it?”
“Your head? Well they tell me that since there’s nothing inside the damage is minimal.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“Mild concussion. You’re going to be fine.”
Thank fuck.
“I’ve never seen you like that, Wes. What happened?”
I closed my eyes and massaged my throbbing temples. “Alvarez got on my nerves. He wanted easy pitches so he could ride the bench.”
“Lazy fucker.”
“Exactly.”
“But he always has been. You’ve never let it get to you before. What happened today that was different?”
Why oh why was Roman making me think when my skull needed medical intervention? “I don’t know. He just pissed me off.” But now that I was in a hospital and thinking—god, thinking hurt—I realized the error of my ways. “I was angry.”
“At Alvarez?”
“At myself. At Carrie. At Vegas. Take your pick.”
More rustling. What was with the rustling?
“And that wound up in a bench-clearing brawl that’s been playing nonstop on ESPN for the last two hours? C’mon. Let it all out.”
Roman was usually a good friend but this was a little extra sweet. “Dude. What is wrong with you?”
“Me?” he sighed and leaned forward on his knees, shaking his head. “I think when I saw you throw that first punch I realized just how much this wedding meant to you and that I should have been helping you work through this more than I was.” He shrugged. “I’ve been your best friend for twelve years. I knew you had zero clue what you were doing.”
That was the truth of it. “It’s not
your job to teach me how to be a decent person.” I tried to sit up a little more but stopped the minute the world went sideways. “Lying down is good.”
“You need a guide. You’re really ill equipped for being a husband.”
“I am not.” That hurt. That really hurt. “I have all the important parts. I love her. I love her so much that I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy because making her happy makes me happy. That’s what being a good husband is. I know this much because I saw it for myself when I was a kid. The rest is bullshit details. Give me some time and I’ll learn to think before I do, to be whatever it is I’m supposed to be.”
“You’re right. That is the most important part,” Zoe said from the other side of my bed.
I turned faster than I should have and everything blurred. “Zoe?” I blinked a few times and focused on not one, but two women.
Carrie.
“Babe.”
She blinked a few times. “Hey.” She looked really, really shaken.
Because of me? Something that felt a lot like hope started to grow in my chest.
“I’m okay. I promise.” If the banging would ever stop.
She nodded. “I’m glad.”
“You about killed us,” Zoe said. “It’d be great if you could not get knocked unconscious during a game ever again. Okay?”
“Got it. Will do. Learned my lesson.” I couldn’t look away from her eyes. And thank fuck, she didn’t look away from mine either.
There was hope. She cared. She was here.
“Carrie.”
She held up a hand. “Not yet. Not here. Get better first.”
“Yes here. Now. Did you hear everything I just said? I’m a mess. I’m an angry stupid mess because I’m so in love with you.”
“Stop!” She shot up out of her seat. “Not now. Do you ever listen?”
Did I? Nope. Not really. I was a stubborn fuck if ever there was one. “My listener is broken when it comes to putting things off with you. I hate waiting.”
“Yeah, I got that loud and clear two months ago.”
“Best decision of my life.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. I remember.”
