“Until I wake up again?”
“Yeah, honey. I’ll stay until you wake up. I promise.”
“’Kay.” Liv’s eyes closed, and soon soft, even breaths came from her mouth, announcing her sleep.
“Promises, Matt? I didn’t know you knew how to make those.”
“No. You just didn’t know I knew how to keep them.”
Chapter Nineteen
At first Alex thought she was avoiding him.
Then after two days of no messages, of not seeing her around town, he started to think something else was up. He didn’t want to be the guy who creeped around asking after a woman, but he was beginning to worry. Even when he’d been in another state, she’d texted him almost every day. He knew he hadn’t done anything to upset her. So it had to be something else.
He debated what he ought to do for an unhealthy amount of time, then finally called the diner where she worked to see if she was in. He thought it was mildly less creepy than driving by her house a hundred times.
They were the ones who told him about Olivia’s accident.
A chatty woman filled him in on all the details, explaining Alice hadn’t been to work since it happened, and no one was certain when she’d be back. Did he want to leave a message?
Alex hung up.
It didn’t feel right going to the hospital—there was no way he could show up without her invitation. He wanted to be supportive, but he was uncomfortable butting into a family matter. Flowers weren’t the way to go, either. What child wanted flowers? Or maybe they did. Alex didn’t understand kids.
After several agonizing hours, he gave up trying to think of what he should do and just texted her. Heard what happened. Hope you’re okay. Let me know if you need anything.
Maybe it wasn’t the best thing he could do, but he had to do something.
Two minutes later he got the first reply from her. Coming home tomorrow. Talk soon?
Whenever you’re ready.
With no Alice to occupy his present, he needed a distraction. He still felt like he ought to be doing something, but nothing he came up with seemed to be a good idea. He couldn’t help Alice, so he might as well try to help himself.
He’d already played an afternoon game that day, but he had a lot of pent-up energy to burn off. Before learning about what had kept Alice distant, he’d hoped she might help wear him out, but now he’d have to take matters into his own hands.
And somehow, jerking off didn’t feel like the best use of his time.
He returned to the ballpark, where an indoor batting cage was set up in case inclement weather kept the players from being able to participate in outdoor batting practice. After loading the throwing mechanism with balls, he retrieved his helmet from the equipment room along with one of his bats. His gloves were in the locker room, and when he went to collect them, he passed an aging security guard half-asleep in the hallway.
“Hey, boy. You supposed to be here?” the old timer asked.
“Not too sure where I’m supposed to be, but if you mean am I allowed here, then yes.” Alex showed him a security pass.
“Whatcha doing here so late after the game? I usually have this place to m’self.”
“Just gonna hit some balls. Practice a little. Promise I’ll clean up after.” Alex smiled to himself, imagining how this might interfere with the guard’s plans for napping and scratching his nuts.
In the cage, he tried to get loose, taking swing after swing. The familiar crack of the ball coming off the wooden bat and the vibration of it through his hands and arms was a wonderful thrill. It was a comforting sensation that lulled him in the same as a song might send a child off to sleep.
He loved the swing of the bat, but he could tell something wasn’t right with the way the ball was moving. Alex was a left-handed batter, and his hits—when he used to get them—typically went to left field. In the batting cage it was harder to tell what direction a ball might go, but his seemed to be hanging right.
And low.
It meant even though he was hitting for power, his hits were staying in the park and angling themselves directly where they could be caught.
Which meant if he wasn’t striking out, he was going to be thrown out on offensive plays.