The crunching Ans and I are doing is damn near deafening. Six bags of chips are littered across the coffee table, just waiting to clog several arteries. On TV, the All-Star announcers are introducing this year’s players, commenting on their stats and predictions of the Wild Card race for both the American and National Leagues. Ans has the surround sound turned up so loud that it literally feels like we are at the game. We should be, but Lawson getting jumped yesterday put a damper on those plans. Ans didn’t want to leave any of us alone. We didn’t have the heart to tell her we could protect ourselves better than she could. No, we only smiled and said, “yes, ma’am.”
Pick your battles, gentlemen. No sense in arguing when you will inevitably lose.
“Pass me the Doritos,” she says between sucks on her fingers, pulling every leftover crumb into her mouth that she possibly can.
I just stare as she licks and sucks the flavor off each individual finger, giving each one personal attention. She is oblivious that this completely ill-mannered behavior is so sexy.
When I don’t pass the chips, she cuts her eyes to me. “You going to pass the chips or do I need to get them myself?”
I make a soft noise and hand over the bag. “I was just thinking you might want to pace yourself. Doritos taste horrible coming back up.”
She glares at me before shoveling a fistful of chips past her lips. With her mouth full, she responds, “I don’t plan on running tonight. I’m going to sit here and watch my boy kill it on the mound and then I am going to pack in as many calories as I can from that ice cream container,” she nods to the table where the Rocky Road ice cream is thawing, “and then I am going to bed. Responsibilities be damned.”
A deep laugh bubbles up and out of my chest as I take in her disheveled appearance. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun, baggy sweats hang off her hips, and her snug tank top shows a little food belly as she devours chip after chip. She has never looked more beautiful than she does right now.
Women try so hard to fit the bill of what they think men consider beautiful. This is it. Right here. A real woman who isn’t shy to eat in front of a man. A woman who doesn’t give a shit if her hair looks like a mess or if she has a little food belly going on. This is real. Men like women who are real. What women fail to understand is that men feel self-conscious, too. So, if you’re relaxed, we’ll be relaxed, and that’s when the conversation flows freely and honestly.
“That sounds like a plan,” I confirm, stealing the Doritos away. “But you’re going to have to share those calories.”
Her answering smile notches the armor my heart hides behind. Damn you, Anniston.
She snuggles into my side, wrapping those tiny arms around me. “I hope he kicks some ass.”
“He always does,” I admit, even though I would almost rather eat Vic’s cooking for a month than give Von Bremen a compliment. But, honestly, he is good. No sense in not giving the asshole credit. He’s obviously talented.
I chuckle at Anniston’s excitement at seeing Theo pitch for the third year in a row in the All-Star Games. You would think this would be just another game to her, having seen hundreds of his starts, but no, she gets this excited every single time.
The first pitch is thrown, starting off the game. Whoops and cheers come from behind me as the guys filter in and take up every solid surface in the family room. It’s a tight fit but it’s home. Anniston yells at Theo from the sofa, coaching his pitches, and giving him advice through the screen. Her body bounces with every strikeout as she squeals out praise. It’s silly. It’s fun. It’s mine.
The second inning rolls around and Theo is still in the game, having only thrown ten pitches so far. I suspect this will be his last inning. His face is strained, pinched, and his throws have been a little off balance. Yes, I have picked up quite a bit in my time with Ans.
Anniston is standing, biting on her fingernail as she paces in front of the TV. We can’t see but we don’t ask her to move. She may bite our heads off as tight as she’s wound right now.
“What was that, Von Bremen!” she shouts, startling me a bit.
Theo is pouring sweat and shaking on the mound. The catcher trots out to speak with him.
“Why is he shaking?” I question the room.
Intently focused on the TV, no one responds, the room eerily silent. The catcher gives a slap to Theo’s shoulder and returns to his position behind the plate. Theo takes the catcher’s signal and curls into his wind up, and releases a wild pitch just as he doubles over and hits the ground.
Anniston screams and falls to her knees in front of the TV. I move from my spot on the sofa to stand behind her. I don’t know what’s going on but from the look of things, it’s not good.
“Get up, Teddy!” she cries, placing her hand on the screen where the team is huddled in a circle over his writhing body. The trainer is pulling at his uniform, barking orders at the staff. With practiced speed and efficiency, a gurney is hustled onto the field. They load him carefully and cart him off the field before Anniston completely loses it.
She sinks to the floor in tears. “I need a phone.”
Hayes makes it to her first, his phone in hand. She tries to take it from him but her hand is shaking and she drops it. The fear when she looks at the phone is absolutely heartbreaking.
Her watery eyes lock onto Hayes as she says, “Call Thad for me.”
He nods silently, picking up the phone and dialing. He speaks quietly into the receiver. “Okay, yeah. Yeah. Let us know.” He hangs up, his eyes wide with worry. “They’re taking him to Emory University Hospital. Thad is behind the ambulance. They don’t know what’s going on.” His defeated sigh mirrors everyone’s feelings. It’s bad and we don’t know how to help Ans. She’s always the strong one.
Anniston springs to her feet. “I have to go. I need my keys.”
Hayes darts off to retrieve them for her.
“I’ll go with you,” I say, moving forward to envelop her in a hug.
She shakes her head, sniffling into my chest. “Someone has to stay here with Lawson. I can go alone. I’ll be okay.”
I don’t respond because there’s no point. I’m going and she will just have to get over it. Hayes returns with her keys in record time. I take them from his hand before she has a chance.
“You’re in charge,” I tell him firmly. “No one in or out without a buddy until we return.”
Hayes tips his chin in acknowledgment.
Ans sucks in a shaky breath before pulling away from my chest.
“Get your shoes and jacket, Commander.” Someone has to take control of this situation and it’s obvious Ans is having a hard time.
She kisses Hayes on the cheek as she passes by the guys. All of us stay silent until she clears the room.
When she is out of range, I look at my team. “No bullshit. Lou is getting braver, he went after Lawson last night and with the lack of police presence surrounding the incident, my thought is that Lawson is correct in his assumption that the sheriff is involved as well. Be watchful. Be safe. Stay together and protect the house. Make her proud.”
They stand at attention, each saluting me with an “Oohrah!”
I return with my own salute and exit the family room to grab Ans a water, as well as my wallet.
She still hasn’t come downstairs when I return from changing and gathering a small bag. I make my way to her room, sounds of sobbing making me quicken my pace. I push open the door and directly in front of me lies one the most heartbreaking scenes I have ever encountered.
“You can do this. Focus. Tie the shoe,” she chants to herself as her hand shakes violently over her shoelace. She whimpers and it turns into a frightened sound. “Come on! Do it for Theo.”
She tries grasping the laces again, her fingers shaking too much to take purchase. She lets out a sobbing scream before I rush to her. Her limbs stiffen immediately. This part of herself she keeps locked away from me. Only Theo has ever been allowed to see it.
Tears fall silently down her face as she completely breaks down in front of me. Honestly, I don’t envy Theo. Not anymore. I was so jealous that she kept this from me and gave it all to him. But now, after seeing her like this, I never want to see it again.
She’s always so strong, so fearless. This girl, this broken girl in front of me, is not the Commander I know. The strength and love that Theo must possess to endure this is incredible. I don’t know if I could watch her brutalize and challenge herself like she does. I would want to help her. I would want to save her. I don’t think I could be strong and silent and pick up the pieces when she fails. Serious props to Theo.
Dozens of ideas race through my head as I watch her shirt absorb the falling tears. What would Theo do? Do I tie her shoes for her? Do I walk out? Fuck!
A tortured sob breaks free and I realize she is trying again to tie her laces and failing. I don’t think anymore, I just react. Crouching behind her, her back to my front, I lay my hands over her shaking ones.
“Draw strength from me,” I whisper softly but firmly into her ear. She inhales a shaky breath as I move our hands so hers are resting on top of mine.
“Breathe with me, Commander.”
I coax a few patterned breaths out of her until slowly she calms.
“Now, let’s get these shoes tied.”
She nods her head and presses her shaky fingers to my hands as I slowly start to tie while she rests against me.
Her hands still tremble by the time I get to the second shoe, but it’s less now. I think she is calm enough for us to leave. Although, I may need a moment to gather myself.
“You ready to go?” I question, turning her slightly.
She nods, her face flaming, her gaze not leaving her feet. Lifting her chin, I place a chaste kiss to her forehead.
“Then, let’s go see about the pain in the ass.”
That gets a smile from her.
The drive to the hospital is twice as long as it should’ve been due to the traffic clogging up I-75 from the first ever All-Star game held in metro Atlanta. We should have been at the game, with Theo. But, no. Lawson had to get his ass beat, causing Anniston to hover over him like a mother hen. She shouldn’t have had to choose between being with Theo and being with Lawson. She waved me off when I said as much, saying she’s seen Theo pitch in the All-Stars plenty of times before. But I know the truth. She wanted to be there. And now, stuck in traffic, I bet that’s exactly what’s going through her head.
I swear several times as out-of-towners get into to the wrong lane and then try to cut over at the last minute, nearly clipping the front end of my truck. By the time we finally park in the underground lot of Emory University Hospital, I’m close to bumming a cigarette off the guy propped against the wall outside the building. I haven’t had a cigarette in years. It’s an expensive habit. One that I dropped with everything else in my life that reminded me of the old me.
“Do you know what floor he’s on?” I ask Anniston, who is bouncing on her toes, punching the elevator button more times than necessary. She’s been quiet, save a few sniffles and soft whimpers. She’s calmed down tremendously during the last thirty minutes of our two and half hour car ride to the hospital.
Thad called while we were en route saying they took Theo into surgery for an emergency appendectomy. A routine surgery he said, nothing Anniston should be concerned about. She begged to differ, crying and going on about how she needed to be with him, that he wouldn’t do well with being sedated without her. Thad didn’t elaborate on how he did, just that now he’s recovering comfortably in a room, the surgery only lasting an hour.
“Anniston.” I touch her shoulder, startling her.
“Hmm?”
“I asked you if you knew where to go?”
She shakes her head, hitting the elevator button one more time. “Thad just said they were moving him to more of a private room on the third floor since the media was swarming in the lobby.”
The elevator opens and we shuffle in, selecting the third floor. “I’m going to call Thad,” I say, already pressing send on his contact in my phone.
He answers on the first ring. “Room 310,” he says and then, “You may want to prepare her.”
“For what?”
The elevator dings and Anniston takes off down the hall. She grabs the first person in scrubs she sees. “Theo Von Bremen. What room is he in?”
The guy she’s grabbed looks at her hand clutching his scrubs and then at me. I give him an apologetic smile before I say, “Thad says it’s room 310, Ans.”
Letting go of the guy, she looks at the signage above his head, finding her direction, and sprints down the hall without a thank you.
I jog to catch up, telling Thad, “Too late to prepare her. She’s coming in hot.” I hang up at Thad’s groan and follow a rampant Anniston into the last room at the end of the hall.
She draws to halt and I literally have seconds to stop my momentum before I plow right over her.
“Who the fuck are you?” She’s pointing to a tall blonde in a dress far too tight for the average adult to be wearing.
The recovery room is small, dimly lit by an overhead lamp by the sink when I enter. I glance over at Theo, lying in the narrow hospital bed. His face is pale, eyes heavy and sunken with dark circles underneath. The hospital gown he has on is pulled slightly off his left shoulder, displaying his sculpted deltoids. I can’t tell if he’s awake or just choosing to ignore his guests by feigning sleep.
“What?” The unknown girl looks around, confused. “I’m Charity, Theo’s publicist.” She’s eyeing Anniston up and down, assessing her like a threat. It’s blatantly clear she has no idea who Anniston is. She’s new, that much is a given, as every staff member I’ve encountered is well aware of Anniston’s presence in Theo’s life. The fact that this Barbie is clueless is going to be a treat.
“Theo, time for your friend to go home. You can play with her again when you feel better,” Anniston instructs the speechless, openmouthed audience which includes Theo’s brother and who I assume are his mother and father.
Theo smiles, his eyes still closed. And against my will, dammit, I fucking smile, too. Anniston’s comment is rude, but funny all the same.
Theo’s voice is heavily medicated when he slurs, “I’ll call you, Chelsea. Thanks for coming.”
Charity’s face turns crimson. “For the hundredth time, my name is Charity, Theo.”
Theo’s eyes never open and he doesn’t respond. Thankfully, Thad breaks the awkward silence. “Sorry. He knows that. He is in pain and the medication makes him a little delirious.”
Anniston interrupts, her patience wearing thin. “No. He’s just an asshole and can’t be bothered with learning your name. Thanks for coming down to check on him. Thad will show you out.”
You might be the publicist sweetheart, but it’s obvious Anniston runs this show. Part-time or not.
Charity storms out of the room without a word. I look at the shocked faces staring at Anniston. No one speaks.
Well, except Theo. His voice has magically returned since “Chelsea” is gone. “Dr. McCallister. What can I do for you?” He smiles, his eyes still closed, feeling the effects of anesthesia.
“Well, for one you can tell me why they pay you millions to play ball. If I paid you millions, I’d expect that you stand on that mound and endure a little stomach ache to win my damn game.” She blows out a breath and begins to tap her foot. She doesn’t mean the shitty thing she just said. I think sometimes her way of coping is to be mean, to close herself off by saying something hateful. No one wants to feel like the fate of their sanity rests in one person’s hand. I fear Theo and I may have the same anchor.
“But here we are,” she continues, walking slowly to Theo’s side. “Players are such pussies nowadays. A damn hangnail and y’all are on the bench in need of rehab for a week.”
Theo laughs and opens his eyes but then grabs his side and winces. “Don’t make me laugh, Ans.”
His mother shuffles her feet and looks around nervously. The twins look more like her than their father. Her dark hair gleams brilliantly down her back, her blue eyes shine with unshed tears. She still hasn’t spoken to either of us or acknowledged us in any way, and I wonder if she really is a snooty aristocrat as Anniston once said. She doesn’t look too awful to me but this is the only time I’ve ever been around Theo’s parents.
“Well, sweetheart, I think we are going to go and let you two catch up.” His mother goes to Theo’s bedside, kisses his cheek and runs a hand through his messy hair. “Get some rest. We will see you in the morning.” His father approaches behind her and pats his arm, saying nothing. Apparently, that’s all it takes for them to communicate.
While I am analyzing the father and son behavior, I don’t notice that Thad has come up behind me until he places a hand on my shoulder. I turn to meet his gaze and he gives me a hesitant smile.
“It’s good to see you,” he whispers. “Thank you for bringing her. He’ll never admit it, but he needed her here. It was a rough couple of hours.”
I don’t ask him why it was rough. I know why. Being put to sleep can be a scary thing. Theo doesn’t suffer from nightmares as I do but he hates being forced asleep. Anniston said it was something about him not being able to control waking up that feeds his anxiety.
Either way, I nod at Thad because, what can I say? That I wasn’t thinking about Theo’s feelings in the moment? That the only reason I brought Anniston was because she was a mess, broken down in front of me? That I don’t care one bit if Theo suffers? That her shaking and crying caused bile to rise in my throat until nothing but making her stop was on my mind?
No, I think I’ll hold on to my decency and keep my mouth shut and let Thad think I am a better man.
Thad moves to Theo after one more appreciative clap to my back and gives him their signature fist bump, promising to bring breakfast and coffee in the morning. They all exit the room, leaving the three of us alone to sort out our shit.
“Hi,” Anniston whispers softly, approaching Theo’s bedside.
He extends his hand to her and she immediately takes it and climbs in bed beside him. As soon as she is within reach, he buries his face in her neck and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.
I know he is smelling the rosemary in her hair. The coconut on her skin. I know all the scents of Anniston. Everything about her is beautiful. Even now, as the tears slide down her face, they remind me of a cleansing rain after a brutal heatwave.
“You scared me, shithead,” she scolds, pushing back the sweaty strands of hair from Theo’s forehead.
Their conversation brings me out of my reverie. This is not my girl. She loves Theo, not me.
“Aw. Come on now. It’s just a little stomach ache. Everything is fine,” Theo teases her as he rubs soothing strokes up and down her arm. His eyes are red and swollen, his eyelids trying to close as he comforts her. There’s desperation on her face as she fusses with his gown, pulling the blankets over up to his chest. After years of friendship, he knows how bad this scared Anniston. And damned if he isn’t a considerate asshole by not allowing her to see how terrible he actually feels.
The nurse comes in with a syringe, explaining to Anniston it’s something for pain and will help Theo sleep. Theo shakes his head while Anniston nods in agreement with the nurse. He groans, allowing Anniston to have her way as the nurse injects the medicine into his IV.
“I want to go home,” he says sleepily, trying to sit up.
Anniston pushes him back down, snuggling in closer. “Tomorrow.”
I actually feel sorry for him. I wouldn’t want to stay here, either. The noise, the cold, clinical feel. I would want to go home, too.
His eyes start to flutter shut when Anniston addresses me for the first time since we arrived. “Cade. Can you get us a coffee?”
I nod, happy to get out of here. “Sure.”
She smiles, her eyes glassing over. “Thank you.” Thickly, she swallows, “For earlier—and for everything in between.”
“Always,” I promise, moving toward the door. When I pull the privacy curtain closed behind me, I hear, “Ans, rub one out for me?”
And the asshole is back. The last thing I hear before closing the door is Anniston’s bubbly laughter and the rustling of blankets.